Opia - ylri - Naruto [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

It was a bit like a dream, you know?

Maybe, in the far reaches of your mind, you know it’s something like a dream, but you’re just kind of experiencing it as it goes without any true impulses or action on your part.

There were brief flashes of ‘lucidity’, of really seeing, and they mainly consisted of glimpses of dark hair and dark eyes. A soft smile looking down at him; he was being held.

Sometimes he would feel distressed, and then there would be a rumble, like thunder in the distance, which gradually settled on his ears into a soothing hum of some strange melody he’d never heard. He always calmed down after that.

Real awareness didn’t come until later. And with it the realization that…

I’m an infant. He thought to himself, utterly confused. He was seeing now, consciously and continuously, none of that touch-and-go business. And he was… tiny. He was tiny but with very big thoughts, and he was sure that, could he see his tiny little baby self, he would - well, he’d probably look a lot like a baby, but surely a very confused one.

This was accompanied by a fair bit of crying, because he was most assuredly not supposed to be a baby. It was quite unfair. Often would come the storm-melody that settled the deep conflict into his chest down to a few sniffles and a distinct frown.

“Tou-san,” he managed to blurt out with his uncoordinated baby tongue, because that word sounded right. Like he’d heard it before, or something. The word sounded correct, but unfortunately his voice didn’t, because it was high-pitched and breaking and just plain weird, and this was all weird.

“Yes, that’s me, Ao-kun.” came the response from the thunder-man holding him, accompanied by a steadily more familiar smile.

No way, came the thought. Aokun? What kind of name was that? That wasn’t his name.

His baby mouth wouldn’t let him protest this point, however, and would continue to restrict him for several months.

It was time he spent thinking.

He was a baby. He had a tou-san - a father, and a kaa-san - er, mother. Words were strange. Words were very strange, in fact, because he recognised those words he associated particularly with those two darling people who held him and admittedly made him feel very nice and fed him. They were in a language that was very not-his.

Had he been reborn into Japan? What a terrifying thought. He didn’t know anything about Japanese society, except that it was way different from his normal one. Er, his first one.

His vision adjusted gradually, becoming increasingly adept at seeing more than his parents’ faces (which, he’d admit, were becoming his favorite things to see). Enough to discern his surroundings. They lived in a wooden house, which he liked; he’d always wanted to live in a log cabin, or something similar.

At least… in his past life. Before.

Oh - another important thing. His name *wasn’t* Aokun, like he’d initially thought, but Aozen, which his tou-san had affectionately shortened to Ao-kun. Aozen was at least marginally better than the first one.

He knew enough to be aware that he was no longer speaking English, but what could only be Japanese, which was its own frustration, because all of that vocabulary he’d been so fond of had been thrown at the window.

“Ao-kun,” said kaa-san, who had also adopted the nickname, “don’t make a mess.” Fine motor control was also a distant memory, as showcased by the bowl of food he’d accidentally slapped off the table in an attempt to grab.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as she rose to clean it.

He was an entire year old.

========================================

He was walking before he knew it, which was an incredible relief. He recalled some faint memories of his before-one-year-oldness where he thought he was trying to escape his crib but had failed.

He did not speak often, which was probably an oversight, but he was too busy thinking all the time.

Had he died? Was this reincarnation?

Well, clearly it was, but weren’t those people supposed to not remember anything? He remembered a lot. Most things, actually, except for how to be a baby (this naturally meant he didn’t even try to do so).

He’d only been a scant eighteen years old. A wee babe. Not really, but still, fairly young. He’d left a lot behind - really close friends, other parents. Well, not just ‘other’ parents, parents that he loved very much.

Did they… know?

He’d always promised himself he wouldn’t leave them by dying prematurely (which was, morbidly, mostly a resolve against suicide) but… well, whatever happened clearly wasn’t his fault.

These thoughts were usually followed by a distinct frown, and generally, since tou-san or kaa-san was in the area, they tended to pick him up to resolve this frown. Often with food, but also the storm-melody in the case of tou-san.

He slept a lot.

When he wasn’t sleeping or thinking or being held or generally just doing other completely normal toddler things, he was walking, and exploring.

This was a trait he’d had in his first childhood too, a tendency to climb everything in sight that looked even remotely climbable. Stairs, couches, doors, kitchen counters, tables - you name it, he climbed it. Or… tried to. It was good exercise, but kaa-san fretted.

This was perhaps important, because, as he soon discovered, though his mind knew what to do, his tiny, practically non-existent muscles often couldn’t execute such commands.

He’d tried to pull himself up onto the table once and hit himself in the head when he fell back in the adult chair.

(He did not cry. He didn’t, honest.)

(maybe a little. kaa-san’s arms were very comforting.)

========================================

At some point, he turned two years old. There was a party, and a lot of unfamiliar people wishing him congratulations. There was even cheek-pinching from some of the elderly women who apparently thought he was the cutest thing.

(He was the cutest thing, but it was a little annoying nonetheless.)

He decided against talking very often except to smile shyly and thank everyone. Many were surprised he could speak, but since he had no idea when babies normally started talking, he had no idea if he should’ve held his tongue. He heard tou-san proudly boast about his intelligence across the room.

“I am certain he will grow to be a valuable member of the clan, Fushima-sama.” he heard kaa-san say. He leaned forward in his seat at that. From his spot he couldn’t really see who his parents were talking to, but the words piqued his interest.

He thought maybe everyone just dressed in their robe-like clothing because of the formal occasion, but the use of ‘clans’ maybe meant that he’d been born into some older era in Japan’s history? That didn’t quite make sense, because he knew that he’d been to a toilet. Had done many times now, in fact. Plus, there was an oven in the kitchen.

“I look forward to seeing your son’s growth, Yuhoki.” came the response, the man’s voice gravelly in a way that he thought tou-san’s might become when he was older. So, Yuhoki was kaa-san’s name. That was a pretty name. Which made sense, because his mom was pretty - in both lives.

The rest of the birthday party passed in a blur once he started thinking.

========================================

If there was a God, or, excuse him, *Kami*, he was reasonably certain said Kami would be laughing at him about now.

He wasn’t in Japan. He wasn’t even close to Japan, because as far as he knew, Japan did not exist there. Rather, ‘there’ was a product of Japan, in a roundabout way.

No, he had had the distinguished misfortune of being reborn into the great Elemental Nations, in the city that he was fairly certain was called Konohagakure, the Village Hidden in the Leaves.

!!

Like, excuse him, but he thought that the Many Worlds theory was unproven? Hinduism too, while he was at it; reincarnation had not been peer-reviewed.

Oh, sure, maybe there were a few things to be excited about, like being a shinobi and such like, but there were also many things to be afraid of, like being a shinobi. A literal ninja with magic fighting other ninjas with magic. It’s - well, it’s actually kind of cool when put like that, but still.

“Ao-kun?” came tou-san’s voice. El - Aozen, he reminded himself, had had his arms crossed where he sat on the couch, a deep brown etched on his baby face. He looked up at his father.

“Storm song.” He raised his arms above his head in the universal gesture of wanting to be held, and tou-san obliged with a chuckle. He hadn’t figured out the word for ‘melody’ yet, or he’d use that, but tou-san was familiar with the phrase anyway.

Tou-san sat down and placed Aozen in his lap, making himself a chair. He began humming the storm-melody and he relaxed against tou-san’s chest, feeling as well as hearing the rumbling of his voice.

Aozen didn’t fall asleep, but instead just focused on the song, allowing thoughts to exit his mind in favor of a pleasant, relaxing distraction.

It ended, as all songs, must, and Aozen opened his eyes.

“I wish I could see what goes on that head of yours.” Tou-san said fondly, patting Aozen’s head.

“Thinking.” Aozen responded earnestly, earning an amused exhalation from his father.

“What about?” Tou-san asked, and he considered how best to answer. He had not yet been one for conversation, preferring instead to try and get a grasp on his coordination (or lack thereof) whilst exploring the house. But, this might be the best time to ask, and who better to trust if not his tou-san?

“Our clan.” He said at last, and after a moment Aozen was shifted so that his father could look down at him. He peered upward, the question hopefully clear in his eyes.

“We are the Uchiha. One of the five great Noble clans of Konoha, and one of two founding Clans alongside the Senju.” Tou-san said solemnly, holding Aozen’s gaze.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh very no.

This was quite possibly the worst news in the history of ever, and he did not like it one bit.

On the drama scale of one to ten, the Uchiha were about a solid fourteen on a good day. On a bad day, the scale was irrelevant because they had started a new war or international incident or something. The only thing worse would be… well, he couldn’t actually think of one at that moment.

Aozen frowned at that and looked away, thinking.

“How long?” He looked back up.

“How long have we been a clan?” Tou-san asked.

He shook his head. “How long did Kh - Kohn -” he stopped, frustrated. “Vill-uhj.” he over-enunciated. The words were unfamiliar, and his inability to convey his questions properly was irksome.

“Konohagakure was founded about fifty years ago, give or take.” Tou-san answered. This prompted another bit of thinking.

He didn’t really know his timelines for this world that well, admittedly. He wasn’t sure if the writers even knew the timelines, but fifty years was *probably* enough time for the first two Shinobi World Wars to have happened.

“Not old.” he said past his frown.

“I suppose not.” he chuckled. “But in the shinobi world, fifty years is a very long time.” Tou-san said this as though it was simply a fact.

Yeah… extremely low life-expectancy. He had that to look forward to, as well. Wasn’t that just grand.

He exhaled in the toddler equivalent of a sigh and leaned into tou-san’s chest.

“Tired.” he mumbled into his father’s shirt. Thinking was simply exhausting these days.

“Not to worry.” Tou-san said, and before long he was scooped up and the storm-melody was being hummed again. He was asleep before he knew it.

========================================

Aozen had gone on walks before, around (what he now knew as) the Uchiha compound, but neither of his parents had taken him outside, into Konoha proper. So, when Kaa-san had offered to take him on a trip to the market district, he’d wholeheartedly agreed.

He had resolutely begun walking through the gates holding kaa-san’s hand when she heard her primly laugh. Aozen frowned and turned around to look at her.

“I’ve got something more interesting in mind than walking, Ao-kun. Come along.” She made to pick him up and he easily obliged. He had been excited to walk, to get a look at the village, but being carried was always nice.

However, instead of being carried in the normal on-the-hip way he was used to, she shifted him to be on her back.

“Hold on tight, Ao-kun.” He wrapped his arms around her neck - careful not to choke her - and his legs around her midsection.

“Okay, kaa-san.” he said easily, a smile forming on his face. Was she going to do what he thought she was going to - woah.

The world turned into a blur and his stomach turned, but in a pleasant way, like when you accelerated forward from the crest of a rollercoaster. Despite the suddenness of the motion, he didn’t even budge from kaa-san’s back, as though he were attached to her back.

There were lulls in her shunshin for the briefest moments as she presumably found another spot to launch off of. Before he knew it, he was laughing, pure joy escaping him in a way that it hadn’t in a while. Shunshin rides were amazing!

Kaa-san came to stop in a clearing of trees, and Aozen’s laughter had settled into quiet giggles.

“Did you have fun?” Kaa-san asked, entirely redundantly. Aozen nodded his head several times anyway as he was put on the ground.

“How?” He asked, a smile still on his face.

“I used my chakra.” She said matter-of-factly. His eyes lit up.

“How?” He asked again, and was rewarded with a soft smile. Tou-san was the more expressive of his parents, louder and warmer in most ways, but Kaa-san was no less affectionate. simply subdued. Her smiles always felt like sunshine, and Aozen practically preened at having earned one.

“First thing’s first, Ao-kun. Do you know what chakra is?” Her smile faded but the glint of mirth remained in her eyes. Aozen hesitated, because he kind of did, but only theoretically. And he wasn’t sure he had the words - or if he was supposed to know them. He decided to shake his head.

“Chakra is the energy of life. Everyone has it, but shinobi are capable of using it to achieve a variety of effects, like sticking to things,” she poked him in the chest, “or moving really fast.” She gestured to herself.

“How many kinds?” He said, and the glint in her eye turned to what he thought might be pleasant surprise. He had always been good at reading people, even Before, and he had been looking at Kaa-san for a whole two years.

“Everyone’s chakra is different, but we usually separate it between physical chakra,” she tapped his chest again, “and spiritual chakra.” She tapped his head. He touched the two spots afterward, as though chakra might sprout from him at the contact.

“Wanna go fast.” He said immediately, and Kaa-san laughed lowly, but with genuine delight. A smile tugged at his face at the sound, but he was completely serious.

Tiny baby body aside, surely he could try? Maybe his equivalent mental age made up for the lack of physical development, since he had the will (hopefully) to try and mold chakra.

“Not yet, Ao-kun. It could be dangerous if you tried. First, we’ll see if you can feel your own chakra first. Molding it to form jutsu will come later.” He tried to absorb every word he could, so that he might be able to ask the right questions later.

The small clearing they were in was not ‘abandoned’ so much as it was untraveled, and he had no idea how close they were to the road or the market district, but grocery shopping was the furthest thing from his mind at that moment.

“As I said, everyone’s chakra feels different. Your father’s is warm and flowing, like a hot wind, while he says mine is like the heart of a furnace, sharper.” He frowned, because he didn’t know all of those words, but nodded his head.

Kaa-san, instead of crouching down to talk to him face-to-face, chose instead to sit down. He remained standing, because now they were at eye-level.

“Close your eyes.” He obliged. “Breathe slowly, and think about it as though you’re looking inside of your body. To your inner-self. There should be a pool of energy at the bottom of your stomach.”

He had the bizarre inclination to play up his two-year-oldness and simply say that that was where his food went, in a complete misunderstanding of the point, but he decided against it.

He tried to regulate his breathing as Kaa-san was demonstrating, and imagined his awareness sinking through his body to search for something deeper. He thought that maybe he heard something - or more accurately, felt something in the back of his skull as he sank, almost like a pressure.

Something in his gut stirred, and it felt like… pins-and-needles. The sensation was so sudden that he opened his eyes and gasped, looking around as though he might have suddenly teleported himself.

“It felt fuzzy!” He proclaimed excitedly. Static was the word he wanted, but he didn’t know the equivalent from English.

“Fuzzy - like you couldn’t see it very well?” Kaa-san inquired, and he shook his head.

He reached forward to take her arm, and she let him. He poked lightly and very fast all over her arm, not enough to hurt (kaa-san’s arm was made of muscle, honestly, he doubted he could’ve made a dent) but just enough for her to feel.

“Like touching that.” He explained, letting her arm go. The look in her eyes was positively glowing, and her lips curved in the smallest of smiles.

“Very good, Ao-kun.” She reached forward to give him a kiss on his forehead and he beamed. He felt his chakra! Moreover, he had chakra!

Okay, yeah, maybe he’d been disturbed to have found himself in the Elemental Nations, but he couldn’t deny that being able to use chakra was something that was never even remotely possible in his world. It was basically magic. And he was (technically) two. It was a big deal.

He insisted on sitting on kaa-san’s back whilst she shopped so he didn’t have to focus on menial tasks like walking or looking around while he tried to focus on his chakra again.

========================================

He didn’t really pay attention to his parent’s discussions unless he was involved in it or at the dinner table (and even then), so he must have missed the part where he was apparently old enough to start learning things. Eurgh.

Oh, he might have been excited if it was interesting things like chakra theory, or using chakra, or the tools of the shinobi trade, or things in that vein.

No, instead he was learning calligraphy.

In his previous life, he’d had terrible handwriting, which was ironic, because he was a writer in his spare time. But then, he’d always used computers.

He supposed that he should be grateful for the opportunity to actually learn how to write in his new language, but it was proving difficult, because he had intimate knowledge of having used English his entire life and things like hiragana and kanji were utterly foreign.

Slightly more interesting were lessons with Mikoni-obaa-sama, the chief priestess at the Uchiha’s ancestral shrine. He and kaa-san went to the shrine every few days, and other Uchiha children did the same, though without their parents. They were, he could tell, physically older, but he had no interest in them since they were still children compared to him.

Mikoni-obaa-sama told them about the history of the Uchiha; of the mythology their belief system was rooted in; of the Warring Clans era; of the dozens of lineages within the clan dating back hundreds of years (they were one of the oldest clans in the Elemental Nations); of the founding of Konoha and the subsequent (relative) peace. All spread out over a few months, of course.

It was, he later admitted, more interesting than he’d thought when he was dragging his feet for no particular reason at the beginning.

He has since resolved himself to having to go through multiple stages of learning again, but good heavens if he couldn’t wait to start learning practical things.

If he was going to be an Uchiha, he resolved to at least be powerful enough to survive the drama this would no doubt entail, and that meant training.

(He tried not to think about the Sharingan and what it meant; that was a problem for later.)

========================================

Physical training came after he turned three. Kaa-san had continued to do chakra exercises with him, which usually amounted to the equivalent of meditation. It was only months later that tou-san had taken him to the Uchiha training grounds to show him rudimentary katas. He was ecstatic.

He’d had no real experience with martial arts in his past life, but he’d always thought it was incredibly interesting. He understood the principles of martial combat even if he didn’t have the foreknowledge to mentally adjust for small, beginner’s mistakes. Which was a blessing in and of itself.

His intelligence was clearly noticed, because he’d never seen anyone as young or small as him around the training grounds or at Obaa-sama’s lessons. He didn’t quite know how troublesome being a ‘prodigy’ was going to be, but to be fair, if he had to be a normal toddler for several more years, he was going to lose it.

He preferred to think about what he was going to do rather than the situation he was in most of the time, because the latter usually brought about morbid if not outright depressive thoughts.

The thought of making progress, though, of learning valuable, practical skills, made him virtually giddy. His enthusiasm didn’t translate to better coordination or correct stances, though, as tou-san continually reminded him, so he had to go about it the old-fashioned way: repetition. It was only months later that he was started on throwing exercises.

Kunai were pretty amazing.

He was not so amazing at throwing them.

Or, more accurately, he wasn’t so amazing at hitting the target.

Tou-san was an encouraging presence who continually corrected any errors in form, and assured him that, like with his katas, practice made perfect. Or, actually, perfect practice made perfect. Funny how some sayings were universal - literally.

Tou-san only took him to practice throwing every few days, but katas were done every other day, with rest days in between. Ninja-wire was also added into the ‘curriculum’, and with it, the basics of making traps and using his ninja implements as tools rather than exclusively weapons. Although Aozen had no one to compare himself to, he thought he was getting pretty good at them.

His writing was progressing nicely, and it was very gratifying to see that whatever genetic predisposition he’d had to chicken-scratch in the Before did not extend to his reincarnation. His grasp of language was also expanding.

He turned four in May.

He contemplated that, technically, he was now twenty-two if he counted both lives. He didn’t know how to feel about that except sad, because of all he’d unwillingly left behind, so he decided against thinking about it entirely.

========================================

His parents didn’t really argue. He hadn’t seen enough to be sure yet, but he would guess that arranged marriages weren’t uncommon. Even so, his parents seemed like the sort to have found true love, and the glimpses he often caught of their casual affection with each other never failed to elicit a warmth in his chest.

So when he encountered harsh tones and sharp words in the kitchen, he hung back in his room with the door cracked to try and eavesdrop.

“...Fushima has noticed you taking him to the training grounds, along with the majority of the clan. You can’t be surprised that this has happened.” Kaa-san’s voice.

“No, but I can still be displeased. There’s absolutely no reason to push for it so soon, accelerated progress or no.” Tou-san.

“What did you expect? We’ve both known he’s far above-average for a while now, and - Iwa has been growing restless. It won’t be long now.” Aozen frowned at that.

“That doesn’t instill me with confidence in the least.” Tou-san, sounding more stern that he’d ever heard him.

“Koju…” came kaa-san’s voice, quiet enough that he almost didn’t hear it. His father’s name was Kojuka. “I’ve pulled all the strings I can, but they’re going to send you to active duty soon. You’re lucky to have gotten by this long on the occasional patrol. The only reason they haven’t sent me already is because Fugaku assures his father that I’m going to take a position in the Police Force.”

There was a name he knew, which gave him an idea of exactly where on the timeline he was. The idea of the Third Shinobi World War did not please him in the slightest, and even worse was the thought that either kaa-san or tou-san would have to leave.

His father sighed. “I know. Kami damn it, I know.”

“He’s going to -” Kaa-san stopped suddenly, and he hesitated, before backing up from the door.

Kaa-san opened the door and he tried to look casual, but utterly failed. So he tried to look cute and innocent instead, widening his eyes and looking up at her.

She favored him with a small, wan smile, but shook her head. “Come along, Ao-kun. Your father and I need to talk with you.”

“Okay.” he said quietly, resisting the urge to sigh. He followed her past the kitchen and into the dining room, where the three of them took their seats.

“How much did you overhear?” Tou-san asked, and he glanced between them.

“Fushima-sama wants to send me to the Academy, doesn’t he?” His parents exchanged a look.

“He has observed the training your father and I have been putting you through, and believes that you’re advanced enough.” Kaa-san says neutrally. Aozen thinks.

“The normal students are older than I am,” he notes. Tou-san nods.

“You’re very intelligent, Ao-kun,” he says with a smile. Aozen responds in kind, but the smile is small because he’s also thinking. Tou-san continues, “Normally, children don’t begin the Academy until six year old. Some of the children from other clans might start at five if they’re skilled.”

So, he was now a bona fide prodigy. Noticed by the clan head, and everything. A part of him was admittedly pleased by the attention, because he had noticed that the label alone opened opportunities for individuals that would not come about otherwise.

But then, not all of those opportunities would be pleasant. Some of them wouldn’t be opportunities at all, but rather dangers.

If he could get on a genin team with some prominent Jounin - but then, the only one who came to mind was Minato. Was he even on time for that? He thought that Team Minato had come about in the middle of the war, and he’d be in the Academy before it even started.

“But not four.” He says evenly after a delayed pause.

“No,” kaa-san answers, “typically not.”

“Regardless of what Fushima-sama says,” Tou-san speaks quickly after, “we will not push you towards anything you don’t want to do.”

“We’re absolutely certain that no matter what you do, you’re going to excel at it.” Kaa-san smoothly adds on.

Well… he was going to have to go sooner or later, right?

“I would like to go.” He decides, and looks at both of them. He doesn’t miss the flicker of something in tou-san’s eyes, but doesn’t dwell on it. “I want to learn more. And -” he hesitates.

Sometimes he doesn’t know how much of him is him and how much of it is Aozen; of the person Aozen is supposed to be. He doesn’t know how much of this is a balancing act between what he knows is supposed to happen and who he is as a person. Is he playing a part?

He’s living here, whether he likes it or not. He can’t pretend that he’s just a character in a story. When he falls, he gets hurt; when he throws kunai or shuriken for too long and too hard, he gets blisters or cuts himself. And at the end of most days, he’s tired.

He can’t pretend that his parents are characters, either. He examines both of their expectant gazes, the two having grown used to pauses in his speech while he thinks, and he feels a stirring in his gut.

He loves them. They have cared for him and loved him, and he cannot help but do the same in return.

“I would like to bring honor to the Uchiha. We… deserve to be - liked. Respected.”

Sometimes, in the quietest moments, he cannot help but imagine the silence of the entire compound after the Massacre. He has no idea what that silence is like, not truly, but he is resolved, no matter how many years from now it may be, that no one will have to experience it.

The Uchiha are respected, but he has the boon of meta-knowledge of some of the village’s politics - even if his idea of the political climate was a decade or so too early - and so knows that resentment will only grow.

Maybe he doesn’t feel particular *patriotism* for his clan, but his heart laments the folly of their choices preceding the massacre, and the village that let it happen, if not outright encouraged it.

His words were followed by a fierce burning of pride in both his parents’ eyes. Tou-san favored him with one of his brightest smiles, and Kaa-san with the intensity of her gaze and the love therein.

“Oh my darling,” Kaa-san said, standing to come over to him, “you will take them by storm.” She scooped him out of the chair into a hug, and tou-san followed, squishing Aozen between them.

“Love you,” Aozen mumbled into their clothing.

“We love you too,” Tou-san responded warmly.

========================================

There was a certain giddiness in preparing for his first day of school. Although he’d drag his feet a lot, he did like learning, and it was no small amount of surreal to live in a world that had previously only been fantasy; two-dimensional, in a way.

Both kaa-san and tou-san elected to take him there on another shunshin trip (he rode on tou-san this time) before stopping a bit away so they could walk the last stretch. He elected to hold both of their hands, because it was nice to be able to do that sometimes.

The academy looked like any other school, with crowds of parents and children either coming for the first time or returning for their next year. Kids chattered to their parents, or to other kids they knew, and parents talking amongst themselves.

It was… incredibly mundane. Normal.

He reminded himself that this school was one that made child soldiers, and he frowned.

“Thinking, Ao-kun?” Tou-san intou-ned (punny). They had made reference to what they called his ‘thinking face’ many times now, and often knew when to prompt him for his thoughts. If he didn’t want to answer, he’d usually just grunt an affirmative to the technically-a-question and say nothing.

“They are very young.” He comments.

Tou-san chuckles and suddenly lifts him up, placing him on his shoulders. He can’t help but smile. He knows very well how contradicting his behavior is - mentally eighteen and in another world one moment, but a child the next - but can’t and hasn’t yet bothered to care.

“You’re also very young.” Kaa-san says beside them, humor in her voice.

“I’m old where it counts.” he protests, a genuine response - more genuine than either of them knew.

“That you are, Ao-kun.” Tou-san said, and his parents both exchanged a glance. He affected not to notice it.

His parents left after they’d signed him in with hugs and kisses, and he was directed to classroom 2B.

It was strange to be walking alone; he’d done it all the time around the house, of course, but for the most part he’d never actually been in an unfamiliar place without either of his parents with him, or another adult like Mikoni-obaa-sama.

Not to mention, he was shorter than he thought he was, and though the true difference between him and his classmate was barely a few inches at most for the older kids, maybe an inch for his yearmates, it was noticeable.

“Uh, is this classroom 2B?” Aozen asked lamely, and redundantly. It was very clearly the classroom in question because the sign outside the door said so.

His new teacher, a tall, lanky man with light brown hair, gave him a faintly amused look, but nodded.

“Yes, it is. Take a seat wherever. We’ll begin whenever everyone arrives.” The classroom layout was as standard as could be. The sensei sat at a desk upfront, and there were neat, orderly rows of chair-desks (desk-chairs? you know the ones) that could probably seat about twenty-to-thirty kids.

Aozen chose a seat on the column closest the door, the second row back. Close enough to clearly see everything, but also to have a look around without having to do a one-eighty. There were only a few other students in the room but none of them looked familiar nor stood out, so he didn’t look at them for very long.

He watched as new students entered, trying to see if he recognised any clan markings or neat hair colors (because those were as important as the clan, sometimes, if not moreso).

He thought there was a blonde girl who was likely a Yamanaka (was Inoichi old enough to have children yet? Did Ino ever have siblings?) and who he assumed was a Nara who slouched his way to a seat in the back (did the Nara slouch count as a kekkei genkai?).

He perked up when he spotted the familiar features of another Uchiha student. He made eye-contact with his fellow dark-eyed boy and tried to convey a wordless message to sit nearby. He had no idea if the Uchiha got it or not, but he sat in the next row near him, so it worked out.

He blinked, staring into thin air for a moment. He was already succumbing to the classroom atmosphere - wanting someone he ‘knew’ to sit next to him? He might’ve laughed.

“Alright, looks like you’re all here,” came the steady voice of their teacher. “My name’s Kohaku Tajiro. You all can call me sensei or Tajiro-sensei. Got it?”

He and some of the other children chorused, “Yes, sensei.” About ninety percent of the class did not. Tajiro-sensei leveled the most unimpressed look Aozen had ever seen at those of them who didn’t say anything and cleared his throat.

The rest of them all hurried to say “Yes, sensei!”, though not in anything nearing unison. Aozen personally thought that was amazing, because the sensei hadn’t even had to say anything. He wondered if he could learn how to do that with his eyebrows.

Tajiro-sensei went through a lot of what basically amounted to disclaimers for a while. First among them was: no, he will not be teaching the children anything to do with chakra until they were ready, which would likely be their second year. There was a lot more about the weapons they’d be using, and how they were never to turn it against their fellow Konohans, and stuff like that.

Aozen was mildly disappointed, because he was quite looking forward to learning ninjutsu, but it made sense to not give all the five- and six-year-olds dangerous magic.

He blinked and sensei had moved on.

“Now, all of you are going to introduce yourself and tell us something about yourself. Likes, dislikes, what have you. We’ll start over here, by the door.” Ah, yes. He had forgotten that this was a thing that students did.

In the Before, he’d just been getting into college, with professors that didn’t actually care about that sort of stuff. Now he was four years old. Might be a nice change of pace.

“My name’s Nish*take Momon,” said the guy in front of him. “I like chocolate.” The kid seemed normal enough. Aozen, naturally, was next.

“My name is Uchiha Aozen,” and wasn’t that weird to consider, even after all this time, “and my favorite color is green. I would like to learn more of everything.” He said, trying to be earnest. His response didn’t garner much more than a few looks, even those were mostly because of his size, and the process quickly went on. He tried to pay attention, but only really focused when it came to his fellow Uchiha.

“My name is Uchiha Mohira. My - my favorite color is red. I would like to learn.” Mohira threw a glance to Aozen at that, and he smiled slightly at having been used as an example.

As the introductions continued, he was right in having guessed after a Yamanaka and a Nara, but most of the rest were from minor clans or civilian-born. He ventured that the only one he’d really interact with was Mohira, simply because he was the safest, in Aozen’s mind.

He… wasn’t really sure how that worked, but he had never been a big social butterfly, at least on a large scale.

The lesson ended shortly thereafter, and the class was dismissed. Almost immediately, Aozen attempted to walk next to Mohira as they left.

“Hello.” He said with a small smile.

“Hi.” Mohira greeted back, a bit hesitant - shy, then.

“...I didn’t know there’d be another Uchiha in my class.” Aozen says earnestly, trying to strike up conversation. He figured having a friend might be useful. And just, nice in general.

“Me neither.” Mohira admitted. There were a few beats of silence before he said, “You’re younger than me.”

“Yes.” he says simply. They look at each other as they walk, before Mohira eventually shrugs.

“Okay. Is your favorite color really green?” He asked immediately, apparently, having decided to get over whatever shyness he’d had.

“Yes. Why?”

“I’unno. I just thought - the Uchiha are red, so our favorite colors should be red.” Mohira answered. Well, that made a bit of sense - he wondered if that was some sort of unconscious conditioning effect.

“That’s not how favorite colors work, though.” Mohira frowned.

“What do you mean?” The boy asked.

“Well, favorite colors are about what you feel.” Aozen explained. “I like the way green looks and makes me feel, so it’s my favorite color. Does red sound like that?” Mohira was still frowning.

“...no. Not really. I mean, I like it, but it’s not the nicest color.” The red of the Uchiha was usually associated with blood, so that made sense too.

“What color do you think is your favorite, then?” Mohira pondered the question with the gravitas only a six-year-old could manage.

“I don’t know yet. But I’ll figure one out.” He said resolutely, and Aozen smiled, glad to have helped.

“Oh - come on! I can introduce you to my kaa-san and tou-san, and you can introduce me to yours!” Aozen said, and started forward at a much faster pace for the entrance to the Academy, where his parents would no doubt be waiting. He glanced behind him to make sure Mohira was following - he was.

They were, in fact, waiting, along with dozens (if not hundreds) of other parents.

“Kaa-san! Tou-san! Look, I made a friend!” Aozen proclaimed proudly, gesturing behind him at Mohira.

Later that night, when he was in bed and wrapped up in his Big Thoughts, he mused about how he’d forgotten about being a kid. How simple it was.

It was… nice.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Mohira’s favorite color was blue. He said that he’d always liked the koi pond next to the Uchiha shrine, and that it made him feel peaceful, so that it was his favorite color.

The next few months passed fairly quickly in retrospect, but very slowly in the moment. He continued to meditate with Kaa-san regularly, and by now he had a good feel for his chakra but both of his parents insisted that he wasn’t yet ready to move onto jutsu, which found him fairly disgruntled.

The Academy was not boring per se, but it was pretty easy. All of the academic classes were so below his level that he could’ve done them in my sleep, and he had to remind himself that he wasn’t actually a genius, he just had the benefit of experience in four-year-old’s body.

There were propaganda - excuse him, history classes about Konoha and Fire Country, and he learned about the more widespread religion of the Will of Fire (the Uchiha, as some of the oldest clans, still kept to the old religions but were discreet about it) as well as a more in-depth account of some of the other clans in the village.

There were classes on basic arithmetic, reading and comprehension skills, and normal, boring, ordinary, everyday life school things. If he had been reborn as a Nara, he’d be sleeping a lot (the Nara in his class did just that, much to the consternation of Tojiro-sensei).

Aside from that, there was a lot of physical activity, which he enjoyed. He’d never been a fitness freak, but he liked having the motivation to stay in shape, which he’d not found in the Before (he also hadn’t looked very hard. Maybe he should’ve been a Nara).

They were taught the Academy taijutsu form, which was different from the one the Uchiha were taught (he knew this because he saw Mohira having the same troubles that he did in adjusting). The Clan kids definitely had a massive advantage, because while they knew where to begin, many of the civilian-born kids had never even held a kunai before, let alone run through a kata.

“You need to widen your stance.” he said blankly to one of the children - Nish*take Momon, he thought it was; the first kid to be introduced on their first day. Momon frowned.

“What?” He said. His feet were positioned awkwardly, far too close together, and there was no sense of balance in his movements. He was just kind of standing.

“If your balance isn’t spread out, you’ll fall if someone pushes you. If you widen your stance, you’ll do better.” Momon continued to frown, looking down at himself, then at Aozen.

“That’s stupid.” Aozen blinked.

“I - what? No it isn’t.” It was common sense.

“Yes it is,” Momon protested. “What do *you* know?” What kind of objection was that?

“I know a lot.” he said flatly, still marginally confused. Couldn’t the kid see what he was talking about?”

“You don’t know nuffin’.” Momon continued to protest, shaking his head. Aozen stared.

“Okay.” he decided to say, and left to find Tajiro-sensei. He approached from behind, as Sensei was watching another student, and tugged on his shirt.

“Yes, Aozen?” Tajiro-sensei turned to look down at him.

“Momon needs help on his form. I tried to tell him, but he won’t listen to me. I don’t know why.”

Tajiro-sensei glanced over Aozen, presumably at the aforementioned kid, then back down at him. “I see. Not to worry, kid. Momon probably just doesn’t want to admit that someone else can know more than he does. I’m sure you only meant to help.” Aozen blinked.

“He’s jealous? Why? He would be better if he just listened.” It seemed very plain to him. Sensei chuckled.

“Some kids are just like that, Aozen. It’s nothing to worry about. I’ll handle him - you can focus on your own katas in the meantime.”

Kids didn’t make any sense. Mohira did, at least, and he seemed to genuinely want to improve. He and Aozen remained good friends throughout the beginning of their Academy days, which extended to ‘play-dates’ inside the Uchiha compound.

Mohira didn’t have a kaa-san. Aozen speculated that she died as a shinobi on assignment, but had enough tact not to ask. His tou-san, a nice man named Atsuhiko, seemed to get along well with his parents.

They weren’t allowed to visit the public training grounds unattended until their third year in school, but that didn’t stop them from visiting the Uchiha clan’s private training field on their own time. It was certainly an advantage of being a Clan child.

========================================

The war began in October. The Second War, not the Third, as he’d originally thought.

At first, Aozen’s only indication was a general darkening of the mood around the Compound; there were fewer Uchiha about, and of the ones who were still around, it was mostly the Obaa-chan’s-next-door, who were no longer talking openly and laughing in their rocking chairs but muttering quietly amongst themselves, some of them knitting.

He wouldn’t know why until later, but Tojiro-sensei was especially tense for the first few days, as though mustering the energy to teach the class was a struggle. Most of the kids, it seemed, were similarly kept in the dark, as none of them had really changed in any of the ways he’d seen adults do.

Aozen came home one day (Kaa-san had picked him up) to see Tou-san in the dining room, reading from a scroll. It was not of a kind he’d ever seen before, standard parchment but with a dull orange tag attached to it. He felt Kaa-san stiffen next to him when she caught sight of it.

“Tell me that isn’t what I think it is.” Kaa-san asked his father, and he sighed, placing it down on the table.

“I’d prefer not to lie.” He said, and Aozen frowned.

“Is this something I can hear?” he asked, looking between his two parents. Kaa-san, with the reminder of his presence, relaxed slightly.

“Yes, Ao-kun, and it’s probably something you *should* hear.” Kaa-san said, leading him over to the table. They sat. He looked between them, waiting for one of them to speak first. They exchanged glances, and Tou-san sighed again.

“I’m being placed back on the active duty roster. That means that I’m going to be sent on missions, sometimes for long periods of time.” Tou-san said seriously. Aozen stared, considering.

“You’re leaving?” He asked, and he nodded a bit sadly. “...but you’re not allowed to do that.” He said blankly, as though it were a simple fact. He *wasn’t*. Tou-san stayed at home and showed him things and cooked for him (or, more usually, got takeout). Kaa-san had been busier, because she'd started her job with the Police Force recently, but even she came home every night, even if it was late.

“I *will* come back, Ao-kun. But as a shinobi, I have a duty to our clan and our village, and that means I have to do what the Hokage assigns me.” Aozen frowned, and felt like pointing out that he had a duty to *him* as his son, but knew enough not to say that, even if he wanted to.

“Why?” he decides to say instead - why now? Why not a few more months, or another year, it had been *four* already, couldn’t he just retire? His parents exchanged looks.

“...Konoha and another village have… started disagreeing with each other. I, and other shinobi, are going out to solve this disagreement as soon as possible.”

Aozen pouted, because he knew that while that was a technically true way of describing it, he felt a little irked by the dumbing down of words. Maybe he was sort-of four years old, but… well, actually, he supposed he couldn’t blame them too much.

“You mean war.” he grouses. A sigh, this time from Kaa-san.

“Yes,” she says, sounding weary even to his young ears, “Konoha is at war.” He looks to her, then to the table, chewing the inside of his cheek as he thinks. He looks back up to his father.

“You’ll come back.” he said, and it was less of a question and more of a statement. Tou-san smiled at that.

“I will, Ao-kun. I’ll *always* come back.” He said, reaching over to take one of his hands in the palm of his much larger ones. Aozen nods slowly.

But it wasn’t a fact, was it?

The possibility was very real that his father wouldn’t return from a mission. Uchiha were almost always combat-proficient if not focused, and though he’d never seen it, he wouldn’t be too surprised if Tou-san had his Sharingan. He’d be sent on the difficult missions, probably.

Looking up at him, he couldn’t bring himself to say that he knew that might not be true. He was just a child, no matter how intelligent, and he wasn’t *supposed* to know these things. He was supposed to be sad that they were leaving, maybe a little scared, but perhaps instilled with the childish naivete that meant he would be absolutely certain of his parents returning. Instead, there was doubt and anxiety in his stomach. He didn’t want to face that yet.

Instead, Aozen started forward to hug his father. Only moments later, he felt the steady presence of Kaa-san behind him, wrapping him up in her arms too.

========================================

“What’s this?” Aozen asked when an unopened scroll was placed in front of him by Kaa-san.

“This,” began Kaa-san, taking a seat, “is the scroll for a jutsu.” Aozen was instantly attentive, which Kaa-san noticed, judging by the small smirk she sent his way. “In the Uchiha clan, it is considered a rite of passage to be able to perform the Gōkakyū no Jutsu.” Aozen blinked.

Grand Fireball.

That… was a whole jutsu. Like, a *whole* jutsu. He knew it was supposed to be a coming of age thing, but he thought that maybe it would be taught after he’d started to learn some of the Academy jutsu. He was quite looking forward to the Kawarimi, for example.

“You don’t seem as excited as I expected.” Kaa-san said, but she sounded amused.

“I am,” he said truthfully. “It’s just… surprising. I had expected something smaller - like the Henge no Jutsu, or Kawarimi no Jutsu.” What was the Grand Fireball? D-rank? C-rank? It couldn’t be B-ranked, right? Kaa-san’s brow raised.

“You know of the Academy jutsu?” She asked. He nodded slowly, and she exhaled sharply through her nose - Kaa-san never ‘snorted’ when she was amused, but she got close.

“I should have known you’d read about them,” she continued wryly. “Don’t worry, Ao-kun, I don’t expect to take you to the training grounds and have you attempt it right away.” She reached over to open the scroll, revealing several passages of text and diagrams. Were those -

“These are the hand-seals for the jutsu. Before you even *think* about molding your chakra, you are going to drill these until you’re doing them in your sleep. These seals, among others, will form the foundation of all other jutsu you perform. Do you understand?”

He bobbed his head obediently. More memorization - but, well, he *was* still four.

...Maybe he could find the instructions for the Academy jutsu somewhere?

“Kaa-san,” he asked a few moments later, “where is the library?” Kaa-san narrowed her eyes at him, and he tensed.

“If you’re trying to find information on new jutsu, don’t even *think* about practicing them on your own, Ao-kun.” She used his name affectionately, but there was a definite undertone of promised reprimand.

“I - I would not do that.” he says, a blatant lie. Kaa-san crinkles her nose at him, knowing full well he was lying.

“Mhm. Regardless, you’ve an assignment to be working on right now. Get to it - I’ll be making dinner. Your father should be home soon, and perhaps you’ll be able to show him your progress.” At that, Aozen perked up, then immediately dove into the jutsu scroll with renewed vigor.

========================================

The day that Tou-san left for his first mission was a sad one, and Aozen was not in the least ashamed to have shed a tear (or several). Though he’d always thought the Uchiha were emotionally constipated (as though Sasuke was a typical example), theirs was a fairly heartwarming goodbye, full of hugs and kisses and ‘good luck’s.

The mission was, of course, hardly a week long, and though he’d disliked the first few days of being alone, his relative mental maturity (which couldn’t seem to make up its mind lately; was he twenty-two or was he four?) let him grow used to it fairly quickly.

He still didn’t *like* it, but it was a start. At the very least, Tou-san made a cake when he returned. He couldn’t cook normal foods, but for whatever reason he was a phenomenal baker.

There were more missions, naturally. And on most of those days, Aozen elected to visit the Uchiha training grounds to brush up on his katas and shurikenjutsu, and practice all of his hand seals. Tou-san had promised to show him how to start making traps when he returned.

The training grounds were usually active, because of course most Uchiha would do nothing but train, but on Sundays most of the clan, active shinobi or not, gathered together for clan training - which looked a bit like a celebration, if he was honest.

Fushima-sama oversaw the entire thing from the porch of the main dojo where he could see the entire field. A man who Aozen was pretty sure was Fugaku started the day sometime before noon by leading everyone in a basic though fairly vigorous stretching routine, before continuing onto katas of the clan’s taijutsu style, the kind that every Uchiha learned once they were able. With the war starting up, Fugaku was around maybe once or twice a month for these occasions, however, in which case another veteran Uchiha took over.

Aozen had gotten some weird looks when he’d started alongside them, but he elected to ignore them whenever he went. Tou-san usually watched over him, but sometimes Aozen went of his own volition even when Tou-san had an early patrol.

That only lasted a few times, but eventually the amount of people talking about the four-year-old performing katas and shurikenjutsu with actually not bad results made him uncomfortable enough to stop unless his dad went with him.

Mikoni-obaa-sama once said that he “looks just like Hikaku-sama did at that age”, whatever that meant. Fushima-sama had never spoken to him, fortunately, but he was certain he caught the clan head observing him from his seat on the porch more than once.

After general katas, everyone broke off from ‘formation’ for other training, finding new sparring partners or teachers, with the most experienced Uchiha leading small groups or lessons.

It was, to Aozen’s mind, incredible to witness, because he’d never seen or read anything about this in the ‘canon’ of Before, where his life was just a story. His only true reference point was after the Massacre, of clan politics and malcontent with the village, but…

Everyone there was peaceful. Sure, they were often discussing the best ways to kill people, various techniques of employing genjutsu, ninjutsu, and the like, and many of them were actively trying to kill each other (or at least, looked like they did).

But there was also laughter, and food, and a general sense of community. The elderly folk tended to congregate around Fushima-sama to form cliques of chair-sitting observers, whilst some of the old war dogs would talk amongst themselves. The younger shinobi were tutored by the elder, and spars were had amongst friends, ending with one the victor but both as comrades.

He felt privileged to see it. It cemented his intense desire to prevent the future tragedy from befalling his clan, if anything. He wasn’t disregarded as being ‘too young’, at least after he’d become a regular enough presence that his fellow Uchiha knew what he was about, and although he was uncomfortable with conversation, his presence on the sidelines, watching spars and trying to learn all he could from sight, was accepted if not actively encouraged.

Although the really destructive fights were saved for the village’s larger training grounds, there were still plenty of opportunities to see dazzling jutsu used in interesting ways. Most common was Katon, although there were some Raiton and Doton jutsus used every now and again.

Kaa-san had had a late patrol and was sleeping off the effects, whilst Tou-san was on a mission. In-village, he thought, but a mission nonetheless.

He watched a spar between two teenaged Uchiha that consisted mostly of taijutsu, but at some point the two separated. There was a tense beat before,

“Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu!” one cried, and from his mouth he blew - well, the Grand Fireball, of course. Aozen was fascinated, because while he’d seen it before, he had never been this close (still several dozen metres away, but still) before.

He was too late to mimic it, but he ran through the hand seals for the jutsu anyway, having long since committed them to memory.

“Those are the hand seals for the Gōkakyū no Jutsu, are they not?” came a baritone voice from his left. He jumped, startled, and turned to see - oh. That was Uchiha Fugaku. Uchiha Fugaku who was clearly amused at his reaction. The man didn’t look particularly old, perhaps in his early twenties, but had a stern enough countenance to make up for it, no doubt preparing for later in life when he would be the Clan Head.

“I - er, yes, Fugaku-sama.” Aozen managed to say after a few moments to adjust, because he’d the man was not only particularly close, but also should have been visible in his peripheral vision before speaking.

Mentally, he scoffed. Shinobi.

(or maybe he was just inattentive and a child with absolutely no developed chakra sense)

“Hm. You are Kojuka’s son, are you not?” Fugaku inquired, looking at Aozen with an unreadable look.

Wasn’t this the guy they called… Fearsome Eye Fugaku, or something? Wicked Eye Fugaku? And he was making *prolonged eye-contact* with him?

“Yes, Fugaku-sama.” he said after a beat. Fugaku nodded at that, and looked out amongst the field.

The spar Aozen had been watching had since ended, the two participants being decent, but not at a high enough level to persist for several minutes. Shinobi duels didn’t last incredibly long, but man were they unbelievably cool to watch.

“Show me the hand-seals for the jutsu, Aozen-san.” Aozen blinked at the relatively formal address (weren’t four-year-olds all supposed to get the ‘-kun’ or ‘-chan’ treatment?) but merely nodded and did as asked.

He’d been practicing the seals for a few months now and, as Kaa-san had said, could almost certainly do them in his sleep. He was proud of the speed, but true to his promise (and out of fear of Kaa-san’s retribution, and also a little bit of not being sure how to start) had not yet tried to actually channel chakra into them.

“Have you performed the jutsu before?” Fugaku continued, still with that placid, unreadable expression.

“No, Fugaku-sama. Kaa-san said I had to perform and memorize all of the hand-seals before I was allowed to channel chakra.”

Fugaku seemed to find that amusing, judging by the slight upturning of his lips. “And one must always listen to their Kaa-san, mustn't we?”

Aozen didn’t quite know what to say to that, so he simply nodded and said, “Very much so, Fugaku-sama.”

“Hm. Well, I will leave you to your observations, Aozen-san.” Fugaku minutely inclined his head before turning, presumably to flit to some other conversation or clan heir business. Aozen had no idea what prompted the short swelling of panic at the sudden farewell, but it was that flare of panic that prompted him to speak.

“I have had them memorized for many months, Fugaku-sama.” He spoke quickly, and Fugaku aborted his motion to turn back to him, a single brow raised. “I -” he halted his speech. “How do I channel chakra?” he asked at last, deciding that because he was still young, he had the privilege of being blunt in some respects.

Fugaku gave him a distinctly appraising glance, and Aozen couldn’t help but focus on his forehead rather than his eyes.

“You believe you’re prepared to mold chakra into a jutsu?” Fugaku asked.

“No,” he answered earnestly. “But I would like to try. And - if you’re here, then you can make sure I do not do anything wrong.” Fugaku looked at him even more intensely at that, for several seconds.

The older-part of him in the back of his mind would perhaps have been inclined to start sweating then, but the four-year-old part of him was simply frustrated at his inability to progress and wanted to learn something cool.

“Alright. Let’s step onto the field.” Fugaku said at last. Aozen was so shocked that it took him a second to follow the older Uchiha forward, and when he did, it was with a smile.

He was going to learn how to use chakra! Maybe! The effort he’d put into *not* trying to use it during meditations or when bored at home was monumental - but now he might even be able to do a jutsu!

“Have you felt your chakra before?” Fugaku began evenly. Aozen nods.

“It feels like - looking at the sky when it’s just rained.” He said, perhaps the most eloquently he could’ve put it at his current stage. Fugaku purses his lips at that, but doesn’t comment.

“Good. You know the purpose of hand-seals; they focus and guide our chakra into the jutsu we wish to perform.” Aozen nodded several times; he knew this. Even though he didn’t know where the public library was, his parents had shown him the clan archives. At least, the parts he was allowed to reach.

“The hand seals do nothing if we are not reaching for our chakra at the same time. I presume you’ve meditated before, so you know what that’s like.” Aozen nodded at that, too. “Think of it like reaching into the energy inside you, allowing it to - hm.” He paused - maybe he was having trouble explaining it to a four-year old?

“It’s okay, Fugaku-sama. You can use big words. I know a lot of them.” he said matter-of-factly. He did. He had been very diligent in expanding his vocabulary, because he liked knowing big words.

Fugaku found that amusing, smirking slightly. “Alright. Think of it as directing the flow of your chakra through your entire body. The hand seals focus and narrow that energy towards a specific effect - but the intent behind the jutsu also determines its effectiveness.” Okay, he wasn’t actually sure he got *all* of that, but he understood the gist.

“Go through the hand seals slowly. Allow your chakra to flow. The Gōkakyū no Jutsu is exhaled through the mouth, so be sure to inhale in preparation.” Fugaku commanded, and Aozen complied.

He first regulated his breathing like both of his parents had taught him, closing his eyes in the process. It wasn’t second nature to him yet, but it had grown increasingly easy to reach that semi-relaxed state. He imagined it like he did the first time, metaphysically sinking through his body towards the base of his stomach, where his chakra rested.

It seemed to attract him from a distance, like magnetism, clinging to him once he got close enough. It was still staticky, but now felt less like pins-and-needles and more like a kind of buzzing, like the steady hum of a generator.

His face contorted into a version of his thinking face as he tried to hold onto that feeling. It wasn’t slippery, thankfully, though the buzzing did gentle a little bit as he tried to think about physical things.

The seals were no problem to think up, though: Snake, then Ram, then Monkey, then Boar, then Horse, then Tiger --

He felt a bit of pressure in his chest, and realised he’d forgotten to inhale, so he did just that, and then suddenly exhaled.

His breath felt a little hot, and the buzzing in his head faded. He frowned, which probably looked more like a pout.

Fugaku exhaled sharply through his nose in a manner similar to Kaa-san.

“Close, but not quite. The seals and chakra must be in-tune with your physical movements. Even with the seals, you have to know where the chakra is going, or else it simply builds up without release.” Aozen listened attentively. He thinks he understands.

It was a multi-step process, and all the parts had to be working together. Kind of like a machine. He wasn’t sure if he could focus that well, but he was absolutely willing to try.

He closes his eyes, reaching for his chakra once more. Having already been touched and primitively channeled, it was easier to find and hold onto this time.

He tried to imagine it like Fugaku-sama said, moving through his body, but this time in time with the seals. The buzzing didn’t decrease in volume this time. Snake, then Ram, then so on, and this time his chest got hotter but he’d already inhaled and -

He breathed out like he was spitting water, and a stream of smoke followed for perhaps half a second before it stopped and he coughed. The smoke dissipated after only a few seconds. Recovering, Aozen stared at the air in front of him.

“I - was that it?” He said, confounded, looking at Fugaku -

- who was smiling at him, not bothering to hide his amusem*nt. Aozen didn’t notice the intrigue in his gaze, nor did he notice the other Uchiha who were looking at him from afar.

“It was a start,” he answered. “A good one, considering your current level.” He paused a moment. “Perhaps you shouldn’t continue for today, however. I wouldn’t wish to take this opportunity away from Kojuka-san or Yuhoki-san, after all.” At his parent’s names, his eyes widened.

“I should go tell Kaa-san!” He almost immediately ran away before remembering that was impolite and turned to the Uchiha. “Thank you, Fugaku-oji-sama!” he rushed the words and the bow that followed it, before turning to hurry back home.

Kaa-san would be so proud! He’d kinda-sorta performed a jutsu!

(she would also be mortified in her own reserved way that her son had referred to the clan heir as his uncle, but Fugaku would simply be amused. Aozen was oblivious.)

========================================

Aozen was being moved up not one, but two years in the Academy. It had been a few weeks since he’d almost done the Grand Fireball with Fugaku-oji-sama’s help, and though both of his parents were indeed very proud of him, he was informed that he was absolutely, under no circ*mstances, allowed to practice jutsu (especially the Gōkakyū) inside the house, or without an adult present.

A small price to pay, really.

He recognised that his display at the training grounds probably had something to do with his sudden advancement, but really, the classes for first-years were easy enough to bore him to tears. With a new class, he’d probably be able to practice jutsu!

Mohira was heartbroken that his only friend would be going away. Aozen’s assurances that they’d still be able to work together at home in the compound were only somewhat mollifying.

Mohira was probably the next smartest in Aozen’s first class, aside from the Nara, but he wasn’t a genius. Then again, neither was Aozen, not really. He just cheated. At heart, Mohira was still a six-year-old boy who knew that Aozen was smart but wasn’t really comfortable with the concept of him leaving.

Aozen was sad because Mohira was sad, but knew he couldn’t really do anything about it. He promised to still train with him at the compound, and to teach him neat things he’d learn in his new class.

Which brought him to… his new class. His first year class hadn’t been too bad - even if he was definitely younger and a bit smaller than the other kids, it was only by a year or two.

He had, however, jumped *two* years. Which meant that he was still four years old, and most of his new classmates were eight. Double his age. They might even be double his size - he had no idea how tall eight-year-olds were supposed to be.

========================================

Very tall, apparently. Or at least, very tall compared to him. Being short was frustrating, and something he’d never had a problem with Before, where, although he wasn’t a giant, he was above-average in height.

He also was still four. Ugh. Could he turn five already? Would that fix things? Five was way better than four.

He wasn’t *bullied* per se, but taijutsu lessons were certainly interesting. They had never really sparred in his first year, only gone through some introductory katas and done a bunch of other physical exercises. It seemed that the third year was when they actually started sparring.

Of course, all that meant for Aozen was more bruises in addition to the soreness that normally accompanied training.

He liked to think he held his own, and it wasn’t like he got annihilated in every spar; far from it. The other students had much more training in the academy’s taijutsu style, so he simply had to make up for his weaknesses with his understanding of the Uchiha style.

The superior reach and strength of an eight-year old was difficult to overcome, though. He was just glad he never had to face the Hyuuga student. As had been said before, there was nothing gentle about their Gentle Fist style, even in the early levels of proficiency.

The academic curriculum became more intense. There were actual lessons on chakra theory, as well as more in-depth discussions of the Hidden Villages, which amounted to basically a class for politics. There was a fair bit of propaganda sprinkled in, insofar as Konoha was indisputably the most powerful of all the villages.

They were learning the Art of War and tactics, though only in broad terms. The teachers didn’t wish to scar the children yet, it seemed, because for all that the actual core of the lessons was about becoming a tool for the village, things were framed like stories; the Warring Clans era was but a distant memory, and they focused on exciting confrontations like the famed battles between Uchiha Madara and Senju Hashirama, as well as their brothers, Izuna and Tobirama.

Nevermind that he was pretty sure Fushima-sama had probably been born right at the end of those battles, and that Mikoni-obaa-sama had definitely known Madara and Izuna personally.

Regardless, even with the increased complexity of classes, academics were no trouble for him (nor had they ever been).

He remained something of an outlier in classes, as most of the other kids saw him as ‘too young’ to be friends with. They largely ignored him, which he was fine with; as long as he could still beat some of them in spars, he didn’t mind it. Being social wasn’t his favorite thing to do anyway.

The rest of the third year (still technically his first) passed quickly, and right at the end of the year, he turned five. Finally.

Over the summer, he learned that he was being moved up another year. Did this happen with everyone? He thought not. But hey, that’s fine. Not like he was still half of everyone’s age, or anything. Ten year olds instead of nine year olds. *He* was five years old now, at least, not that it appeared to make much difference.

Aozen tried to stay in touch with Mohira, but it was hard when every visit became something akin to a tutoring session. Not that Aozen minded teaching him things (he’d wanted to be a teacher in the Before), and he hadn’t been lying to himself when he said he wasn’t the most social of people, but…

Well, he missed his friends from the Before. He missed having normal conversations, too, with someone who actually understood him. He still spent a lot of time with Kaa-san, and Tou-san whenever he could, and they, at the least, didn’t treat him like a five-year old - but they were also his parents, and although he loved them very much, it wasn’t quite the same.

Aozen performed the Grand Fireball jutsu fully and properly at long last, having divined the feeling of the jutsu on his own time. He felt immensely proud of himself for having done it on his own, even if it took a long time.

There’d been no ceremony involved, as the performance of the jutsu was only an unofficial rite of passage, but his parents had been ecstatic.

It was around that time that Fushima-sama invited him and his parents to dinner.

It seems that his parents were prepared for this, because they presented him with a hakama that they’d recently bought. He had no frame of reference, but it was pretty nice. The top was blood-red, with the uchiwa emblazoned on the back, whilst the pants were the standard black. It was fairly plain in that regard, though it made sense not to spend too much money on something that Aozen would undoubtedly only outgrow.

His father dressed similarly, although his top was patterned and dark-blue. Kaa-san dressed in a pretty maroon kimono, patterned in plain flowers. They had made it very clear that to have dinner with the clan head was an important honor, and that he was to be on his best behavior.

Pft. As if he didn’t know how to *behave*. His parents had taught him by example how to have a proper formal Japanese dinner. Or, in this case, Konohan dinner. Plus, he was five, prodigy or not, so people would probably excuse any mistakes he made.

An unfamiliar woman answered the door when both of them arrived. The first thing he noticed is that she was *really* pretty, with thick black hair done up in an elaborate style. The second thing he noticed is that she looked vaguely familiar.

“Mikoto-sama,” Tou-san greeted, and both of his parents bowed their heads. Aozen quickly followed their example.

“Kojuka-san. Yuhoki-san.” Mikoto (!!) greets pleasantly, smiling prettily. She probably did most things that way, though. “It is a pleasure to receive you. Please, come inside.” She shifted away from the door frame to allow them entrance.

“It is a pleasure to have been invited, Mikoto-sama.” Kaa-san responded just as pleasantly.

“Please, come this way. The food is almost ready.” Mikoto-sama led the way, moving through the house with a grace he was quickly beginning to associate with a fully-trained kunoichi. His mother walked in a similar way, albeit with a more purposeful stride. Mikoto-sama was nobility, after all.

The clan head’s house was big, the biggest in the compound, but even so it didn’t take them long to get to the dining room.

Fushima-sama was already inside, sitting at the far end at the kamiza, the seat of ‘honor’. Fugaku-oji-sama sat to his left. He and Fugaku hadn’t really talked much since the man taught him how to channel chakra several months ago, but Aozen still admired him for it.

“Kojuka-san, Yuhoki-san. Aozen-kun.” greeted Fushima-sama, and it was the first time Aozen had heard him speak up close. The head of the Uchiha clan was old, enough for liver spots to have begun appearing around his face.

His eyes appear to have attained a permanent semi-squint, resulting in the crow’s feet beneath them becoming more pronounced. He had a small scar along his cheek and looked to be freshly shaven - but then, the same could also be said for Fugaku, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen an Uchiha with facial hair.

“Fushima-sama,” greeted Tou-san with a small smile - one of his real ones, Aozen noted. Mikoto went to take a seat next to her husband.

“Come, sit.” The man gestured, and the three of them obliged. Tou-san sat closest to Fushima-sama, across from Fugaku-oji-sama, whilst Kaa-san sat across from Mikoto-sama, and he was left furthest away.

A Uchiha woman younger than Mikoto-sama came in with a tray of food, followed by another with another tray. They quickly set up the dishes, which were quite an array of delicious looking food. He didn’t know if it would beat Kaa-san’s cooking, but he thought he’d enjoy it nonetheless. Drinks were poured; probably sake for the adults, but he only got water.

Once it was all set out, the five of them mutually looked to Fushima-sama, who nodded.

“Itadakimasu,” Aozen said quietly, but in the silence of the room was heard easily. Apparently that wasn’t something one said in a formal setting, because no one repeated it, and he thought he heard Kaa-san sigh very slightly.

“He is as polite as you said, f*ckagu.” Fushima-sama said, sounding amused. Aozen felt his cheeks blush and quickly went about eating his first dish, not looking at anyone else. Fugaku had mentioned him?

His parents and the clan head’s family exchanged pleasantries for the beginning of the meal, commenting on simple observations from the clan’s training days (Sundays), the state of the Police Force, and how everyone’s lives were going. Fugaku and Tou-san seemed to be familiar with each other enough to trade subtle, friendly jabs at one another. Aozen largely remained silent, as he didn’t really know enough to contribute. He mostly stayed at home.

“How are your studies going, Aozen-kun?” Fushima-sama spoke up.

“Very well, Fushima-sama. I am in year five now.” He paused. “I’m in the top rankings of my class.” He said, trying not to sound proud in hopes of it not turning into arrogance. Fushima-sama raises an eyebrow, though Aozen has little doubt he knew this already.

“Both Kagami-san and Hikaku-sama would be proud, I am certain.” Aozen minutely frowns, and glances at his parents. He knew of the name Kagami from his metaknowledge, but this wasn’t the first time he’d heard the name ‘Hikaku’, ostensibly in reference to him.

“Fushima-sama,” he begins, “who is - Hikaku-sama? Mikoni-obaa-sama says I look like him.” He can feel Kaa-chan stiffen up beside him, and he wonders if he asked the wrong question.

Fushima-sama raises his eyebrow again, and looks at his parents. “You have not told the boy of his lineage?” He tuts. He doesn’t give either of them time to respond when he looks back at Aozen. “Hikaku-sama is your father’s grandfather. He was one of Madara-sama’s finest commanders, among the strongest of them, and one of the final casualties of the conflict between our clan and the Senju.” Fushima-sama was too in control of himself to let his tone be anything but calm, but Aozen wouldn’t be surprised if there was bitterness behind that statement. Fushima-sama was old enough to remember those times, if only as a child.

“Oh.” he said, looking between all of the adults present. “He - sounds - nice.” He says, words halting because he wasn’t sure what to say. ‘Nice’ was his default descriptor in these kinds of situations.

Fushima-sama barks out a short laugh. “I don’t know that he was ‘nice’. But he was a fine Uchiha.” He looks at his parents, who seem to relax a little when Fushima-sama laughs.

“...then I am glad to be descended from him.” he says a moment later, because that sounded appropriate.

Fushima-sama ‘hrmph’d. “One should hope so.” he says evenly, and goes back to eating.

The somewhat tense (more awkward, really) moment passed, everyone went back to finishing their food, and small-talk continued until the meal was finished. At which point, Fushima-sama decided to speak again.

“Aozen-kun. Before you leave, come walk with me in the gardens.” He said, grunting as he suddenly stood. Aozen blinked in surprise, looking to his parents. They both seemed equally caught off-guard, but Kaa-san looked at him to offer a nod.

“Of course, Fushima-sama.” he stands, and rounds the table to follow the clan head, having no idea what he’d somehow gotten himself into.

The elder Uchiha led him through a set of sliding doors onto a porch, and then continued out into the well-kept gardens of the clan house. It was nearing sunset, with the sun providing just enough light to paint the sky a pale orange, casting a beautiful light.

Once upon the groomed path which winded its way through the gardens, Fushima-sama seemed content to adopt a much slower pace one would ordinarily expect of someone of advanced age, though he was quite certain the man could move much faster. One didn’t get to his age in the shinobi world without reason, after all.

Suddenly, the man lets out a hacking cough, surprising Aozen. The cough continues for several seconds before he clears his throat, shaking his head.

“Are - are you okay, Fushima-sama?” He asks hesitantly. The man waves a hand.

“Yes, fine. Simply a consequence of growing old.” the man mutters, and *here* was the bitterness he’d not shown earlier. He recovered quickly. “Do you know why I asked your family to dinner, Aozen-kun?”

Aozen considered this for several moments, recognising the change in tone and the fact that it was only the two of them. Maybe some Uchiha guards that he hadn’t the ability to sense, too, but that was beside the point.

“Is there a specific answer you’re looking for, Fushima-sama?” he decided to say. The man leveled him an unreadable look.

“How many did you have in mind?” he responds.

“...two. One that I think is the truth, and another that I think could be if you wanted it to be.” He says earnestly. They continue in their slow, shambling walk through the gardens.

“Tell me what you believe to be the truth.” he says.

“Okay. You wanted to see what I was like, because I am half the age of anyone in my year at the Academy, and a part of the next generation of the Uchiha, which is a part of your duty as Clan head.” he says earnestly. He avoids saying the word ‘prodigy’, because it still feels like a lie.

Fushima-sama smiles minutely at that. “Indeed, more or less. As clan head, it’s my duty to take an interest in all of the Uchiha and ensure their well-being and service to the clan. You are among the most promising of them.” Aozen doesn’t look at him, because he is uncomfortable with compliments. Instead, he thinks.

“I am the only one my age in the Clan - who is making this kind of progress. Otherwise you would also have invited them to dinner,” he deduces, looking to the elder man for confirmation.

“What’s to say I haven’t already?” Fushima-sama counters, and Aozen frowns. “Hmph. You are correct. You have peers, but they are only just entering the Academy or are a year away.” When Aozen doesn’t say anything, Fushima continues. “Does this make you feel lonely?”

He blinks, surprised at the bluntness of the question. In respect to that, he also decides to answer directly (not that he has any illusions about lying to both his Clan head and a shinobi who’s survived as long as Fushima has).

“A little,” he admits. “It is… annoying, to not have anyone around my age who I can have a conversation with. Adults either pretend I’m still a kid or are too weirded out to say anything.”

Fushima hums. They stop beneath a sakura tree, the blossoms of which have only just begun to appear.

“The life of a prodigy is a difficult one.” Aozen can’t help but wince at the word like it’s a curse; Fushima doesn’t notice. “Sometimes, it is difficult to fit in because other people cannot understand you. Have you tried looking for other kids outside of the Uchiha?” Fushima looks down at him and Aozen sheepishly shakes his head. Fushima harrumphs, and it almost turns into a coughing fit.

“Fugaku tells me that you have performed the Gōkakyū no Jutsu.” He continues. Aozen nods.

“Fugaku-oji-sama helped me get started, so that I could channel chakra. I figured it out eventually after that. It’s - tiring.” He may be one of the few (only?) five year olds who can perform a C-rank jutsu, but that doesn’t mean he has the chakra capacity to do it more than once, and not very big.

Fushima-sama chuckles. “He told me of this, too. Is that why you refer to him as ‘oji-sama’?” Aozen has the grace to blush at that.

“I - yes. He helped me, and he was nice.” It was weak reasoning, but… well, it was all he had. Fugaku-oji-sama *was* nice, and he had never seemed angry when Aozen called him that. It felt right.

“And what of me? Am I ‘nice’?” the elder questions amusedly. Aozen considers.

“Yes.” he decides after a few moments. He looks up at him. “...if you want, you can be Fushima-ojii-sama¹.”

Fushima-sama barks a laugh at that. “How gracious of you. Very well, since you offered, I will accept.” Aozen isn’t quite sure why it’s so funny, but it works out.

“...okay, Fushima-ojii-sama.” he says, shrugging.

“Come, Aozen-kun,” Fushima-ojii-sama says, clearly still amused, “we should return you to your parents for the night. You’ve indulged an old man enough.”

And so they did. It was, Aozen thinks, pretty… nice.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Aozen turned six just after graduation from Year 5. Tou-san baked him a cake, Kaa-san made his favorite meal (oden and miso ramen), and there was a small party. Well, relatively ‘small’; it seems, like his second birthday, that this was a cause for others in the clan to be invited over to their increasingly cramped home.

Aozen was getting used to playing up his childness to lower people’s expectations in conversation, so that he wasn’t stuck talking to… anyone, really. He ducked out at one point in the night to sneak away with Mohira and another Uchiha kid named Ryota to play ninja without parental oversight in the compound.

Of course, when both of his parents are shinobi, ‘playing ninja’ becomes ‘hide-and-seek’ very quickly, and then a really intense game of tag where the losers have to do chores.

(The kids lose, everytime)

Aozen had been unabashedly badgering both of his parents for a new jutsu for weeks, and so, as a birthday present, they presented him with a scroll for the Shunshin and promised to train him.

Needless to say, Aozen was ecstatic. *This* was the jutsu that had been the source of all of those fun rides through the city when he was a kid! Er, when he was a younger kid. Over the next few days, Kaa-san and Tou-san both (Tou-san said he’d be in-village for a whole month this time!) helped him along with it.

As it turns out, channeling chakra into one’s legs in an attempt to move quickly was fairly easy to mess up. His best efforts still only amounted to a dozen metres’ distance and a bit of stumbling. His worst involved an almost-broken nose, and Kaa-san giving very stern lectures to him, because he’d been practicing without their watchful eye.

A few weeks after his birthday, he came home from a regular morning of training.

“Ao-kun?” came his dad’s voice from the kitchen. Aozen frowned.

“Tou-san?” he called back. “Weren’t you on patrol?”

“I got off early. Come in here and look at this!” Aozen shrugged to himself and set his bag of training supplies off to the side, to be returned to his room later.

He went into the kitchen to find his Tou-san inspecting what looked to be a bonsai tree. Aozen had never actually seen one in person before in either of his lives, but he could recognise one when he saw it. Tou-san looked to him as he entered, smiling broadly in general happiness. Around him were some tools - not shinobi tools, but what looks like gardening tools: clippers, a small hand shovel, a bottle of some unfamiliar amber liquid.

“What do you think?” Tou-san placed his hands on his hips, looking between Aozen and the tree.

“It looks pretty,” Aozen said earnestly, “but I don’t know anything about bonsai trees.”

“Aha!” Tou-san lit up, more animated than Ao had ever seen him. “But you know it’s bonsai. This is a Juniper tree. Grab some chairs and bring them in here.” Confused but intrigued, Aozen complied. Sitting down, Tou-san seemed a bit calmer, but still veritably buzzing.

“Where did you get this?” Aozen asked.

“I was on patrol earlier when a caravan from the Land of Iron came through the market district. I saw that they had this, and it looked neglected. I had to get it - and luckily, Fugaku let me off early since it’s been a slow morning.” Aozen blinked.

“Neglected? But - it looks fine.” Everything was pretty much green, and it seemed like… well, bonsai. Curved trunk, and stuff. Maybe some dead leaves. He’d always liked the aesthetic of bonsai trees.

Tou-san merely chuckled. “When I was a boy, still in the Academy, my kaa-san - your obaa-san - started teaching me about the art of bonsai.” Tou-san was looking at the bonsai tree, turning it around and fiddling with the orientation of some of the branches. Aozen listened attentively; he’d never heard much about his grandparents on either side.

“Kaa-san was a civilian, but your ojii-san loved her very much. Tou-san taught me many things about being a good shinobi, but it was my kaa-san who taught me how to be a good person, and that began with the art of bonsai. Now, I think it’s time for me to pass down some of those lessons to you.”

“Really?” Aozen was smiling. “That - that sounds cool!” Moreover, it sounded special. Sacred. A family tradition, and he was just now being let in on it; he’d never really had any family traditions before. Tou-san was smiling right back.

“Let’s start off. There are many different styles of bonsai - this one is a moyogi style tree. A curved, upward trunk. The first thing one does when presented with a bonsai tree is figure out which side is the front…” and on it went.

As Tou-san explained, Aozen listened in rapt fascination. On the surface, bonsai was simply another kind of gardening, but it required a lot of attention to detail, aesthetics, and maintenance. Together, he and Tou-san discussed all the different possible design options, and what would be required for each one.

Once decided, Tou-san began pointing out just what qualified this juniper as ‘neglected’. The roots were flared and open to view, as though it were slightly uprooted. There were some dead branches, and a layer of dead bark in some places. One of the branches of the tree hung out too far backwards, which Tou-san said would weigh down the tree and was probably one of the reasons for the root being so exposed.

There were some small weeds in the tree’s pot, which Tou-san pulled. He pointed out how some of the lower branches were competing for light, which wasn’t healthy, and went on to explain the difference between mature versus immature branch structure.

Using his clippers and explaining as he went, he pruned the excess and unhealthy parts that were immediately obvious. He left some deadwood behind in places, emphasising that much of the bonsai was about the aesthetic.

“My kaa-san had a lesson for everything, and all of it could be equated to bonsai,” his Tou-san told him. “With the branches, we saw that some of them affected the tree negatively. Not all growth is positive. Despite this, we clean up this deadwood and leave a little bit behind, because it contributes to the overall appearance of the bonsai. Just because something is considered ‘bad’, does not mean it has to be.”

Aozen absorbed the information like a sponge, paying more attention than he ever had in any Academy lesson. He resolved to write down his Tou-san’s words later, so he could come back to them whenever he was in a deep thinking mood.

“And even so…” he said, breaking off a branch, “when we see what it is that is holding us back, we fix it by removing it. Sometimes, this is the only way.” Aozen considered this as his Tou-san continued.

“Now comes the boring part.” Tou-san removed what looked like a scalpel from a small pouch. “Removing the dead bark.”

Tou-san showed him the proper technique for doing so and what to look for, whilst Aozen felt like he should be making notes. Despite that feeling, he was absolutely certain that he’d never forget a second of this.

Finding the dead bark was relatively simple, and from there they moved onto removing the actual dead tissue of the tree. He was shown the difference between the white, living tissue and the faded dead tissue as Tou-san gave him a scalpel and allowed him to diligently scrape away, pointing out spots for him.

“To care for a bonsai is to be patient, my kaa-san always told me. I was never as good of a student as you, so I was a little more restless.” Tou-san chuckled, and Aozen laughed along with him.

It wasn’t arduous so much as it was tedious, but Aozen was determined to dedicate himself to the task because… well, it was peaceful. Calming. It took a long time, sure, but in that time there was only him, his father, and his task of scraping away at the bonsai.

Tou-san went on to apply what he called ‘lime sulphur’ to the now-exposed parts of the tree, explaining that this would keep the tree’s tissue healthy and preserve it. That, too, was delicate work, using a small brush on tiny branches and limbs, whilst dealing with the aroma. Lime sulphur stank.

“Now, we set it here and let it dry. Tomorrow, we can go back to work on it. Apply the wire and get it on the way towards its final shape.”

“How long will that take?” Aozen asked, curious.

Tou-san cast him a knowing glance. “Applying the wire itself will take a couple hours, and from there the wires will stay on for a year or two until the branches have set.” Aozen gawped and Tou-san laughed. “Trees can live for hundreds of years, you know. They’re not like you children, who sprout like weeds.” Tou-san patted his head.

“That’s - that just seems like a long time. A lot of waiting.” Aozen resisted the urge to pout. He wasn’t *impatient*, necessarily, but he generally liked to see the results of his efforts not soon after the effort was actually put forth.

“Patience, Ao-kun,” Tou-san said, and then laughed even louder at the withering glare Aozen shot his way (which, for a six-year old, was probably just cute instead of debilitating). He reached forward to ruffle Aozen’s hair again, and though he tried, Aozen couldn’t help but laugh back.

It was a very good day.

========================================

From his vantage point on a tree branch thick enough to allow him to comfortably sit, Aozen pondered the Uchiha training on the field without really seeing them. He was in one of his thinking moods, you see; having just gotten a grasp on the tree-walking exercise after a few hours of frustrating but ultimately fruitful practice, he thought he deserved a break.

He’d be graduating soon, he thought. They were into the new year, the middle of March, with only a few months left in the school year, and then he’d be…

What? A genin? Well, hopefully. He didn’t know what it was to ‘master’ a jutsu, even the Academy Three, but he was as proficient with them as he could be at his level, he thought. His Grand Fireball was now of consistent size (not very big, but he was pretty sure his chakra capacity needed work for that) and form, and he’d been working on his chakra control in order to make further progress on the Shunshin.

Looking back, perhaps the Academy Three could take some looking at. Acquiring new jutsu wasn’t really going to be possible, since any jutsu information was restricted to genin and above, and his parents wouldn’t give him any others. He was lucky they gave him any, honestly.

He thought that maybe people had a habit of overlooking the first three jutsu most shinobi ever learned because they were supposed to be simply and introductory. Surely one could do more with them, though… he’d give the matter some thought later.

His marksmanship scores with shuriken and kunai were above-average at the least (he was being humble; the only one better in his class was a kid named Mino who was a deadeye with a senbon), he had the highest ratings in taijutsu (even besting the Hyuuga!), and, in light of his recent training, probably had better chakra control than most academy students.

His academic scores were a non-issue, and he didn’t think it was boastful to say it took little effort to remain at the top position in his class (again, only because he was technically cheating).

...when you lay it all out, he can see why people look at him funny. That didn’t mean he had to like it, though. He *hated* arrogance, and boasting just made him uncomfortable. The resentful looks from some of the other students when he, a kid roughly half their age, outperformed them. It wasn’t like he was trying to put them down, or anything, he just… he could understand things in a way they couldn’t, so it was natural that he had the advantage.

He had no idea who his sensei would be. Would it be possible that one of the Sannin would take a team (or another one, in Jiraiya’s case)? What about Minato? Or perhaps he would be treated like a normal genin (which wasn’t that bad of a thought at all) and put on a team with a normal Jounin?

The only prominent Jounin he really knew of was the original Ino-Shika-Cho trio, and he had no memory of them taking a genin team in canon. Of course, that didn’t mean much, because while Jounin didn’t grow on trees or anything, in a city as big as Konoha, there were doubtless hundreds, if not thousands, of Jounin he’d never heard of.

He sighed. It wasn’t useless to speculate, but he had so little information to go on that he doubted he’d reach any kind of reliable conclusion.

Regardless, once he had a sensei, he would hopefully be able to make actual strides towards specialization.

Which brought up another point: what *was* his specialization? What did he want to learn?

The Uchiha propensity for genjutsu sprang to mind. He knew how to spot basic ones and dispel them, but the Academy didn’t teach their students how to *cast* one. Probably a good idea, although it’d be interesting to see what an imaginative student could come up with.

He didn’t have a Sharingan though, and as of yet, he didn’t have any plans for getting one. The experience sounded rather painful, honestly, and though the whole ‘see chakra and copy jutsu’ thing sounded really nice, the ‘traumatic experience with bleeding eyes’ thing kind of didn’t.

He could still learn it without the Sharingan, though, and he thought that was definitely worthwhile.

He’d always pictured himself as a frontline fighter. He had never been one for stealth, and it probably would’ve been worthwhile to start already if he wanted to specialize in assassination.

He *really* wants to learn kenjutsu. It may be born of a boyhood fascination with swords, but he’d actually done really well in their introductory lessons during Year 5, and there’d presumably be more in his final year.

Kunai and shuriken and ninja wire were all well and good, but something about a sword just seemed powerful to him. Combined with a ninja’s speed…

He was fairly certain his chakra nature was Lightning. All of their lessons on chakra theory stated that one’s chakra nature and the ‘feel’ of one’s chakra often reflected one another, and he didn’t know what to associate ‘staticky yet energetic’ with except for lightning.

A lightning affinity and a sword sounded pretty damn cool. Not just cool, but useful. In his past life, he’d thought about what elemental magic would be like (he’d been a writer in his spare time, if you’ll recall).

Wouldn’t it theoretically be possible, if one’s chakra control was fine enough, to send enough electricity into someone’s body such that their heart would stop? Or even just a heart attack - or to cause muscle contractions, or to paralyze someone. Shaking hands with someone could mean death.

The fact that no one had done it yet probably meant that it was inordinately difficult.

What about fuuinjutsu? There were three sealing masters he knew of still alive, and all three were, at the moment, fairly unreachable. His only sealing experience was with basic storage and explosive tags, and some manipulations therein. Seals had an incredible amount of utility, though, and were really only limited in application by the ingenuity of their creator.

If Minato’s hiraishin had been made commercially available in a place that *wasn’t* characterized by excessive amounts of war, violence, and incredibly powerful people, it might revolutionise industry. Caravans would be unnecessary, because goods could be transferred in an instant. Bandits would be a concern of the past for the same reason. Quick and instant communication between villages across the continent would become a reality.

...but Minato only used it to win a war.

Not that Aozen could blame him. The key phrase there was ‘war, violence, and incredibly powerful people’. If the seal was used in those fashions, then you would have people as fast as Minato everywhere, even if they weren’t as skilled. Teleporting ninjas with Stockholm syndrome for their respective villages.

He sighed mentally. It was certainly safer to restrict one’s thoughts to the life one was almost guaranteed to live. The fact that Madara saw casting a genjutsu on the entire world the only way to achieve true peace was - well, outrageous, but telling.

Even in the canon, after the Otsutsuki’s had been defeated, it was mainly Naruto’s incredible power which guaranteed the other country’s compliance and peace. Power, and in some form, fear, in the Elemental Nations, seemed to be the most effective motivator. But was it the only one? It bore thought. He had no idea what hand he’d have in events to come. He could die on his first mission.

What kind of shinobi was he going to be?

Pacifists didn’t really survive in this world unless they had the strength to defend their ideals nonlethally. If there was one thing he’d learned from the Academy, it was that humans are unbelievably easy to kill. Each shinobi had the strength to send a senbon, a *tiny needle*, into the heart of another shinobi, or stab a kunai into the base of their spine, or kick them hard enough to break their neck; all of these and more could kill a man instantly. That wasn’t even to mention injuries which could kill an hour after they were administered.

Needless to say, Aozen, six years old and not yet graduated from the Academy, was not quite powerful enough to be a pacifist (a statement which was boggling in its irony).

And yet… he didn’t know how he felt about killing.

It was easy to say a multitude of things about killing: that you would never do it, that you could do it easily, that it wouldn’t bother you if you killed only terrible people; the fact is, no one knows until they do it. Aozen had never killed before. It was almost a certainty that, should he make it to genin and enter the war, he will have to kill out of necessity.

Was there something he was *supposed* to feel about that? Should he feel comfortable about it, because it’s an inevitability? Should he resign himself to it? Was it already justified - because he couldn’t see himself killing a fellow Konohan, and the situation would almost certainly be self defense?

Another sigh, aloud this time. As Shikamaru would put it -

“Troublesome,” he murmured.

He supposed the easiest way to think about it is that he has no way of knowing or contemplating the truth until he has experienced it, which includes war. He can already see his preconceived notions of morality, born of a world without widespread war which has experienced true peace, coming into conflict with this one.

But, it’s where he’s living, so he must live.

The path forward will clearly not be simple, let alone easy, but he’s already begun making changes. By virtue of proximity, he’s garnered attention from both Fushima-ojii-sama (who he still isn’t sure existed or was named in canon) and Fugaku-oji-sama (who he had thought was supposed to be a hardass, but as it turns out is pretty nice, if intimidating). He’s in a position to influence them both, and through them, the fate of the clan.

Perhaps that may be all that’s needed to change things for the better, but he suspects not. The biggest factor is Obito, who will probably be entering the Academy soon… which is a mildly alarming thought. Maybe he’d have to look out for the mission to Kannabi Bridge, since that was supposedly where everything went downhill.

After Obito and the clan, the next biggest point of contention would be the next Hokage. If Obito doesn’t ‘die’, then Minato and Kushina will have no issues surrounding Naruto’s birth, and Minato never has to die to seal the Kyuubi.

He wonders if Orochimaru would still leave the village. Actually, he wonders *when* Orochimaru leaves the village. After the next war, presumably. Aozen had always assumed that losing the hat to Minato was the final straw, and without anything connecting him to -

Oh. There was Danzo, wasn’t there?

Danzo was almost certainly going to be a problem. He groaned and leaned his head back against the trunk of his tree.

“Thinking too hard, Ao-kun?”

Aozen started and nearly fell out of the tree at the distinctive voice of his mother coming from his left. He looked over after he recovered and, sure enough, she was standing there in her mission fatigues - not, he noted with some satisfaction, in any state of injury.

“Kaa-san!” He cried, both in consternation and happiness at her sudden arrival. “You’re back! Please don’t scare me like that again, I could fall and die.”

Kaa-san looked at him and her mouth twitched upward; the real amusem*nt was in her eyes, which danced with mirth. She pursed her lips.

“Shinobi don’t fall. They -”

“- execute emergency controlled descents. That still doesn’t change the fact that you tripped on the front steps.” He stuck out his tongue at her. She sniffed, affecting to be unbothered.

“I was coming home from a mission late at night and I was tired.” They stared at each other a moment before Aozen giggled and Kaa-san smiled. He jumped from his branch to hers, and she caught him, wrapping him up in a hug.

“Missed you.” He murmured into her vest, and she squeezed him.

“Missed you too.” She responded, then let him go. He shuffled back on the tree limb they were balanced on. Their tree, like so many others in Konoha, was a Hashirama tree, albeit one of the smaller ones. It supported both of them easily.

“What were you thinking about?” Kaa-san asked once they’d settled. Aozen resisted the urge to sigh.

“Nothing nice.” he responded earnestly.

“Sometimes those are the things that need *talking* about, instead of just thinking about. Do you want to talk about it?” Kaa-san inquired gently. Aozen considered for several moments.

“What… is your attitude about killing?” Aozen looked over at her. Kaa-san made an ‘ah’ noise and leaned back against the tree. She looked more casual than Aozen regularly saw; of the two of his parents, Kaa-san was far more in line with the Uchiha notions of grace, poise, and decorum than Tou-san.

Rather than dissuade him from a clearly uncomfortable topic, Kaa-san gave the question the consideration Aozen thought it deserved. She almost always did that, and Aozen loved her for it.

“I’ve learned that there are degrees of killing.” She said at last. Aozen focused on her words. “There are many reasons to kill, but in the end it boils down to a few things: you can kill to protect, kill in retribution, or kill for pleasure. As shinobi of Konoha, we strive always to only kill to protect. As people, however, sometimes we may end up killing in retribution. One should never, ever kill for pleasure.” Kaa-san’s look turned sharp at the end, and Aozen nodded.

“It’s not as easy as that, though.” He said, and she sighed.

“No,” she agrees, “it isn’t. For a shinobi, killing can become very easy. Often, people become desensitized to it as a way of coping. For Uchiha, it’s even worse.” Aozen blinked at that, tilting his head; did she mean the Curse of Hatred?

“Always remember your Will of Fire, Ao-kun.” She reached forward to grasp one of his hands in hers, and with her other she smoothed back his hair, studying his face intently. “Always remember why you fight, and make sure it’s for the right reasons.” Caught off-guard but the gravity of her gaze, Aozen could only nod.

“I will, Kaa-san.” he promises. She smiles at him, then leans forward to kiss his forehead.

For a moment, just a moment, he wishes he really was Aozen in mind and spirit. Kids weren’t supposed to understand the pain in their mother’s gaze when they told them that; weren’t supposed to be able to intuit the fears behind their warnings. But instead, Aozen knew exactly what she was afraid of. All he could do was take the promise into his heart and keep it safe and whole there.

“Now, come on. I’m tired, hungry, and you can help me cook.” Kaa-san changed track quickly, but the mood change was effective. Aozen brightened, smiling; learning to cook sounded fun!

“Okay!” He chirps. They hop out of the tree to head home.

========================================

His Year 6 class remained mostly the same, which Aozen was grateful for. Hyuuga Hiroto from last year, his closest competition in taijutsu, remained in his class, as did Mino, who he still didn’t know the clan of.

He was somewhat disappointed to see that classes remained mostly the same, and a lot of it was reinforcement of the most basic shinobi skills. Caring for and handling all the weapons a shinobi may handle, ninjutsu and genjutsu theory, strategy and tactics. There were going to be some finance classes, which he disliked intensely but knew was probably technically important, since as genin they could legally be counted adults.

It was looking to be an uninteresting year, and it was beginning to grate on Aozen that he couldn’t find much else to learn. Free time was spent at either the Uchiha or Academy training grounds, endlessly drilling katas of both of the Uchiha and Academy styles, practicing bukijutsu (he had obtained a wooden katana for practice and was putting it to full use), running through hand seals, trying to hone the Shunshin (he hadn’t fallen on his face from the Shunshin in weeks), and practicing tree-walking (he *had*, however, fallen on his face off of a tree).

That was, of course, until week seven of class.

“Everyone, we have a new student in class. I would like for you to make him feel welcome.” He looked up at Daisuke-sensei’s call, peering around the student’s sitting in front of him to see the newcomer.

“Introduce yourself,” he heard Daisuke-sensei say. He then heard a sigh.

“My name is Hatake Kakashi.” came the high-pitched, monotonous introduction. Aozen caught full sight of a boy even smaller than he was, features hidden behind a face-mask and a shock of white hair sticking up from his head. Even with the mask, he could tell that he looked bored.

Aozen couldn’t help it: he laughed. He stifled his laugh immediately, because no one else had said anything and it was clearly audible. He tried to turn it into a cough, because he hadn’t wanted to be impolite, but the damage was done. Looking back up, Kakashi had clearly fixed his gaze on him. Aozen went back to his journal.

Hatake f*cking Kakashi was in his class. How utterly absurd. He was *tiny* - probably even smaller than Aozen! Wasn’t he supposed to be five or so? An actual prodigy in his own right, unlike himself. Though Aozen was sure not to show it, focusing inward after that awkward moment in his introduction and tuning out Daisuke-sensei’s lecture because it was doubtless something he’d heard before.

What did this mean for the story? The Second Shinobi War had not yet ended, and yet he *knew* that Kakashi was on Team Minato during the *Third* Shinobi War.

Surely it wasn’t possible that the timelines had somehow been changed simply by his existence. Had Kakashi been born at a different time? Earlier than he was meant to? If so, Aozen’s plans were in serious trouble. The implications were so alarming that he elected not to consider them at all, because he didn’t fancy panicking in the middle of class.

Despite that, his mind continued to run for the rest of the lesson, and he wore his thinking face for the majority of it. Thankfully, Daisuke-sensei had quickly tuned into the fact at the beginning of the year that Aozen didn’t really have to pay attention in class to get top grades, and so he was uninterrupted.

Their class broke for the physical portion of the day’s lessons. It was much easier to focus on stretching and running laps than on his thoughts, so he did just that. When he tuned back in, Daisuke-sensei was announcing pairings for spars. Their training grounds had enough room for four pairs to be fighting at once, and evidently Aozen had missed the first two.

“Enomoto Ren against Imada Satsuki,” he said, naming two kunoichi-to-be and pairing them off in one fighting circle. He’d seen the both of them fight before and didn’t think it would be a particularly impressive showing, but he kept the thought internal.

“Uchiha Aozen against Hatake Kakashi.” Daisuke-sensei continued. Aozen blinked, then smiled and exhaled sharply through his nose, amused at his particular brand of luck. Of *course* he’d be fighting Kakashi. Why wouldn’t he be?

He walks over to the dueling circle and finds Kakashi staring very intently at him, eyes narrowed. Aozen blinks in response. It would probably be intimidating if Kakashi was several years older, but at this stage Kakashi was just a chibi, even if he was a prodigy one.

Aozen makes the one-handed spar sign with his left hand, bowing his head as he does, as he was taught by his father and reinforced by the Academy. Kakashi mirrors him, still with a look in his eye that Aozen doesn’t know how to interpret.

Daisuke-sensei looked around to ensure that everyone had maintained a proper etiquette. The other students who weren’t sparring were eagerly watching on, whispering amongst themselves.

“Begin!” Sensei calls, and Kakashi blurs into motion.

Aozen hadn’t expected such ferocity right away, but figured that Kakashi at this stage was probably the type to take everything as completely serious.

Chibi-Kakashi was very fast, but for once Aozen was fighting someone the same size as him (relatively) where he’d been used to having to dodge most attacks to avoid getting summarily flattened. This time, Aozen could block instead of parry with his arms.

Kakashi didn’t waste any time, though, hooking the hand he was supposed to be punching with around the blocking arm and making to hook his leg behind Aozen’s knee and toss him to the ground.

Aozen started to fall forward, but used his free hand to dart forward and grab Kakashi by the upper arm. He twisted his upper-body to stay facing his fellow kid and lifted, intending to either take him down with him or simply throw him overhead.

Kakashi jumped, abruptly freeing Aozen from his embrace. Acrobatics weren’t his strong suit, but he could do a few flips like any self-respecting shinobi. They weren’t supposed to perform any jutsu in these spars, so he elected not to shunshin out of the position.

He would naturally be landing off-balance, and Kakashi was going to take advantage of that since he’d landed first. The Uchiha style was a very aggressive style, however, with an emphasis on vicious counterattacks. A right cross at his face was pushed aside, a knife-handed jab at Kakashi’s throat the response.

Kakashi ducks. Aozen notices he's not guarding his face but is instead employing a looser middle guard. He anchors himself on his front foot and pivots as Kakashi is coming back up; the boy brings up his right arm to try and catch the strike but his arm is too close to his face, and instead of stopping or redirecting his foot, only some of the force is absorbed while the rest of Aozen’s kick strikes him directly in the jaw.

He is sent back with the blow, but because of the block Aozen’s own footing has been somewhat disrupted, and he has to spin and recenter himself before continuing. When he does recover, he sees Kakashi holding the side of his face, evidently shocked.

“Alright, I’ll call -” Daisuke-sensei begins from the side, but he is interrupted when Kakashi blitzes him - fast! - and drops down to swipe at his feet. Aozen barely jumps over the strike, but Kakashi is coming back for another strike at his solar plexus on the uptake. Aozen’s used to defending attacks from above and fighting a smaller, arguably faster opponent is making him second guess himself.

He forms a cross-guard and swipes his hands downward to block the strike, but he’s a little too slow and Kakashi’s fist still impacts him solidly. He ‘ooft’s, some (but not all) of the breath being driven from him.

Kakashi follows with a horizontal snap-kick, but Aozen is used to fighting the Hyuuga, who has a predictable tendency to follow-up his more devastating punches with a kick. He’s ready to trap Kakashi’s leg under his right arm, then throw it upward.

Kakashi, of course, does what Kakashi does and gracefully backflips with the momentum of the throw. He once saw an Uchiha kunoichi uppercut her opponent in the jaw in boots in a similar move; he’s very glad Kakashi doesn’t do that.

“Enough!” Daisuke-sensei calls, using the lull to step in between them. Aozen blinks and realises that he’s grinning, even if he’s breathing a little harder due to the punch in his chest. He looks across at Kakashi, but the boy is still in a fighting stance and looking at him, breathing a little heavier too. “That was a little bit harsher than it should have been, boys. I understand you’re both eager but that’s not an excuse to attempt to cause real pain.”

Aozen frowned. Wasn’t that the whole point of spars? That was a very short fight. The only other spars that had been stopped were with him and Hyuuga Hiroto (there was nothing gentle about his Gentle Fist style). If it was Tojiro-sensei he might’ve been able to laugh it off and call him a party-pooper or something, but Daisuke-sensei was a teacher through and through, and a stickler for rules to boot. He schooled his face into neutrality.

“I’m sorry, Daisuke-sensei. Kakashi-san.” He bowed his hands to both and stepped forward, offering his hand in the reconciliation seal. Kakashi looked at him, at the proffered hand, then at Daisuke-sensei, before he ‘hmph’d and responded with his half of the reconciliation seal.

“Maybe we can spar again sometime.” Aozen continued, throwing in a smile for good measure. Because honestly, if ever there was an answer to his boredom, this was it, and it was, furthermore, a perfect opportunity to make more connections. He’d fix this story if it killed him, damnit.

Okay, well, maybe, circ*mstances considered, he *shouldn’t* make such a strong vow, but it got his point across.

Kakashi fixed him with a look but didn’t respond, and they separated back into the crowd - both of them on opposite edges, because neither of them had friends amongst their class. Aozen was content to watch the rest of the spars continue and wait for the rest of the day to unfold.

========================================

Aozen sparred once more against Mino, who he learned at the same time was actually named *Shiranui* Mino. The revelation shocked him so much the boy managed to hit him in the face before he could retaliate. He decided that the implications of there being another Shiranui he’d never heard of were enough that he’d wait until later that night to consider them.

Kakashi sparred against Hiroto and put on a good showing before beating him; the Gentle Fist seemed to surprise him for a little bit before he regained the upper hand. Aozen kept that in mind.

They broke for lunch thereafter, and then came back for a lecture on Small Unit Tactics. This was one of the subjects Aozen actually paid attention to, because his prior life wouldn’t help him for anything except comprehension. The class was still full of 12 year olds, so it wasn’t like it was particularly high-level, but tactics weren’t very common in the Before, to say the least.

When class was dismissed, Aozen glanced around for Kakashi but couldn’t see him. He shrugged to himself, a little disappointed but unsurprised that it would take more time, and waited for the rest of the class to file out before he did, so he wouldn’t be trampled by the rest of them.

It was only once he exited the Academy proper that he felt something to his right that made him tense, snapping his head to the side to see…

“Did you mean what you said?” Kakashi himself was standing, arms crossed, off to the side of the entrance. He blinks and steps closer so he doesn’t have to yell over the din of escaping Academy students.

“Of course.” he says easily; the only time they really spoke was in the spar, and so there was only one thing Kakashi could be referring to. “Hyuuga Hiroto has too much of an ego to practice with me outside of class, so I don’t ask. No one else is - no one else has the training to match my own.” He rephrases his words to avoid belittling the other students. He still has no wish to sound arrogant.

Kakashi narrows his eyes, trying to figure him out, if Aozen had to guess.

“You laughed at me when I introduced myself.” He states, almost accusing. Aozen considers.

“I guess I did. It was more at the situation, though. I never expected to have a classmate younger than me. I found it funny.”

Kakashi stares at him for a few moments before some tension Aozen hadn’t noticed before seeps out of him. They’re both silent for a while longer. Aozen grins at the realization.

“You’re not good at social stuff, are you?” Kakashi grunts, as much an answer as he was likely to get. “That’s okay. I’m not either. When in doubt, be blunt.”

(That was a terrible idea, and his mother, who had been *trying* to teach him Uchiha manners, would no doubt smack him upside the head if she heard it)

Kakashi considers this before speaking, “Training ground seventeen, three-o-clock tomorrow.” He shunshins out of sight in a puff of smoke.

“Woah. He knows the Shunshin.” Aozen said to no one - the students who had just witnessed it and were now staring, he guessed. “Cool.” Then he himself shunshins away, taking the rooftop path towards the Uchiha district, smiling all the while. This was *great*.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Aozen deftly ducked under a kick from Kakashi that would’ve scrambled his brains (seriously, the boy was five, how was he so *strong*?) and then slipped into Shunshin to dodge the follow-up back-kick that probably would’ve knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Doton: Doryūheki!” is his only warning before a small earthen wall shoots towards him like an impromptu battering ram. He Kawarimi's with a nearby twig out of the way, only just in time to avoid it and springs back to his feet.

Training with Kakashi was simultaneously one of the best and worst decisions he’s ever made.

On the one hand, his taijutsu has gotten loads better and more refined, now that he has a dedicated partner who can reliably give him a challenge, if not beat him outright. His Shunshin no longer needs hand-seals and he’s getting much better at fine-tuning the chakra necessary, so it’s less and less wasteful.

On the other hand, he wouldn’t *need* to use the Shunshin is Kakashi wasn’t so damned vicious. The boy was clearly an actual, proper, no-holds-barred prodigy, doubly evidenced by the fact that he’d just managed a chakra-intensive Doton jutsu without prior warning.

“What? Doton!?” He squawked, trying to recover his breath - he was gratified to see Kakashi was doing the same. Wasn’t Kakashi’s chakra nature lightning!? “When did you learn that?”

“Tou-san taught me,” Kakashi said, and Aozen could feel a small grin coming on.

“Unfair,” he cried. “It’s *on*, now!” He made to slip into Shunshin once more, and Kakashi tensed, no doubt expecting a high-speed attack, but instead Aozen rushed past him to where they’d dropped their supplies off before starting their training.

He snatched the wooden training katana from its position next to his pack and got into the Uchiha ready position, then sprinted at Kakashi. He probably could’ve shunshined, but he didn’t actually know how far his chakra reserves went and he had no desire to get chakra exhaustion while finding out.

Kakashi was immediately on the offensive, focusing more on dodging and evading than responding in any way. This wasn’t surprising; with no blade of his own, blocking wasn’t really an option. The sword was entirely blunt, so there was no danger of being cut, but being hit by a dense wooden stick still hurt - as evidenced by the grunt Kakashi managed whenever Aozen managed to hit his forearm.

Kakashi shunshined several metres back and Aozen almost followed on instinct, but Kakashi threw out his hand and several (hopefully blunted) shuriken flew towards him. He raised his sword in an instinctive block and caught one shuriken on it by pure chance, but one impacted just above his knee and another flew dangerously close to his shoulder. The last one impacted the ground in front of his foot.

The both of them stopped, breathing heavily. Kakashi had managed to hide the shuriken but still held no kunai or other weapon, and Aozen still had his practice katana. Even so, the odds on either of them winning were still relatively even, maybe slightly skewed in Aozen’s favor.

With another breath, he lowered the katana, forming the spar sign instead of walking all the way over to do the weird - in his opinion - reconciliation sign. Kakashi returns it after a moment, completing their unspoken ritual.

“That was our best fight yet,” Aozen says, smiling despite the fatigue. That was the first time either of them had drawn other weapons or jutsu, despite that not having lasted long.

Kakashi relaxes at last and nods a few times, catching his breath. They’ve been training together for over a month now and Kakashi usually prefers not to talk where possible. He thinks it may be something to do with him viewing Aozen as a rival, rather than a friend, just yet, because he’s seen Kakashi meet his father after classes and he’s always ecstatic and eager to talk. It’s pretty adorable to see, honestly.

Aozen doesn’t mind the silence, because it’s not like Kakashi is unresponsive, he just doesn’t talk sometimes. He suspects that most people don’t realize the difference. He also thinks that being with someone who doesn’t talk much had made him a little bit more talkative to make up for it, or maybe it’s just that he hasn’t really had someone to talk to for a while.

“Your kenjutsu is getting better.” Kakashi says as they walk towards their bags. Aozen brightens.

“Thank you. Fugaku-oji-sama has been giving me tips.” Fugaku is in-village for the foreseeable future; his left arm is in a sling, so it must have been a mission gone wrong. He tries not to talk about the war where possible, because he can tell it’s getting bad - even Tou-san is showing some of his fatigue whenever he’s home. “What was that jutsu you used?”

“Doton: Doryūheki.” Earth Style Wall. Aozen makes an interested noise.

“Your dad taught it to you?” Kakashi nods. “Does that mean you know your chakra nature?”

Kakashi shakes his head. “I asked Tou-san enough and he showed it to me.” There’s something faintly amused in his tone, and Aozen snickers.

“That’s how I got the Shunshin. Nothing elemental, though.” He says, only somewhat disappointed. The Shunshin *was* really cool. He wonders why more people don’t use it.

“Don’t the Uchiha have a lot of fire jutsu?” Kakashi asks. Aozen’s pleased with the question; considering his earlier inner monologue about Kakashi not talking much, this is going rather well.

“We do. I know one, but it’s one that all Uchiha know, so it’s not super special. Plus, it’s a lot of chakra.” The both of them plop down next to their things, pulling out water and snacks. “The Gōkakyū,” he adds, because he can practically sense Kakashi’s curiosity.

“If Doton isn’t your nature affinity, what do you think is?” Aozen asks a moment later. Rather than shrug it away or immediately answer, Kakashi seems to think about it.

“I don’t know.” he says at last, and he sounds a little frustrated.

“Hm. Boring.” Aozen returns, not meaning it in the slightest. “Boring’s not allowed.” he continues matter-of-factly.

Kakashi doesn’t splutter, but it’s a near thing. “Well, what’s yours?”

“Lightning!” Aozen declares proudly. “Or at least, I think so.”

“You think so?” Kakashi repeats. “Don’t you have to get it tested?”

“Well, yes, technically, but also no.” He responds. Kakashi fixes him with a look that says ‘Why are you the way that you are?’. Aozen laughs. “Well, my kaa-san taught me how to meditate and feel for my chakra when I was younger. It feels like what I imagine lightning does.”

Kakashi frowns and crosses his arms, leaning back against the tree they were sitting under. Aozen waits until he asks to say anything. He does so several minutes later, after they’ve both finished their snacks (protein bars, nothing fancy. his mom had refused to let him bring any ramune or morinaga).

“How do you meditate?” Kakashi asks. Aozen is mostly surprised that he’s managed a jutsu that’s not even adjacent to his nature affinity without really meditating on his chakra. Maybe it was an Uchiha thing?

“Well.” Aozen begins, thinking. “In some way, all shinobi can feel chakra, right?” When Kakashi nods, he continues. “Even if we’re not sensors, we know what chakra feels like, at the very least when we use it. But the chakra doesn’t just *appear* whenever we form a jutsu, it’s always there. Meditation is a way of feeling it and getting used to it when it’s latent.” He shifts to face Kakashi.

“Is it possible to train yourself into becoming a sensor?” he asks.

“Hm. I’m not sure. I don’t see why you couldn’t - sensing is just a muscle, although I doubt trained sensors will be as good as natural-born ones. I’m pretty certain I’m not a sensor, for what it’s worth.” Only occasionally he’d get a little inkling of some feeling before someone approached him, usually his parents, but he put that down to some instincts finally developing.

“...okay.” Kakashi says after a moment’s thought. “How do you meditate?” he asks again.

“Get comfortable.” Aozen is sitting cross-legged, with his hands in his lap. After a beat, Kakashi mirrors his pose. “Regulate your breathing and close your eyes,” he says, trying to remember back to the time when Kaa-san first showed him how to do this. “Think about what it feels like when you’re performing a jutsu, with chakra flowing through you. That chakra has to come from somewhere - follow the thread to your center. It should be in the bottom of your stomach.”

Sometimes Aozen will explain these things to himself to make sure he really understands them, just another facet of his habit of talking to himself. A worthwhile habit, apparently, because he doesn’t have to search too hard to find the words for Kakashi. The boy’s smart anyway, he should be able to get it fairly quickly.

...or so he thought. After a minute, he opened one eye to see Kakashi breathing in a steady rhythm, eyes closed, so he goes back to doing the same. After another couple minutes, he looks again to see Kakashi visibly frowning, even through the mask.

“Uh, have you sensed anything yet?” He tries delicately. Kakashi grunts and opens his eyes.

“No.” he says, sounding distinctly annoyed. “Every time I try to follow the thread, it gets… blurry.” Aozen frowns.

Meditation wasn’t *truly* a sensor technique, because his mom had made it sound as though it was a fairly normal thing for a shinobi. Maybe…

“Try channeling chakra to your hand? Just a little, so you can actively feel where it’s coming from.” He suggests.

Kakashi holds up a hand and within a few seconds it’s glowing a stark white. They both stare at the hand; Aozen imagines if he had his Sharingan, it’d look fascinating. It still did, honestly.

Suddenly, Kakashi stiffens and the chakra around his hands fades. He stares at it, looking confused.

“Did you feel anything?” Aozen inquires.

“Pins and needles.” Kakashi responds, and Aozen brightens.

“That’s what mine felt like!” He’d only had the words for it in English back then, but he knew what it was now, and in more depth. “That’s your chakra. Kaa-san tells me that knowing your own chakra helps you channel it easier. Like getting to know yourself, I think.”

“It’s weird.” Kakashi says, still staring at his hands.

“Yeah,” Aozen agrees, “but it’s also nice. It’ll come easier the more you practice - we can add it to our training sessions, if you like.”

“Yes.” Kakashi immediately agrees, the prospect of something not coming easily to come no doubt wanting to be overcome. Aozen beams. Perhaps he could badger him into showing him that Doton jutsu.

========================================

The room was full of over two dozen students, and yet it was startlingly quiet. Had they been year two students (or even year three students - year four, maybe, on a bad day) this would have been no small miracle, but instead these were year six students at the very end of their tenure.

Each of them were awaiting their name to be called into the examination room, where they would take the final and arguably most important portion of their exam: the practical ninjutsu showcase.

The majority of the students were clearly nervous, occasionally whispering to someone beside them, biting their nails, or bouncing their leg (*Kami* was there ever a lot of leg bouncing).

Aozen wasn’t worried in the least, however. He’d had the Academy Three mastered for what felt like years by now. The written exam had required little effort on his part, and if he’d gotten anything but top marks on the physical examination, he’d probably have committed seppuku on the spot.

The only difficult part was the waiting. He *knew* he was going to pass, there was no way he wouldn’t, and yet with every minute that ticked by there was some wriggling form of anxiety that tried to settle into his gut to yell at him. They’d mixed up the groups who would be taking the exam too, so he didn’t even have Kakashi to talk with since he was in another room.

One by one, people were called into the room. None exited, presumably leaving the other way so that they wouldn’t gossip about what the test was like or feel the shame of their fellows if they happened to fail the test.

The population in the waiting room had dwindled down to half when one of the examiners, an unfamiliar female that he thought might’ve been a Nara but wasn’t sure.

“Uchiha Aozen.” She called, and Aozen stood. He walked into the room and she closed the door behind him, before walking back to her seat. The exam room was just a repurposed classroom, with most of the chairs gone or pushed to the edges of the room. Miscellaneous items were on some of the remaining tables, like pencils, pens, stacks of papers, an empty backpack. He could guess at their purpose.

“Hi, Tojiro-sensei,” Aozen greeted the only familiar proctor with a smile. The Nara woman sat beside him, and another person Aozen placed at twenty years old at best was the third examiner. He bowed his head to them both.

“Hey, kid.” Tojiro-sensei responded with a small smile of his own. “You ready to start?”

“Hai, sensei.” he returned.

“Alright. If you would, Henge into a person or object of your choosing for me.”

Aozen nodded and formed the requisite hand-seals. With a slight puff of smoke, he turned into a replica of Kakashi.

The Henge wasn’t incredibly complicated at heart, which was why it was chosen for the Academy. The chakra cost was very low, and all it really took to increase the effectiveness of the jutsu was one’s focus. In this case, Kakashi was very close to his height and build, if a bit shorter, so there was little transformation necessary on his body.

Other things however, like his hair, required a bit more effort: Kakashi’s hair was wild, stuck straight up, and white, while Aozen’s hair was longer, straighter, and brown. If he wasn’t careful, his hair could look like a botched dye job, or a haircut gone wrong. He found that it wasn’t terribly difficult to capture things like the material of clothing or the feeling of skin, as those kinds of details just came naturally to him in his mind.

The third proctor that Aozen didn’t know stood to inspect him more closely, before nodding.

“Turn into that chair.” The proctor demanded in a thin, reedy voice, pointing across the room. Aozen obliged.

Inanimate objects were more uncomfortable but sometimes easier since people normally didn’t pay as much attention to individual objects. Well, people might not, but shinobi usually did.

Transforming into a wooden chair made him feel rigid and stiff, and he was thankful when the examiner took only a few seconds to observe before nodding his satisfaction. Aozen released the jutsu and transformed back into himself.

“Kawarimi with something in the room.” The Nara woman requested in a smooth alto.

Aozen formed the seals. With all of his practice, he’d narrowed down the five seals to three, and he was certain he could do better if he focused on it. The more he got used to the feel of a particular jutsu, the easier it was to instinctively shape his chakra towards it without the use of hand-seals.

Aozen chose a pencil on the desk behind the proctors to replace himself with. They all three turned to examine his new location just as the pencil hit the ground. With the same three hand-seals, he Kawarimi’d with the same pencil again, now in front of the examiners. Turning back around, Tojiro-sensei favored him with a smirk.

“Cheeky brat.” He said aloud, which only made Aozen beam.

“Now it’s just the Bunshin part, right?”

“If you would be so kind,” the Nara teacher drawled.

Aozen was, in fact, so kind. He created two copies of himself on either side of him, then made a small show of the three of them checking the others out and finding them satisfactory.

“Do we pass?” All three of him said in unison. The Nara blinked, Tojiro-sensei’s smirk widened, and the third proctor seemed a little surprised.

“Yep. Congratulations, kid.” Tojiro-sensei stood, and took from the back of his belt what Aozen was sure would become one of his most prized possessions: a hitai-ate headband with the Konoha symbol engraved on it. “You are now a fully-fledged ninja of the Leaf, granted the rank of Genin.”

Aozen took the hitai-ate, stared at it, then turned up to Tojiro-sensei with a smile that he was sure was positively blinding (he’d learned it from his Tou-san).

Tojiro-sensei scoffed, then took a small note from a pouch on his belt and handed it to Aozen next. “There’re instructions for where and when to meet your new Jounin-sensei. Now scram.” Tojiro-sensei gestured to the door behind him, but he was clearly only joking.

“Thanks, Tojiro-sensei, Proctor-sensei,” Aozen bowed his head to all three of them in turn then scurried out of the room.

Aozen tuned out his surroundings (a terrible thing to do as a shinobi, but he was in the Academy and excited because he’d just graduated) and immediately tied the hitai-ate around his head, pushing his bangs out of the way and relishing the feel of it. Next, he opened the letter he’d been given.

It was just a card, really, and on it were the words, “Meet at Bunrachi’s, Akimichi District, Monday, 12:00 PM.”

It was more straightforward than he was expecting - and come to think, was a letter normally how things were done? He thought there was a whole thing about people in a classroom with a teacher announcing the genin teams to everyone, then they met up with their sensei. Had he made that up in his head? Or was something actually different?

He decided that it didn’t matter, because he was going to meet his sensei and his teammates eventually. What was most important for the moment was informing his parents. He rushed out of the Academy, employing liberal use of the Shunshin to reach home as fast as possible without injury.

========================================

Aozen didn’t eat out often, or really at all. There were some holiday occasions where his parents would take him out, but for the most part Kaa-san either cooked or they were taken to one of the restaurants inside the compound. This one was in Akimichi Plaza, and so was presumably owned by the Akimichi. He’d never heard of it before, but if this was where his prospective sensei wanted to meet, then so be it.

With his new hitai-ate, he was getting a bit more attention than he had before. He hadn’t been wandering the compound very much, but the few times he’d walked around town before he was generally just seen as a kid, not immediately placeable as an Uchiha and so not immediately remarkable.

Now, though, people gave him looks; neither good nor bad looks, mostly ones of curiosity. Probably because he still hadn’t hit any kind of growth spurt (which was frustrating, to say the least) but was clearly a shinobi. People generally moved out of the way, and he got a few nods from older Shinobi, probably Chuunin, which was pretty neat.

He compared the instructions on the note in his hand to the restaurant in front of him, deemed them comparable, and then walked inside.

“Hello!” came the bright voice of the hostess behind a podium after the front door. “Ah, shinobi-san.” she amended, apparently not surprised in the least by the hitai-ate.

“Um, hello. I’m supposed to meet my team here. Is there a table reserved?” Was he early? He didn’t have a watch, so he couldn’t tell.

“Hm…” the hostess, a cute woman probably in her mid-twenties, gave some paper in front of her a cursory glance. “It doesn’t appear so, but if you wish, I can show you to an empty table so you can wait for your team to arrive.” She smiled.

“Um. That would be alright, yes.”

“Okay!” she chirped, probably with false cheer. He had yet to meet anyone that was genuinely that happy, but maybe he was just pessimistic. She led him through the restaurant to a table against the wall. Aozen thanked her and took a seat, positioning his chair such that he could look at the rest of the restaurant with his back to the wall.

It was a good thing to be early, he decided. He’d have time to order his food and maybe get it by the time his team arrived, and possibly also to think.

The Akimichi District held some of the most popular restaurants in Konoha, so it didn’t necessarily indicate that his sensei was going to be from that clan, though it was a point in their favor.

If he was being apprenticed or put on the team of someone special, he thought that there’d probably have been more fanfare, or at least a meeting at Hokage tower, or something like that. Instead, he’d just gotten a note.

The odds were favorable that he was just being put on a regular genin team, which… would probably be fine. He liked the progress he’d made, and graduating at seven was much better than at twelve, but maybe it would be beneficial to slow things down a bit? Having a team would be pretty neat, too. Working with Kakashi had shown him how much fun it was to grow alongside someone.

He glanced down at the menu, and, finding a lot of unfamiliar options, decided on something safe; sukiyaki with a side of yakitori and miso soup. No waiter had come to serve him yet, though. He turned his attention towards the rest of the room. It was lunchtime, so the place was about full, though he saw a few empty tables.

People-watching was a fun activity, and valuable for a shinobi. The more he observed people being candid, the more he could tell when something was out of place, though he had no illusions about his powers of observation thus far being anything but above-average, at the very best.

This continued for a minute, before he frowned. A woman sipped her soup and almost dropped it. This was the third time she had done this. He glanced about, towards the entrance. Come to think, he hadn’t actually seen anyone enter in a while, which seemed out-of-place for a popular restaurant at lunch time.

Considering this for a few more moments, he raised two fingers to his lips and whispered, “Kai,” whilst flaring his chakra like he’d been taught at the Academy.

There was a strange sensation, like walking through a wet curtain, before he blinked. The restaurant was different, he noted immediately: the woman who had almost dropped her soup was no longer at her table, though the man she had been eating with was. One of the tables at the end of the restaurant was full but had been empty a moment ago.

A genjutsu.

“Not terrible, pup. There’s room for a lot of improvement, though.” came a warm male voice from his right. He looked across the table to notice that the other seat was occupied.

The man had a Konoha hitai-ate and a wealth of white-blond hair that was pulled into a ponytail yet still managed to fall past his shoulder to where Aozen couldn’t see. He was smiling slightly, an expression he seemed to make a lot judging by the clear laugh lines etched beneath his cheekbones. His eyes were almost as dark as a Uchiha’s, swirling with a similar intensity.

He wore the standard Jounin vest and gear, with the addition of a half-sleeve of white over his left arm. The sleeve had red fire along the edges and an Uzushio spiral emblazoned on it.

“Good to see you again.” The man continued, amused. “We were never properly introduced, but Kakashi’s told me all about you. My name is Hatake Sakumo. I’ll be your Jounin sensei.”

…

What.

Hatake Sakumo? Father of Kakashi? Who he’d seen and waved at several times as Kakashi left from class

“The White Fang?” he said blankly, still trying to process the man in front of him. Said man smiled more, enough that his eyes crinkled.

“Ah, some people call me that. It’s just a moniker.” He waves a dismissive hand in a good-natured fashion, still watching Aozen very closely, but Aozen was busy thinking.

Sakumo was alive?

Hadn’t he killed himself at the end of the Second Shinobi War, or something like that? But - no, that didn’t make sense. He would absolutely have known if Sakumo had died, would have been witness to Kakashi’s grief firsthand, for better or worse.

So Sakumo probably was forced into committing suicide sometime… soon? Or, maybe the Second War was ending? Did it happen in the Third? Urgh - he simply didn’t know enough.

Except… Sakumo had never had a genin team in canon. Jounin-senseis didn’t go on those types of missions. Does -

Can he make sure Sakumo never dies? The thought is instantly appealing, and not in the least because it means Kakashi would never have to deal with that trauma. If Kakashi never loses his father, then he would have no reason to abandon Obito and Rin at Kannabi Bridge in favor of the mission.

“Oh, dear. I wonder if the genjutsu was too strong.” came Sakumo’s voice, jolting him back to reality.

“S-sorry,” he managed, trying to regain control of himself. “I was thinking.” A bit too deeply, apparently.

“Is that something you do often?” Sakumo cants his head, still perched casually in his seat. He hadn’t moved since Aozen realized he was there.

“I try to. Er, just thinking, not zoning out.” Sakumo hums at that. “So - so you’re my sensei?”

“That I am.” He answers evenly. Sakumo didn’t appear threatening in the least, and indeed, his easy smile was beginning to relax Aozen. He knew that Sakumo was supposed to be one of the most powerful ninja in Konoha, though. He tore himself away from the man’s gaze nonetheless, looking out across the restaurant and trying to think more actively.

“...that was clever.” He decides to say.

“Oh? Whatever do you mean?” Sakumo was clearly searching for something, because he had thus far made no attempts to direct the conversation anywhere.

“You put the genjutsu over me to see how long it would take me to notice, and also to see how I act while I think I’m alone. A public place, a restaurant, to make me feel relaxed. I’m… surprised you didn’t wait for my teammates to arrive, though.” Sakumo merely listens, though one brow ticks upward at the end.

“Huh. They don’t tell genin anything, apparently. Nice observations - except, you don’t have teammates. I’m your Jounin-sensei, and you’re my apprentice.”

...well, lunch was just full of surprises. Aozen takes a second to digest that.

“Did you pick me?” He asks.

“No,” Sakumo says easily. “Sarutobi-sama,” the Hokage, he guessed, “did that for me. But I’m free to pass or fail you as I see it.”

“Oh.” That made sense. “...so this is all part of my genin test?” Normally, only the three-man genin teams had tests from their Jounin-sensei, and as far as he knew most of them were based around teamwork. He couldn’t exactly form a team with just himself.

“In a way,” Sakumo-maybe-sensei nods. “The genjutsu was a spur of the moment decision, to see what you’d do and how long it’d take you.” Aozen winces; it was probably a few minutes, an eternity in the shinobi world. Sakumo chuckles. “Not to worry, pup. That was probably the first time you’ve ever been under one outside of the Academy, right?” Aozen nods. “What tipped you off?”

“Some people began repeating actions in the same way. A lady almost spilled her soup three times. No one was entering the restaurant, but it’s lunch time. And… the hostess didn’t seem surprised at all to see me.” Sakumo canted his head again.

“Why wouldn’t she be?”

“Well… this restaurant is probably shinobi-owned, or at least receives shinobi.” He looked to Sakumo-maybe-sensei for confirmation, and he nodded. “I get the impression that I’m a little irregular as far as new graduates ago, with the whole ‘half their age’ thing. I’ve been getting weird glances all day. She didn’t bat an eyelash.” Sakumo’s smile had grown a little wider.

“Not bad. Those are solid observations, and ones I’d not typically expect of most fresh graduates.” Aozen can feel a flush rising up his neck. “It’s a decent start, but I haven’t decided yet. Tell me about yourself.” Ugh. Aozen dislikes that question. He decides to go with the basics.

“My name is Uchiha Aozen. My favorite color is green. My favorite thing to do is learn.” He says, looking up at Sakumo expectantly; if he didn’t ask any deeper questions, Aozen wasn’t going to know what to say.

“Favorite thing to learn?” Sakumo inquires without missing a beat. Aozen considers.

“I would say jutsu, but I haven’t learned enough to really say they’re my favorite. The thing that I want to learn the most is kenjutsu.” Sakumo’s expression shifts at that.

“What’s your strongest subject right now?” He continues.

“Academic or for a ninja?” Aozen asks.

“Are the academic subjects not for ninja?” Sakumo returns.

“If you asked a kunoichi whether she’s ever used flower arranging in an actual mission, I bet you would get the answer.” Aozen retorts, resulting in a sudden bark of laughter from Sakumo. ‘Bark’ is the right word, and he has to remember that the Hatake family has the dog summoning contract. Nonetheless, it’s a warm sound, and Aozen finds himself smiling alongside his maybe-sensei.

“Point. Both, then.” Sakumo says once he recovers.

“Reading and writing, then taijutsu.” He answers immediately. He’d say math for the first one, but he didn’t really like math, even if he was good at it.

“How many jutsu do you know?”

“Five. The Academy Three, the Shunshin, and also the Gōkakyū no Jutsu.” Aozen responds.

“Ah, yes, the Uchiha tradition,” Sakumo comments. “What do you do in your spare time?” He blinks at the sudden shift.

“Train.” he says, a bit lamely.

“Just train? Alone?” Sakumo raises a brow.

“No,” Aozen shakes his head, “I train with Tou-san when he has time, and Kaa-san if she’s in the village. Uh, also with Kakashi, as you know. I’ll also hang out with another Uchiha named Mohira sometimes. I met him my first year at the Academy.” Sakumo is an attentive listener, at least.

“Just the two, no others?”

“...I don’t need any more.” he says, only slightly confused. Kakashi and Mohira were enough; any more might be a little exhausting. “I have a bonsai tree my Tou-san gave me and showed me how to take care of. Other than that… yeah, train. I like making progress.” he finished, perhaps a bit lamely. He resisted the urge to fidget. Sakumo purses his lips, considering a moment.

“Do you have any long-term goals?”

Aozen’s brow furrows. He does, but they wouldn’t make any sense to anyone else and he wasn’t trying to out himself as having reincarnated just yet. Maybe ever.

“I think being a Jounin would be nice.” He says.

“Hm. Just being a Jounin for the sake of being a Jounin? Training for the sake of training?” Sakumo questions, and Aozen can’t help but think he’s a little disappointed, despite his expression not changing. He frowns, and considers this for several moments.

“Have you ever - felt like the future is - uncertain?” He says, speech halting as he tries to find the right words. Slowly, Sakumo nods, watching him closely.

“I dislike not knowing what’s in store for the future,” he continues. ”The - the big future, not like tomorrow or next week. I feel like it’s out of my control. So I train and try to learn, so maybe, one day, I can determine my future. And… and make sure my people are safe.” It was becoming increasingly clear that his presence alone was changing many things, and the future was becoming increasingly murky.

Sakumo considers this whilst looking at him. “Your clan?” He inquires. Aozen shakes his head.

“Yes, but - not really. My people. I don’t know who all of them are yet, but I’ll find out.” That includes his clan. It probably includes Konoha, too. But, while he knew there were definitely bad people in the rest of the world, there were good people, too. And they were probably worth saving, right?

“That’s very noble of you, Aozen-kun.” Sakumo says with an unreadable tone of voice. Aozen ducks his head, and Sakumo doesn’t say anything for a few minutes more. In the meantime, their food arrives; Sakumo must have ordered his when he came in.

“Oh!” Aozen says suddenly, though thankfully not very loud. Sakumo glances at him. “I thought of a goal.” The man across from him raises an expectant brow. “I want to be a good enough shinobi to wear long hair in combat.”

He’d gotten his hands on an old painting of Hikaku, his father’s grandfather, which revealed that his hair, which was already past his ears and reaching for his jawline, would continue to grow to length. That was, if he took after his great-grandfather, but everyone already said he did.

Long hair was a well-known liability in combat for most shinobi. His mom always wore hers in a tight bun while on patrol, and his dad usually had his cut to around his ears, maybe a little longer, and wore it tied up besides. However, powerful shinobi, like - well, actually, like all three of the Sannin and probably the man in front of him, were skilled enough to account for such a weakness in combat.

Sakumo chuckles for a good few seconds.

“Is that so?” He says; Aozen nods after another moment’s consideration. “Alright. I can work with that. You pass.” Aozen blinks.

“...really? The conversation was the test?”

“Yep. I had to make sure you were teachable, compatible, all that.” He smiles warmly, in a manner reminding him of tou-san. “Now, eat up and we’ll go to the training grounds. I’ve tested your personality, we’ll have to see how much help you need on your ‘ninja skills’.” Aozen brightens.

“Okay, Sakumo-sensei,” he responds, and begins to attack his food with renewed vigor.

(he would come regret that enthusiastic decision a few hours later, when he was throwing all of his yakitori onto training ground thirteen after Sakumo-sensei made him run laps for what felt like hours)

========================================

“I’m home!” he calls once he trudges into his house. He throws his bag by the door and takes his shoes off, placing them on the designated mat.

Walking in, he glances around. Kaa-san didn’t respond, but he knows she’s supposed to be home, so she must be catching up on her sleep. He stops once he passes the dining room. A single chair is on its side. He’s exhausted but even so his hackles are up, and he walks closer to investigate.

There’s an opened scroll on the table. He looks around, wishing he knew how to sense, then steps forward to read the scroll.

Regret to inform…

...Uchiha Kojuka…

...course of his duties…

...was confirmed to have been killed in action.

He drops the scroll but sees the words still, over and over, for they’re etched into his memory.

He stares at the wall but sees the words still; his eyes bleed.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

He goes to sleep in a daze, succumbing to exhaustion.

It’s only the next morning that he goes to the bathroom to see the trails of dried blood on his face. He washes it off furiously, and he only sees them again for a moment before he blinks and they’re gone. He doesn’t consider what the blood might mean - refuses to.

He walks to his parent’s door and stares at it, unmoving, for what feels like hours, but it could’ve just as easily been minutes.

He opens it, as quietly as he dares. It’s completely dark inside except for the sunlight which pushes against the shades. From it, he can see the silhouette of his mother on top of the bed, curled into a ball.

He listens: her breath comes slow and steady. She’s sleeping, then. That’s good.

He steps inside to reach up and grab the blanket which had been shoved aside on the bed, and gently lays it over Kaa-san. She doesn’t even stir.

He leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

He walks into the living room to find the chair still on the ground and the scroll still on the table. He fixes the chair and rolls the scroll up without looking at a single word, ignoring the imprint of black ink that imposes itself over his vision.

He doesn’t think that it should be thrown away, so he finds a drawer and puts the paper inside. Glancing at the cabinets with pots and pans and the fridge with ingredients for breakfast, he finds that he isn’t hungry in the slightest.

Unsure of what he was really doing, he turns to walk towards the entrance of the house. As he does, his gaze halts on an object in the living room: a juniper bonsai.

It had been repotted and the green of its leaves had intensified. The dead leaves had all been snipped away and the dead branches were left behind as a part of the aesthetic of the tree; bonsai was, after all, an art form. It hadn’t been watered yesterday, he knew. He doubted it would be watered today.

He continues to walk to the front door. He slips his shoes on and exits. The sun has only just risen; it must be around seven AM. Some Uchiha were up and about, mostly shinobi, but they were few, and most were asleep. He walks towards the gates of Uchiha-ku. People may be looking at them, but he’s paying them no attention.

He walks instead of using the Shunshin for quicker travel. He couldn’t say why, because he didn’t even think he had a reason. He was just walking.

Getting to training ground thirteen took nearly forty-five minutes at the simple pace he was walking. Konoha’s population wasn’t incredibly large, but the city itself was.

There’s a short bridge over a stream leading to the beginning of the training ground. He stops at the end of it, staring at the expanse of flat ground and trees surrounding it.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way, he thought to himself.

He feels so many things at once, with such intensity that it’s beginning to feel like nothing at all. He stares at the ground and then the trees in confusion because he doesn’t believe they’re real; how could they be real, when he doesn’t feel real.

“Good morning, Aozen-kun. Nice to see you’re here early, if a bit surprising.” Sakumo’s voice comes from behind him, and within a few moments he’s beside him. Aozen looks up at him, expressionless.

“Hello, Sensei.” He says blankly. He continues to stare, and notices distantly his sensei frown.

“I see you’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Did you forget to change?” It was, maybe, an attempt at a joke. Aozen looks down at his own clothing, then back up at Sensei.

“Oh. I didn’t notice.” he responds earnestly. He hadn’t.

“Is everything alright, Aozen?” He asks, brow furrowing in concern. It takes him a few moments to be able to answer.

“There was a scroll in my living room. ‘From the office of the Hokage’, it said.” He could recite the entire letter if he wanted to. He doesn’t.

“Okay…” Sakumo says, watching him carefully.

“It said my father was killed in action.” He continues. There is a pregnant pause before Sensei drops down to one knee. Aozen watches.

“Where is your mother, kid?” Sensei asks. Aozen thinks he looks like he wants to put a hand on his shoulder, but doesn’t for some reason.

“She’s asleep in her room. I put a blanket over her so she wouldn’t be cold. I don’t know if she’s awake now.” Sakumo stares at him for a few seconds. Aozen stares back.

“Okay, Aozen, we’re going to go visit your mother. Is it alright if I carry you?” He asks gently; Aozen nods. He doesn’t mind. Sensei picks him up and he obligingly wraps his arms around Sensei’s neck; he’s warm, and Aozen’s only just noticed the morning chill.

The blur of Shunshin is distantly familiar, even second-hand as it was. Sensei can go a lot further than he can in one jump, because it’s not long before they’re stopped again. He recognises the ground over Sensei’s back as being in front of the main gates of Uchiha-ku. Sensei talks with the gate guards for a few moments, but Aozen doesn’t care enough to listen.

Aozen’s house isn’t far from the front gates, in one of the first rows of houses in the residential section of the district. He doesn’t know how Sensei knows where to go, but he can tell they’re going the right way even so.

“I’m going to put you down for a moment and go talk to someone, Aozen - is that alright?” Aozen shifts to look around, and sees that they’re in his living room. He looks back to Sensei. Sensei’s eyes are dark, he notices, like an Uchiha but more earthen. They fit him.

“Yes.” he answers, delayed by a few seconds. “That’s alright.” Sensei sets him down on the sofa.

“I’ll be right back,” he assures him, and then he disappears into Shunshin. While he’s gone, Aozen stares at the bonsai tree a few feet away.

He doesn’t know how much later it is when the front door opens. Three people enter; first is Sensei, who crosses over to one side of the room. Next is an unremarkable Uchiha male that Aozen’s never seen before, who glances at him and quickly averts his gaze before heading down the hall.

The last is Fugaku, who crosses over the living room and kneels down in front of him. There are scratches on his face that look to have happened recently, and a bandage peeks out from his long-sleeved shirt. He’s favoring his left side.

“Hello, Aozen-kun,” Fugaku says with a small, tired smile.

“Hi, Fugaku-oji-sama.” Aozen greets politely.

“How are you feeling?” Fugaku asks. Aozen tries to think, and then gives up. He shrugs.

“Yeah?” Fugaku continues. “I can understand that. Do you know what’s going on?” He asks. Aozen looks down the hall.

“Who was that?” He decides to ask.

“That was Kaede. He’s your mother’s partner in the Police Force. He’s here to talk to and help her.” Fugaku answers. Aozen nods in understanding; that made sense.

“You’re here to do that for me, then.” He looks back to Fugaku, who only nods.

“I am. Your Sensei brought me here.” Aozen looks over his shoulder at Sakumo-sensei, who’s standing with his arms crossed in front of the dining room table. Aozen doesn’t want to look at the table, so he focuses on Sensei’s hitai-ate.

“Thank you, Sensei,” he says, because it’s polite. Sensei’s expression is unreadable.

“Happy to help, Aozen-kun. Do you want me to stay here with you?” Sensei asks, and Aozen considers the question.

“No,” he decides. “You should spend time with Kakashi.” Kakashi always enjoys spending time with Sensei. He talks about it often. He wonders if Kakashi knows about his apprenticeship.

Sensei’s expression flickers into something else which Aozen can’t pinpoint, but he nods. “Alright, kid. If you need me for anything, just talk to Fugaku-san.” When Aozen nods, Sensei shares a look with Fugaku before heading out the door. He turns back to Fugaku.

“I’m going to take you to my home, and Mikoto is going to make us some breakfast. Does that sound alright to you?”

Aozen nods. He thinks that even if he didn’t feel like eating, he probably should. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all. He holds his arms up in the universal signal of wanting to be carried, and Fugaku-oji obliges with another small smile.

He Shunshins them to the Uchiha clan head’s home, and steps inside without much ceremony. Aozen can smell food already.

Mikoto-sama smiles beautifully at him as she serves his breakfast and says nice words. Aozen thinks she’s very similar to Kaa-san - although Kaa-san is prettier, obviously. He hopes Kaa-san is okay.

He eats his food without really thinking about it. It’s probably very good, as he’s certain Mikoto-sama is a good cook, but he doesn’t really stop to consider the taste. Both Mikoto-sama and Fugaku-oji are quiet.

He’s just finished his meal when it hits him.

“Fugaku-oji?” He says, looking up.

“Yes, Aozen-kun?” Fugaku responds quickly, looking over to him.

“...I think Tou-san’s gone.” He says. Aozen’s face screws up as he tries not to cry, but it’s a futile effort. Fugaku-oji is there to pick him up in the next instant, and Aozen doesn’t bother to hold it back anymore, sobbing into his shoulder. Fugaku-oji rubs circles on his back and says encouraging things in a soft voice, but Aozen doesn’t have the wherewithal to listen.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this , he thinks.

========================================

He spends the rest of the day at Fugaku-oji’s house. He doesn’t see Fushima-ojii-sama around, which he’s kind of grateful for, because he doesn’t know how to act around him in a situation like this. After he’s able to stop crying, he sits in the living room on his own. Fugaku-oji makes it clear that he can call for him or his wife if he needs anything. Mikoto-sama makes him lunch several hours later; Aozen eats half of it.

Maybe he was a fool.

Maybe he should have expected this. His father was sent out to the front practically all the time; Aozen was lucky if he got a few consecutive days of time with him. Statistically, it was obvious that one of those times, he wouldn’t come back.

And that was what happened.

He’d cry if he had the tears to spare, but it seems he’d exhausted himself with his fit earlier.

He’d thought - well, he wasn’t sure what he thought. Maybe it was more so that he hadn’t considered . The reality of being a shinobi, of fighting and killing and sometimes losing and dying was something far away, something that wasn’t in the here and now. In the here and now he could train with Kakashi, or experiment with what jutsu he knew, or read, or talk with Kaa-san and -

In the here and now, everything was fine. Or, it had been.

Once upon time, he’d read the story of the Elemental Nations and had been amused . Sure, when a character was killed he’d feel sympathetic, and you could call it ‘sad’ if you were stretching it, but it was always just a story. One that he’d read at his leisure, for fun.

Up until now, this world had been his reality, but he hadn’t really *seen* it. It had been something of an adventure; lonely and frustrating at some points, but he could see now he’d been spared so much.

He spends most of the day in a bit of a haze. When it gets late, Fugaku-oji asks if he’d like to go back to his own home, and Aozen agrees. Seeing Kaa-san would be nice.

When they arrive, Fugaku sets him down before they walk inside.

“Your mother’s in her room.” Fugaku says.

“Okay,” Aozen responds before Fugaku can continue. “I’d like to go talk to her now.” He looks up at the Uchiha heir. “Thank you, Fugaku-oji.” he says as genuinely as he can manage. He doesn’t think that many people are as capable of patience as Fugaku is.

The man smiles sadly and pats him on the head. “I’m just a Shunshin away if you need me, Aozen-kun.” Aozen doesn’t think he can Shunshin that far all at once, but he nods anyway. Fugaku-oji leaves, and Aozen walks down the hall to Kaa-san’s room. He opens it and walks inside.

There’s a few candles lit, but mostly it’s still dark. His mother is sitting on the bed, back against the headboard and sitting in the same kind of silence he imagines he was in earlier. She starts when he enters.

“Ao-kun,” she says, voice hoarse.

“Kaa-san,” he responds, and he jumps into the bed. She embraces him without hesitation, and he hugs her back as tight as he can. He can feel more tears coming, and from Kaa-san’s shaky intake of breath, she’s much the same. She pulls him close to her and he settles in her lap, burrowing into her shoulder as they take wordless comfort in one another.

They remain that way for a long time until the both of them manage to fall asleep, having once again exhausted their tears.

Aozen is the first one to wake up the next morning. He gently extricates himself from his mother’s arms and makes sure she’s covered up with a blanket before he goes into the kitchen.

He’s never actually made breakfast on his own before, but figures he knows enough to. Rice was stupidly easy to make, and since both of his parents - since… since Kaa-san had such a busy schedule, they had pre-seasoned miso paste available, so he could just add water for some soup, even if it wasn’t as good as normal soup.

Packaged natto comes next, also fairly simple to prepare. He’d really like some fish but discovers after looking through their fridge that they don’t have any. He settles for some dried seaweed to finish it off.

The smell of food evidently wakes Kaa-san up, for she wanders in to see what’s happening. Upon seeing Aozen proudly pose next to his mostly-complete breakfast dishes, she smiles softly and soothes her hand over his head. He preens.

She volunteers to make the tea since he’d so kindly done everything else. When everything’s set, they sit on the tatami floor and eat in relatively comfortable silence.

He has no idea how to approach the subject, so he’s somewhat grateful that his mom does it first.

“How are you feeling, Ao-kun?” she says with a sigh, looking intently over at him. There were a lot of responses he could give to that question, but most of them would make him cry again. He looks at his empty bowl of rice and thinks.

“...it doesn’t feel real. Like - like he could walk through the door at any moment, back from a mission.” He could feel his eyes begin to well up even though that was one of the responses that *wasn’t* supposed to make him cry. He shuffles closer to Kaa-san and she easily accepts him leaning into her side. He thinks that maybe if he hugs her hard enough he’ll feel better.

“I know what you mean,” Kaa-san sighs.

“I know he won’t, though.” he adds a moment later, to save her the trouble of having to say it. She squeezes him. They sit like that for a while.

“The funeral will be in a week or so.” Kaa-san says after a long silence.

“Oh.” he responds. “Okay.” He doesn’t really know what to do now. He doesn’t know if it’s set in or not - it’s only been a day. He knows that - that his dad is gone , but it’s one thing to know it and another thing to feel it.

The atmosphere in their house remains somber for the rest of the day. He and Kaa-san make lunch and dinner together. He cries alone in his room at one point and Kaa-san does the same in hers before they reconvene and do their best to hug the rest of the tears away. It doesn’t really work, but they try anyway.

Mourning is a new experience, and he doesn’t know how to do it as Aozen, so instead he just takes what comes and tries to be there for Kaa-san. He falls asleep in her bed again. His dreams are shaded in red.

They repeat the same ritual the next morning, except Kaa-san wakes up first so Aozen prepares the tea and the table. It’s not… awkward, per se, but it feels like there’s not much to talk about - like talking about anything but the elephant in the room is doing Tou-san disservice.

He knows that a seven year old should probably be crying a lot more than he is already, but that honestly just sounds exhausting to him, and he already feels sluggish most of the time. A seven year old wouldn’t understand the kind of situation he’s in, wouldn’t really understand what ‘grieving’ was, but he does. He knows that Kaa-san is the internal kind of mourner, but that leaving her alone is a terrible thing to do, so he just tries to stay present as much as possible.

He wonders if, in another world where he wasn’t incarnated here, both of his parents were still around. He doesn’t like the idea that they existed in this world only to have made his own existence possible, because they’re both real people whom he loves. Loved. No - loves, present, because Tou-san may not be around but he still loves him very much.

On the third day he manages to water the bonsai tree. Some of the leaves on the bottom branches have begun to shrivel inward and the soil is completely dry. He cries a little as he does it, because he can imagine Tou-san half-heartedly scolding him for his negligence.

Kaa-san appears behind him to stroke the back of his neck and bring him into a hug. “Grieving sucks,” he says, and she agrees.

On the fourth day, he decides that he should go see Sensei.

“You can talk with - um, what’s-his-name. Your partner.” He suggests to Kaa-san. Her smiles lately have been smaller, sadder, more tired, but that she’s smiling at all so soon is a definite step in the right direction.

“Kaede,” she names him, and he nods. He may be mature far beyond his years, but he’s still seven and her son, and he doesn’t want her to hold herself back from feeling for his sake. She deserves to mourn just as much as he does, if not more.

“I can - stop by Fugaku-oji’s house, and let him know. Then Kaede will show up, or something.” Being able to talk with a friend will be good for her. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do with Sensei, but he’ll figure that out, he supposes.

Kaa-san visibly hesitates, but Aozen gives her what he hopes is an imploring look. “It’ll be good for you,” he urges, and she sighs in response.

“You’re so mature, Ao-kun. I’m beginning to think it’s unfair.” Aozen only brightens, because that was the makings of a joke! Or at least, Kaa-san’s particular brand of dry humor.

“I love you too, Kaa-san.” he preens. She pulls him into a hug.

“I love you very much, Ao-kun.” she says softly. Aozen grips her just as tightly.

“We’ll be okay.” he says after several seconds, even though it doesn’t feel like it.

“We will,” she agrees, “eventually.” That’s the best they can hope for.

========================================

Fugaku-oji is the one to give him directions to Sensei’s house once Aozen realizes he has no way of contacting him. He’s assured that Kaede will be on his way to talk with Kaa-san before he leaves.

On the way there, though, he stops in his journey on the branch of one of the Hashirama trees. For no particular reason, really, he just… looks.

He does this alot; he’ll say he’s thinking, but really he’s just looking - it’s a little bit like meditating, but instead of looking inward, he looks around him. Konoha is a city of verdant green through and through, with a smattering of blue from rivers strewn about. Closer to the inner city, the buildings are the color of clay, brick, and wood, but Aozen prefers the more natural sections, like the training grounds.

He doesn’t really think anything while he does this. Just kind of… observes, and feels. The back of his neck suddenly itches, and he frowns.

“Hello, Aozen-kun.” Sensei spoke from - below him. He glanced down to find Sakumo standing casually on another branch, although the tree hadn’t even shifted. Shinobi things, he guesses. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Hi, Sensei,” Aozen greets. Under normal circ*mstances he’d probably be mildly surprised, but he doesn’t think he has the energy to be anything but unfazed in the moment. “I was just coming to find you, actually.”

Sensei hums. “I sensed you about and thought I’d check in. How are you feeling?” Aozen tilts his head.

“You’re a sensor-type?” He asks instead of answering. He can tell his aversion doesn’t get past Sakumo, but the man doesn’t (yet) comment.

“Hm. Yes,” he says, although he gets the feeling it’s a bit more complicated than that.

“I wonder if sensing is genetic. Kakashi can’t sense very well. He has trouble meditating.” Aozen lowers himself to sit on the branch and his legs begin to swing of their own volition.

“You’ve been teaching Kakashi to meditate?” Sensei inquires. Aozen is glad he’s not forcing him to explain his feelings; he knew Sensei was a good guy, but this makes him feel even better about him. Aozen bobs his head.

“Mikoni-obaa-sama tells us that meditation is supposed to align the flow of your chakra, to sense and feel the yin and yang within us. They are in constant motion, and at our core there should be stillness.” He recites, having long since taken the words to heart.

“Hm,” Sensei intones. “When was the last time you meditated?”

Aozen hesitates. “Five days ago.” The day before graduation.

“Hm,” Sensei veritably rumbles once more. “Why don’t you teach me how?” Aozen cranes his head downward to look at the man.

“Do you not know how? Is meditation an Uchiha thing?” He’d been beginning to think that but Kakashi was his only source of information on that front, so he hadn’t drawn any conclusions.

Sensei chuckles. “I’m always interested in learning new things. I think it’ll be fun.” Aozen narrows his eyes, because he knows that was a non-answer, but after some consideration, he nods.

“Sit.” he says. A slight shift as Sakumo obliges. “Close your eyes and measure your breathing. In for three seconds. Hold for one second. Exhale for six seconds.” It wasn’t technically part of the meditation as he’d been taught; it was something he’d learned in the Before, a breathing technique designed to trigger a relief response in the brain to help with anxiety and panic attacks. “We do this ten times.” He doesn’t stop to consider the strangeness of teaching his Sensei something before said sensei had any time to do the same for him, and he *definitely* doesn’t count the breaths out loud, because that would be too weird.

He audibly breathes in time instead. He doesn’t hear Sensei’s breathing, but that’s probably another shinobi thing.

“I don’t know what it’s like as a sensor,” he says after the requisite ten cycles have been done, “but we start with finding our own chakra inside ourselves. For me it’s a pool of energy at the base of my stomach, but extends through my body. You - um, familiarize yourself with your own chakra in the process.” He hesitates part way through because his Sensei is a likely S-rank shinobi and explaining the chakra pathway system seems fairly redundant.

“I’ve got it,” Sensei says serenely, and some of the anxiety dissipates at his calm tone. Aozen refocuses on meditation.

He envisions the chakra at the base of his stomach as a kind of nexus, from which all other chakra flows. He knows from his reading that it’s also the location of the seventh of the Eight Gates, but he’s not sure if the two are connected, because accessing one of the Gates, let alone the seventh, is supposed to be extremely difficult and deadly.

He likes to imagine it’s a kind of pond, with the chakra as the water filling it - except calling it water is completely inaccurate. He dives in, and it’s like pins and needles but exponentially more intense. It’s not painful, just strange, but fascinating because of it. It fills him with warmth at the same time as it stimulates every muscle in his body, and he can’t help but physically straighten from his spot on the tree.

He basks in the feeling and it settles into an insistent hum on the surface of his skin. It’s this feeling that he taps into whenever he Shunshins; like he is pure energy in motion. It’s incredibly freeing, and it used to make meditation incredibly difficult because whenever he got to this point all he wanted to do was move.

He’s learned - under his mother’s and Mikoni-obaa-sama’s watchful eyes - to embrace the stillness of meditation though. He’s taken to viewing it as his resting potential versus his action potential; just because he doesn’t use it immediately, like he wants to, doesn’t mean he can’t later.

An exhale, and he releases the hold over his chakra. The buzzing over his skin dissipates and the hum fades though doesn’t disappear entirely.

“The other Uchiha use it only as a chakra training exercise, I think. But meditation can be used to center yourself, and find peace in a lot of ways.” Aozen speaks into the silence, eyes still closed.

“Do you feel at peace?” Sakumo gently inquires. Aozen doesn’t answer immediately, but he knows he can’t avoid the question.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.” he admits, physically deflating a little. “I feel a lot of things all at once, and I don’t know how to process them.”

“That’s normal,” Sensei says. “There’s no guide to mourning. The only thing to do is keep moving forward, because otherwise we’ll waste away in the past.” That makes some sense, but -

“Isn’t that a little… disrespectful? Like not giving them the grieving they deserve?”

Sensei hums. “Grieving is for the living, Aozen. No one can tell you how to do it. It’s right to let yourself feel for them, but they wouldn’t want us to be lost in that grief forever.”

“Lost.” Aozen repeats numbly. That was the word he was looking for. He was lost. He hadn’t asked to come to this world, but he was here, and he had resolved to *do* things. And he had thought - no, he’d *known* that Tou-san was going to be there with him for it. He got worried sometimes, when a mission took longer than it should have, and he knew what death and danger was more than anyone his age should have.

But somehow, he’d never truly considered that his dad just… wouldn’t come back. That fact had disrupted all of his previous considerations about the world, and now he didn’t know what he was doing. He was lost.

“You’re still in the middle of it, Aozen-kun. It’s only been a few days. It’s okay if you don’t know where you’re at yet.” Sensei spoke gently, as though reading his mind.

Aozen wilted, and sadness crashed over him again. His eyes began to well up; Sensei was there in an instant and wordlessly scooped him up. He shamelessly cried into the man’s shoulder, grateful to be held.

It took him several minutes to begin to calm down, and when he did he felt a lot more tired than before. Crying was physically and mentally exhausting, he knew.

“I’m a terrible student,” he sniffled. “We haven’t even really trained yet.”

Sensei scoffed. “We don’t get to choose when these terrible things happen to us. If we could, they’d never happen. You don’t have anything to feel sorry for.” Aozen sighed.

“You’re good at this talking thing.” he managed to mumble. Sensei knew just what to say.

“I’ve been doing it a while.” The man responds, managing to garner a humored scoff from the Uchiha. Aozen doesn’t move from his sensei’s arms and the Hatake doesn’t object - he was a father too, Aozen was reminded. That explained a lot.

“Where’s Kakashi?” he asks; he hadn’t talked to him in several days. Sakumo sighs.

“He’s with his new team, I believe.”

“...is it going well?” he asks, a little hesitant at the tone. Sakumo takes a moment to respond.

“Kakashi is quite advanced for his age, much like yourself. Socialising does not come easily for prodigies, and Kakashi is not, shall we say, a team player.” Aozen’s stopped flinching at the word ‘prodigy’, which can be considered positive and negative.

“Maybe it’s just not the right team.” He says. Kakashi isn’t very patient, which can be difficult to see if one considers his quiet, almost laid-back attitude. The reality of it was that he didn’t like talking and preferred doing most of the time. Aozen was able to keep up with him, which earned him the right to hold a conversation - at least, that was the conclusion he’d drawn.

“Maybe,” Sakumo-sensei concedes. “Time will tell.” Aozen shifted and Sakumo let him out of his hold, and he plopped himself down on the tree back, wiping away the remnants of tears off his cheeks.

“Thank you, sensei.” Aozen says earnestly. He’s not very good with giving thanks and apologies when it’s beyond the polite norm (though he doesn’t know why; it just makes him feel weird) so he hopes he injects enough sincerity in his voice.

“I’m here to help, Aozen-kun.” Sakumo says, and ruffles his hair. Aozen can’t get away without falling off the tree, so he merely shoots him a glare and the man laughs. “I’ll be here for the foreseeable future.” The statement fills him momentarily with morbid thoughts, but he clamps down on and discards them immediately. He can’t take any more of those today.

========================================

The funeral was on a Thursday. It was held in the Uchiha compound, understandably, and a large portion of the Clan attended. It was there that he learned Fugaku-oji had been there with his father in the field. He didn’t know what to think about that, so he didn’t.

Kaa-san and he were alone in the front row of mourners, for Tou-san had no other directly related family. He’d been an only child, the last member of Uchiha Hikaku’s legacy - except for Aozen, now. His oba-san on his mother’s side and her family stood in the row behind them, Yuriko-oba-san had a young child in her hands who was surprisingly, but thankfully quiet. Sakumo-sensei and Kakashi aren’t there, but that’s because, with the exception of the deceased’s teammates and closest friends, non-Uchiha usually weren’t allowed to attend the funeral itself. The wake was open to outsiders, though.

Mikoni-obaa-sama led the ceremony as the Uchiha priestess, but Aozen didn’t try very hard to listen. He wasn’t very good with sentiment and funerals were full of it. He stood holding Kaa-san’s hand and tried not to think much of anything at all. Tou-san’s body had been recovered and prepared appropriately and set on a pyre in front of them. Aozen refused to look.

Uchiha funerals were an understandably solemn affair. It was tradition that their bodies were not buried but cremated, and it was furthermore tradition that the Gōkakyū was used to do it. Prior to being set on the pyre, the deceased’s Sharingan eyes were placed in a special ware, where they would also be incinerated and buried alongside the deceased.

Ordinarily, the next-of-kin would be the one to perform this deed, but Kaa-san had (quite rightfully, in his mind) declined. Fugaku-oji, as the one to witness his death, had volunteered to do it instead.

Aozen can’t look at the pyre, so he watches Fugaku-oji instead. He only needs one hand-seal for the jutsu, and Aozen wouldn’t be surprised if even that was a formality. The bright orange flame that spews from his mouth shines in contrast to the black clothing of everyone present. It’s only because he’s watching Fugaku so closely that he sees the man’s eyes shine red for a brief moment, and it’s only because he’s close enough that he sees that that pattern is distinctly not the regular three tomoe pattern of the normal Sharingan.

Mangekyō, he thinks to himself. He wonders if Tou-san is the reason. He doesn’t cry - he thinks he’s done enough of that to last a lifetime - but he wants to, and his eyes well up all the same. It, like most of the other ones of the past week, is an exhausting day.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Following the funeral, Aozen is gifted a katana by Fushima-ojii-sama.

It’s a beautiful piece, with a smooth handle formed of a dark brown wood that matches the saya, which is unadorned. The kashira is mainly black, with some golden inlay depicting a wani, a type of sea dragon from ancient myth. The blade itself is a darkened silver and no doubt crafted of quality steel; the Uchiha mon is stamped on the base of the blade closest to the hilt. The sword has no tsuba, instead blending seamlessly into the saya - additionally, there is no sageo or kurigata, leaving the outside appearance of the sword to be elegant but simple.¹

He is informed this is a common practice among shinobi nihontō, since any decoration is only liable to get damaged and fall off in battle, so it’s simply a waste of money to include them most of the time.

A nihontō is a not uncommon gift from the Uchiha, as they are a traditional clan with a history older than nearly any other in Fire Country, not to mention the Elemental Nations at large. Additionally, Aozen had expressed his interest in kenjutsu before. Fushima-ojii-sama tells him that his new sensei is one of the best swordsmen in the country, so he’ll be able to make great use of it.

Fugaku-oji tells him that he would also normally be given the blade of his father, but that Tou-san hadn’t carried anything larger than a kunai because he was a genjutsu specialist. He hadn’t known that.

He starts wearing his sword immediately, sliding it into his belt and wearing it in the standard samurai’s position, as his katas and spars with Kakashi have all been done using that as the drawing position.

He doesn’t cry as much anymore, though watering his bonsai is still a difficult affair. The wires are still on the tree as it’s not yet adjusted to its final shape, though maybe it’ll be ready in a few more months.

It’s still soon after the fact, but he’s so very tired of being melancholy all the time and wants to do something. A week after the funeral, he gathers a promise out of Fugaku-oji to keep an eye on Kaa-san (she appears to be dealing with the grief well, but he doesn’t know her as anything but his mom and can’t say for certain how well she truly is) and then heads for Sensei’s house.

The Hatake compound is not anywhere near as large as the Uchiha clan’s, but it’s also bigger than he’d expected it would be for only containing two members. There were smaller, empty houses surrounding a larger one that was similar to the Uchiha clan head’s house in size; the empty ones were reminders that the Hatake’s had been more numerous, once. He wondered what happened to them.

There’s a bamboo forest behind the main house which stretches back a ways; Konoha is large enough for each of the clan compounds to have their own section of forest. The Nara’s are the largest, as they have animals which reside within, but the Uchiha’s are next in size.

Aozen doesn’t know how much of a sensor Sakumo-sensei is, but if he’s around he probably knows he’s there. He’d probably know he was there even without the sensing, due to some spooky shinobi sh*t.

He reaches the front door of the house and knocks, then waits. When the door opens, it’s Kakashi who’s behind it. Both boys blink in surprise.

“Hey, Kakashi,” Aozen says, trying to sound casual but hating how awkward he felt.

“Yo, Aozen.” Kakashi greets, looking perfectly nonchalant as he always does. “Looking for my dad?” Aozen pulls a face.

“Is it so inconceivable that I came here for you?”

“In the entire year we’ve known each other, you’ve literally never done that.” Kakashi drolly retorted, turning around to lead him further into the house. As he did, Aozen reached forward to ruffle his hair, because Kakashi absolutely hates it. He may be his friend, but tiny newly-minted genin Kakashi is also adorable. He’s still wearing the massive scarf which just makes him seem even smaller. The boy actually growls at him; Aozen silently finds it hilarious.

“So where *is* Sakumo-sensei?” he asks once they start moving.

Kakashi shrugs. “Sometimes he disappears into the village. Probably Jounin stuff.” Aozen ‘hmph’s. That made sense, even if it was a bit annoying.

The inside of the house is not very remarkable; less frivolously decorated than Fushima-ojii-sama’s house, which is to be expected because the Uchiha are richer than most and not afraid of showing it in small, subtle ways. Kakashi walks to the living room just down the hall and Aozen follows.

“Sensei told me you didn’t like your team.” Sensei hadn’t said that, exactly, but he suspected it was true - something confirmed by Kakashi’s immediate slouch and grunt.

“They’re slow.” He says, plopping down on the couch. Aozen follows, though he has to make sure not to jostle his sword around too much. Fugaku-oji had given him some tips on moving around while wearing a sword.

“You think everyone’s slow. You think *I’m* slow, and I’m faster than you.” Kakashi responds to that with a challenging glare.

“Maa, you have a faster Shunshin. My taijutsu is faster.” He retorts. Aozen frowns, because that’s true.

“I have a sword,” he says, as though that precedes any notion of ‘faster-than’. Truthfully, Aozen is very put-out by Kakashi’s taijutsu being faster, because he very much likes being fast. He’ll have to ask Sensei about it.

Kakashi’s gaze flickers downward at said sword, and Aozen props it up so it can be seen better; he’s quite proud.

“Maa,” Kakashi grunts instead of coming up with a response. Being raised by the White Fang has given him a healthy respect for kenjutsu, it seems.

Talking with Kakashi is easy, which is strange considering the boy’s normal social tendencies. Kakashi doesn’t walk on eggshells (maybe because he doesn’t know how), which Aozen is infinitely grateful for, because the boy’s really his only friend at this point and if all of their conversations were in that vein of uncomfortable he’d probably go mad.

Kakashi suddenly perks up and looks towards the doorway, leading Aozen to do the same, just in time to see Sakumo walk into their living room. He’s wearing his Jounin attire, which looks to be freshly cleaned.

“Otou-san,” Kakashi greets brightly - brightly for him, at least, which consist of an actually audible change in tone and that weird eye-smile he does over his mask.

“Kakashi-kun,” Sakumo greets with a warm smile. His gaze flits over to Aozen. “Aozen-kun,” he greets with the same warmth and no amount of surprise.

“Sensei.” He greets, bowing his head. Managing a genuine smile for Sensei is easy because Sensei is awesome, so he puts forth the effort.

“Where’d you go?” Kakashi shamelessly asks. Sakumo rounds the corner of the couch and sits in a recliner that Aozen had earlier guessed was his; he somehow manages to make the motion graceful, something he hadn’t even thought was possible. He has much to learn, it seems.

“The Hokage Tower,” Sakumo answers easily. That was a safe answer if ever he’d heard one; a high-profile Jounin like Sakumo could and did frequent the Tower for all manner of reasons. “I like your sword.” Sakumo nods towards the one set across his lap. He doesn’t miss the change in subject, but is also happy to talk about it.

“It was a graduation present from Fushima-ojii-sama.” he says, taking the opportunity to remove it from his belt. “Do you want to see it?”

“If you’re offering, it would be an honor,” Sakumo says, ever polite yet genuine.

A sword is a near-holy thing to a warrior. Perhaps less so to shinobi, who make their business in unorthodox and mostly dishonorable forms of combat, but the Uchiha, like the Hatake, he knows, are an old clan with old notions of honor. Aozen gives the blade due reverence as he stands and holds it in both hands to offer it to his Sensei; Sakumo responds in kind, taking the sword and inspecting it. He unsheathes it a few inches to look at the blade, expression one of deep intrigue.

“Very nice,” he compliments. “The Uchiha have always made excellent blades.” On the sofa beside the recliner, Kakashi is shamelessly leaning forward to get a look at the sword.

Aozen nods. “Mikoto-sama helped in the process, I was told.” Mikoto was in the process of training under her grandmother, Mikoni-obaa-sama, to take over the Priestess duties at the clan shrine, but as wife to the future clan head she was expected to be knowledgeable in most of the homefront undertakings of the clan.

“Mhn. Just over fifty centimetres - long enough for you to grow into, I should think.”

Shinobi could and did use blades as short as kunai and tantō to deadly effect, just as some, like the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist, used blades as long as their own body and were devastating in combat. Chakra did strange things to a man, one supposed.

A katana, by definition, was a blade longer than sixty centimetres and typically shorter than ninety. In practice it was a bit looser since the matter of whether you were killed by a katana, wakizashi, or a tachi was largely irrelevant. Aozen's blade was technically a kodachi, by definition.

Aozen was still seven years old and just barely on the tall side for his age (not that it mattered when he was almost always surrounded by older kids) and yet only an inch or two over four feet. Having a blade that was large to the point of being cumbersome was a death sentence when he was as yet untrained, even if he had been practicing with a wooden katana that was almost full-size. As Sensei said, it would be easier to grow into and still functional.

Sensei hands the sword back and he places it back through his belt before sitting down.

“Not boring.” Kakashi decides magnanimously, sinking back into the couch. Ever since Aozen had taken to calling things ‘boring’, Kakashi had taken to doing the same, except usually in a way of expressing his interest without actually sounding interested. Aozen just rolls his eyes.

“Anything interesting at the Hokage Tower?” Aozen decides to chance asking. Sakumo-sensei sighs, leaning back into his chair. Aozen narrows his eyes; he doesn’t know enough to rate that as either a good sigh or a bad sigh.

“There will be an announcement made later, so I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. As of today, the war is officially over.” He says it with the tone of voice of one who’s simply tired, which is no surprise. The man’s almost certainly been on the front lines since the war began. Aozen leans back as well, silently thinking.

“That’s a good thing. Isn’t it?” Kakashi asks.

“It is,” Sensei agrees, “but it brings with it its own troubles.” A moment of quiet.

Something bitter rises up in Aozen. Logically, he should be happy that the war is over, but he isn’t. Two weeks is all he can think. Two weeks earlier and Tou-san wouldn’t have had to keep fighting; two weeks earlier and he might still be alive. Grief and sadness is familiar but anger is new, and it makes something twist uncomfortably in his stomach. He doesn’t even know who he’s angry at - the Hokage? The other village’s Kage? At the war itself? Probably all of the above.

“Aozen?” came Sensei’s voice, and Aozen nearly starts as he realizes he’d been frowning heavily. “Everything alright?” His expression is veiled concern. Aozen resists the urge to sigh.

“No,” he says, because lying to these two people would be impossible, “but I’ll be fine.” He can’t say for certainty whether that part is a lie, but if he knows that if he thinks too hard about it now then he’ll start to cry again.

From the looks both Hatakes are giving him, they don’t quite believe it, but he pointedly crosses his arms and sets his jaw and they both abate.

“What does this mean for us?” He asks, eager to move forward.

“It means that you’ll have much more time to train before you’re sent on missions, and you hopefully won’t see a battlefield as a genin.” Sakumo answers. Kakashi groans, throwing his head back. Sakumo snorts. “Yes, that means you’ll have more time to get to know your team.”

“I already know enough about them,” Kakashi grouses, five-year-old prodigy and drama queen extraordinaire. “They’re stupid.”

“They’re your *teammates*,” Sensei presses, “and fellow shinobi of Konoha, and such disrespect won’t be tolerated.” His tone gets much sterner at the end and Kakashi straightens.

“Yes, otou-san.” He says, but doesn’t manage to keep all of the juvenile longsuffering from his voice.

“At the least, Kakashi, you’ll be able to train with Sensei and I.” He glances at Sakumo. “Probably.” he adds, as that’s not really his right to decide. Kakashi looks with him like a hopeful puppy (Aozen will probably spend a lot of time amusing himself with such comparisons).

“You may,” Sensei says, and Kakashi brightens immediately, “*but*, that does not mean you can shirk practice with your team.” Kakashi, predictably, immediately wilts. That was exactly what he had been going to do. “I’ll talk with Hokage-sama about whether or not this team will be a good fit, but in the meantime your team is your team and they’ll stay that way.” Kakashi brightens and then wilts again over the course of the sentence. What a rollercoaster.

“Well, uh, training is actually what I came here for. If you’re not too busy.” Aozen speaks into the gap in conversation.

Sakumo-sensei smiles. “Technically, I’ve never stopped training you for all of these past two weeks. On paper, that is.”

He frowns. “No such thing as personal leave?”

“There is, but generally one has to apply for it. Unfortunately, if Hokage-sama gave leave to everyone who’d lost someone, we would not have many active shinobi.” The sentiment is a morbid one, although he’s glad Sensei doesn’t try to sugarcoat it.

“...well, Kakashi and I are both here now. I’m growing restless sitting around all day.” In reality he’s growing melancholy, and he very much does not like it.

“Hm. Well, I’m sure I can find something for us to do.” he said, in the tone of someone who knew exactly what he was going to have them do.

========================================

Sensei attacked Kakashi and him the moment they stepped onto the training field. It was only Aozen’s Shunshin capabilities and Kakashi’s witnessing of Aozen being attacked that they were able to avoid the opening volley of taijutsu strikes - and the fact that Sensei obviously wasn’t really trying. He could demolish the both of them before they knew what happened if he tried, but Sensei was cool, so Sensei didn’t do that.

It was the first time he and Kakashi had fought together as opposed to separately, and the transition was awkward at first. They managed to smooth it over quickly, as they both knew each other’s fighting styles, but fighting as a pair was definitely a skill they needed to work on.

Sensei protracted the spar just long enough for the both of them to have exhausted themselves, then called for a short break. When they came back, to Aozen’s surprise and Kakashi’s bemoaning, Sakumo-sensei called for Aozen to lead the both of them in meditation. Naturally, he obliged.

Kakashi wasn’t able to attend all of their training sessions after that, managing one or two a week, but he and Sensei worked five or six days a week solely on training.

Since the war was over, Sakumo-sensei told him, he could spread out his training over time rather than focus on combat-oriented techniques in order to ensure Aozen could even survive the battlefield - which amounted to a whole lot of basics.

Or, not basics, exactly, because much of it was complicated. More accurate would be the term ‘fundamentals’. Upon mentioning his wish of getting faster than Kakashi, Sensei decided to put him through speed drills, but usually with some form of twist: rarely was he allowed to use chakra, and if he did the distances traveled were raised dramatically.

Without chakra, he’d been made to wear weights whilst running up and down a hill. If he didn’t get it under a certain time, he had to do it again. Other times were obstacle courses, also weighted; sometimes a natural course, like training ground twenty-six, which was meant for variable environment training, and others were simply endurance courses for similar purposes.

Using chakra, he often had to cross large distances, such as the entirety of training ground thirteen (one meant for open-ground spars with over a hundred metres of clear field) without touching the ground, or doing it only once. Other times, Sensei would make a path through a forest and Aozen would have to follow it exactly or near-exactly, again without touching the ground.

Sakumo-sensei always knew when to stop before he simply keeled over, of course, and the hour-long lunch that usually followed their morning endurance sessions was simply heavenly; he learned very quickly that a hearty breakfast meant a gross pile of sick on the training grounds later.

He was shown the basics of how to enhance his hearing and smell with chakra, but it was very difficult. The chakra control required was considerable, else he would make his nose bleed, or in the worst case, burst an eardrum.

To counteract this, and develop his chakra control, Sakumo-sensei had what he proclaimed to be an ‘excellent idea!’. Since Aozen had a blade of his own now, it would make sense to begin training him in kenjutsu as soon as possible - and since he needed to develop his chakra control, what better way to do that than to perform the water-walking exercise?

Whilst also training kenjutsu, of course.

The goal, naturally, was to become so fluent in both his kenjutsu and with his chakra control as to perform a full sequence of katas atop of a source of water without disturbing the surface.

That goal was, naturally , a very long ways away.

Of course, it had only been a month - wait, a month?

It felt like far longer. Most days he was physically exhausted even if he got home before dark, and so he spent a lot of time simply sleeping. The rest of his time was spent on homework , which he hadn’t even really had to do for most of the Academy.

Sensei was fond of sudoku puzzles, and frequently gave him one before he went home for the day to solve by the next day. At first they were fairly easy, interesting even, and a nice little distraction. Then, of course, they got progressively more difficult, and Aozen was amazed by how just a single puzzle could make him mentally exhausted as well.

The other homework was mostly chakra theory - genjutsu theory in particular, which seemed apt since Aozen was an Uchiha, even if he only knew basic Academy-level genjutsu at present.

He felt guilty sometimes, because it seemed as though he’d already moved on from Tou-san’s death. To him, ‘moving on’ seemed something irrational, a disrespect, but the logical part of his brain reminded him that one couldn’t possibly be sad all the time, or they’d cease to function.

Truthfully, most of it was that he was so busy. He hadn’t been put to D-ranks yet, but training occupied most of his days, and as he’d mentioned, he was usually too exhausted to do much at home except homework, bonsai care, occasionally cook dinner for Kaa-san, and then sleep.

Other days were harder. Sometimes he just wanted to talk to Kaa-san about it, but he didn’t know how to approach something like that. He wanted to make sure she was okay and in the process also make sure that he was okay, but it just felt - too complicated.

It was one of those anxiety-inducing matters that troubled him enough that he refused to think about it - an unhealthy coping mechanism, but the only one he had.

On a day where training ended early - Sakumo-sensei had a meeting, or some official Jounin thing - Aozen decided to go to the market. He’d not had as much free time of late, which meant he hadn’t really spent any of his money. At the least, he’d find something good to eat.

Shinobi were at least common in the markets, so he garnered less glances than he normally would have when he appeared in a puff of smoke, even with the sword.

It was busier this time of day, with people coming off of work and finishing up some last-minute grocery shopping or just heading through on their way home. He contented himself to simply walk through the area for a while, familiarizing himself with the shops and their contents, offering a wave to the occasional shinobi he’d see passing by, mostly Chuunin.

Hesitantly, he stretched outward with his chakra sense, and winced almost immediately at the feedback. Even though it was mostly civilians, everyone had chakra, and the volume of people in one place was a little disorienting. Meditation had gradually improved his ability to ‘sense’ with chakra, though it required a fair bit of concentration and he doubted he’d ever be a true sensor. Even so, practice was good.

He envisioned his sense as a kind of bubble centered around himself, and slowed his pace so that he could concentrate and gradually widening it. The buzzing in his head increased as he did, more signatures popping up. Discerning them was a bit like trying to pick out an individual grain of sand whilst looking at a pile: possible, sure, but a bit annoying, and easy for your ‘eyes’ to get confused. He tried to count them anyway.

His bubble was perhaps twenty metres wide in all directions, as much as he could manage for the time being. He stood still, out of the way of the crowd so he didn’t get bumped into, and tried to focus. There were actually only two signatures large enough to be shinobi in the area, one stopped at a food cart and another in one of the buildings. The rest - maybe twenty? more, perhaps - were all the barely-candles of civilians without chakra sensitivity.

He withdrew from the sensing mindset, closing his bubble somewhere around five metres. He could feel a mild headache coming on from just that exercise, but chakra sensing was apparently incredibly valuable, and he’d been caught off-guard by Sakumo-sensei too many times not to start practicing it.

Content though still mildly disoriented with the experiment, Aozen wanders into the nearest store that looks like it sells books.

“Hello, shinobi-san!” greets a middle-aged civilian man with a polite smile. “What can I do for you?” The shop has only one other person in it, another civilian, who browses a row of books, keeping to herself.

“Hello,” Aozen greets in return, walking up to the counter. “Do you have any blank journals? Or blank books? I would like something to write in.” He says directly.

“Ah, of course, of course,” the man says, walking to his left to take something off of a shelf. “Would you like a calligraphy set to go with it? It includes normal pencils, of course, and I’ll cut you a deal since you’re getting both of them.” The man offers what he probably thinks is a cheery smile.

“Sure,” Aozen agrees easily, because why not. The journal is leather-bound and unremarkable and just what he was looking for, and the small calligraphy set was simply an added bonus. When the man proposes a price, Aozen doesn’t even attempt to haggle because he has enough money and is afraid of seeming rude (he’d never haggled in his life), so he takes his new purchases and leaves; the entire interaction took barely two minutes. Aozen Shunshins home with his ‘groceries’ in hand.

“Hey, Ao-kun,” Kaa-san greets once Aozen walks inside, in the living room and poring over some paperwork, probably reports from the Police Force. She wasn’t back on active duty, but she was taking up some of the deskwork in her spare time. Having something to do was good for her. “How was training?”

“Hi, Kaa-san. Training was fine - ended early, actually. Sensei gave me some homework,” mostly true, “so I’m just gonna be in my room.”

“Sure thing.” Kaa-san says, turning back to her paperwork.

Once inside the sanctity of his own room, he sits down at the small desk across from his bed and lays out his journal, grabbing one of the pencils from the calligraphy kit. He opens the journal to the first blank page.

He hesitates for several seconds. Then, shakily, he begins to write his name in English.

It takes him a frustrating few moments to remember how the letters are shaped, because they’re incredibly different from kanji and hiragana, and he hasn’t written in the language for seven years. It’s strange for something once second-nature to look foreign to your own eyes.

Underneath it, he writes his first name, the name he’d had in his previous life, staring at it after he’d finished.

He… didn’t know what to feel. The name had been his for eighteen, almost nineteen years, but now it seemed foreign to him. Or, not foreign, just… nostalgic. A bygone memory. An entire name that he’d had once, but no longer did. There was no one to remember it, and all of the memories attached to it now belonged only to him.

That makes him sad. There was an entire person in that name, but he didn’t really exist anymore. Did he die, then? When he appeared here, was it truly some form of reincarnation, or did he simply disappear? Was there a difference?

What if he was instead copied, and in his old world, the first him, the *real* him, was living, oblivious to what had happened to some alternate universe version of him?

He didn’t know. He may never know.

So, he writes. He writes of his childhood in a small town in Kansas, of his dad, who was a doctor, and of his mother, who was a musician. Of visits to Colorado for family Christmases - of *Christmases*, which until that moment he’d somehow managed to forget about.

He writes about his closest friends, all five of them, of the friendship forged in elementary school, of stupid inside jokes that made no logical sense but somehow managed to leave them all in tears. A theatre program in high school that gave him and two of his friends a second dad who mentored them and became, in turn, another one of their closest friends even after they’d graduated.

They had just entered college. Second semester, if he recalls correctly. He was majoring in psychology.

He writes for hours, long after his mom has fallen asleep, even though his body is dead tired and would benefit from the rest. When he can’t remember any more details about his life, he starts writing anything else. Movies he’d seen, all the quotes he can remember, a summary of the worlds he’d created when he had chosen to write.

When he stops, it’s probably close to four AM.

He stares at the book that contains an entire life’s worth of information. He feels a little like crying, which is strange, because he didn’t *actually* die, but those people, to him, are gone. He can’t see them anymore, can’t talk to them, and he wonders at what point he’ll begin to forget their faces. Maybe this is his way of mourning their loss, because he doesn’t think he’ll ever know their fates.

He’s still here, in the moment, with all of his memories, and still living and will hopefully continue to live. He has friends, and parents, and a teacher, and people that he wants to save. That he will save.

And so, poetic sap that he is, he turns to the next blank page and writes at the top,

“CHAPTER 2”

That seems suitable, doesn’t it? Appropriate, for what he was going to do. A planner, of sorts, where he could write all that he knew of the world he was in and its future, and all that he could possibly change. Written in a language no one will have ever known, or could ever know.

He glanced at his alarm clock, which read 3:36 AM, and groaned softly. He was supposed to be awake in four or so hours, and he had yet to actually rest from training the *previous* day.

He doubted Sensei would accept any excuses, as early into the apprenticeship as it was. He sighed and threw himself onto the bed, not bothering to change out of his clothes before he went to sleep.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Aozen stared at himself in the mirror.

Constant training had long since removed traces of baby fat, but he was still seven years old, and his face would retain that youthful appearance for a few years more, much to his annoyance. He was only just beginning to show traces of the man he’d become, with a thin, angular face beginning to peek out of his features; he very much took after his great-grandfather Hikaku in that regard, so he’d been told.

His hair, too, was lighter than most Uchiha, but it, like most others in Konoha, was still a darker earthen brown. Only the Uzumaki and some of the lesser-known clans had more vivid hair colors - Uzuki Yugao and Mitarashi Anko both come to mind, as he hasn’t seen pictures of them in years, but he’s pretty sure they both have purple hair. He wonders how old they are at this point in time.

His hair is long enough to need to be tied up most of the time, though tufts continually fall out over his forehead. Before long, he'll have bangs - which, considering both Itachi and Sasuke’s hairstyles, seems to be a genetic drama-enhancing factor native to Uchiha. He’s kind of fond of it, though.

He was alone in the bathroom and in the house. Kaa-san had finally gone back to active duty - of her own accord, no prompting from him, even - which was the only reason he was even attempting this.

He tries to regulate his breathing, but his heart is beating a train engine’s pace and so he’s finding it fairly difficult. He forces himself to take several deep breaths anyways, and focuses on feeling his chakra circulate in its ambient rhythm about his body.

Focusing chakra to specific parts of his face was simpler now that he’d had training in amplifying his sense of smell and hearing - the eyes should be no trouble, right? He breathes in time with the flow of his chakra, focusing on sending it upwards towards the sensory organ in question -

For a moment, everything bursts into technicolor, a kaleidoscopic sensation as his vision magnifies what feels like tenfold. A few seconds later everything settles but the disorientation remains; he sees everything around him with a clarity he hadn’t thought possible. It’s tinted in shades of crimson but even so the simple colors of his house’s bathroom seem amplified beyond the norm. He looks at himself in the mirror and can see his face reflected back at him in exquisite detail. His eyes are no longer dark but blood crimson, with a small black pupil orbited by the two tomoe characteristic of a mostly developed Sharingan.

He can see the minute cracks in the wooden doorframe, and if he’s not careful his vision will blur out of focus for want of spotting the various dust motes in the air. Tiny imperfections in the porcelain sink become clear, as does every single smudge on the mirror. He stumbles to the door, sliding it open and out into the rest of his house.

Everything is an exploration now because he’s seeing the world almost like it’s new again. He processes sensory information faster than he thought possible, and he’s sure if someone could see him now he’d look rather out of sorts, eyes darting every which way as he stumbles about.

The crimson tint over everything seems to intensify, and black handwritten ink superimposes itself over his vision. He closes his eyes and opens them, does it again and rubs at his sockets in an attempt to rid himself of the sight, but all he can see are a collection of words proclaiming his father killed in action, over and over.

He panics, and though he closes his eyes the words are still there in his mind. It takes him far too long to figure out how to cut the chakra flow, and when he does the memory still lingers. He’s collapsed in the hallway, hyperventilating, opening his eyes and staring at the wall because the wall is brown and brown is not black. He practically slaps the wall in an attempt to feel it, to make sure that it’s not ink in front of him.

He doesn’t know how long he does this, but all he knows is that he wants it to end. It doesn’t; or at least, it doesn’t all at once, but it does dim, and pure panic settles into generalised anxiety and a fatigue that settles over him despite it being early in the morning.

There’s a knock at the front door. He doesn’t trust himself enough to use chakra to try and sense it, so he just forces himself to a standing position and wipes at his eyes - whether to rid himself of tears or the blood that he was sure had been there only moments ago, he wasn’t sure.

He tries once more to control his breathing but only partially succeeds as he approaches and then opens the front door. Standing there is an Uchiha in a Police Force uniform that he vaguely recognises.

“Aozen-san?” Who also knows his name, but is formal with him. He’s built broad like a good portion of the Uchiha folk, and Aozen’s able to spot a small scar, more of a nick really, on the left side of his jaw. The man doesn’t have many remarkable features aside from that. “Is everything alright?”

Aozen blinks, then glances at the man’s shoulder to determine his position within the Police Force; their uniforms had markings much like the military’s dress uniforms of Before did.

“Keiji-san,”¹ he greets in return, to be safe. “Yes, everything’s okay.” He tries to school his face into neutrality, something he’s admittedly never had much trouble doing, but also injects a question into his face.

“Ah,” the man responds, “you don’t remember me. I suppose you wouldn’t. My name is Kaede - I’m your mother’s partner.” A spark of recognition.

He opens his mouth to apologise before panic again threatens to overtake him. “My mother - is she -” Kaede raises a hand, interjecting quickly.

“Your mother’s fine, I promise. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.” He sighs in relief. “She’s back at headquarters, filling out an incident report. I was stopping by my home - I live nearby - and I passed near yours when I felt a spike of chakra.”

Aozen frowns; is everyone a sensor these days? Or maybe basic chakra sensing was more widespread than he thought. Troublesome.

“I - I was looking at a chakra theory scroll my sensei gave me and wanted to try something. It didn’t quite work out.” Vague enough to not be a complete lie - just like Kaa-san taught him. “I, um, appreciate you stopping by, though.”

Kaede nods, giving him a once-over. His posture is as perfect as can be, his expression the epitome of practiced politeness. He reminded him of Kaa-san, which makes sense since they’re partners. He supposes they get along well enough, since the man was summoned to help Kaa-san after - after the thing happened.

“And,” he adds after that last thought, “thank you for helping Kaa-san.” He doesn’t know how Kaede helped, but he knows that the other Uchiha has been keeping in close contact with Kaa-san and his mom seems to be recovering well.

At that, the man’s expression softens a bit, and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards towards a smile. “I am glad to. Your mother is my partner, but she is also my friend.” Aozen merely nods a few times. “I simply wanted to make sure everything was alright." A pause. "I should be getting back.”

Aozen nods again. “Goodbye, Kaede-san. Stay safe.” If Kaede is safe, then logically his mother should be safe too, since they’re usually around each other in some capacity.

“And you, Aozen-san.” Kaede bows his head before leaving, and he closes the door, at which point he allows the tension in his posture to release, shoulders sagging.

“That was awkward,” he mutters to himself. He thinks that he got away without anything amiss, and at the least, being forced to talk to somebody meant he had to focus on something other than his panic attack, which was more than eager to move on from. His heart still thumped in his chest.

========================================

He approaches the training ground, as he always does, on guard. In addition to the regular anxiety from that morning, Sakumo-sensei had a tendency to attack him first thing in order to ‘test his reflexes’ or something equally inane. Aozen was pretty sure the man just liked to bully him.

His left hand casually rested on his sword’s scabbard, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. If Sensei wanted he could walk right in front of Aozen and he’d never know, but he was, fortunately, a teacher and not a sad*st and knew such things weren’t beneficial to growth.

Often his only warning was a faint prickle on the back of his neck which he’d taken to calling his ‘spidey senses’, a joke only he would ever get. It only ever really happened when Sensei was nearby, and wasn’t entirely reliable, so he wasn’t really sure what it was. Not some sensory ability - the Uchiha weren’t known for them beyond their eyes.

“Ah, good, you’ve arrived.” His sword was several inches out of the sheath as soon as he heard the voice - Sensei’s voice, of course, and he looked over to see the man in his Jounin outfit, having seemingly appeared from thin air and wearing a knowing smile at Aozen’s reaction.

“You’re not funny.” he deadpans.

“My friends say I have an excellent sense of humor.” Sensei responds, smile widening to a grin - if the man had anything less than the utmost dignity, he’d call it sh*t-eating.

“People are lying to you. You need new friends.” His sword was cleanly returned to its scabbard and he crossed his arms. Sakumo-sensei just laughed.

“We’ll be taking a trip away from the training grounds today,” Sensei began; Aozen perked up, intrigued. “I’ve an appointment and you’ve been invited to attend.” He blinks a few times.

“Me? Invited? What kind of appointment?”

“Well, tea, of course.” Sensei was fond of tea, and often had a thermos of it at training. Aozen only drank it at home, since it wasn’t the best drink for heavy exercise.

“...and who is it with?” he pressed.

“Oh, a good friend of mine.” Sensei had the audacity to place his hands in his pockets knowing full-well that he was giving absolutely terrible answers. Aozen narrowed his eyes, suspicious.

“Well, I’m not dressed for tea.” He was only wearing training clothes: a gi, obi around his waist, baggy pants, and sandals. Kaa-san would kill him if he didn’t wear the proper clothing to tea, even if it wasn’t a ceremony.

“It’ll be fine,” Sakumo-sensei dismisses easily, “this isn’t formal. Just tea and talking.” If Aozen had a bullsh*t meter, it would’ve broken just then.

“I don’t trust you.”

“Your own sensei? I’m wounded. You've wounded me. Guh.” Sensei was dramatic. He rolled his eyes.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” He could try and run, but even his growing proficiency with the Shunshin couldn’t outpace the White Fang. Yet.

“No,” Sensei proclaims with a sunny smile.

“You owe me dango,” He sniffs, and Sensei laughs.

“We’ll see. Come along,” Ugh. Can’t wrangle anything out of this man. He’d have to ask Kakashi for tips.

They traveled by Shunshin, as nearly all shinobi did. Aozen’s suspicions began to rise when they stopped in front of the Konoha tower, but a glance at Sakumo-sensei’s contented face as they entered indicated that he’d not get any answers out of him - as though he ever did.

Aozen hadn’t actually been in the Hokage Tower before. He’d never had a reason to, since he hadn’t had any missions yet, and… well, he didn’t really know what else happened in the Tower. Probably a whole lot of admin.

It was also the first time he saw evidence of Sensei’s reputation. He’d known of course that one didn’t just ‘have’ a title like the White Fang without first having earned it, but it was something else to see people greet Sensei like an old friend, or bow their head towards him when he passed. Sakumo, of course, took it all in stride, greeting others by name and laughing affably with others, though he didn’t stop to talk. Aozen earned a few looks, probably looking much like a little duckling following its leader.

It all made him wonder about the nature of Sensei’s failed mission in the future. Could all these people really so easily turn on him? People failed missions all the time, and from what he remembered, Sakumo did it to save his teammates. He frowned as he considered. Troublesome.

They went up an elevator to what appeared to be the top floor, and Aozen was instantly on alert. What was his sensei planning? Wasn’t this where -

“Hello, Yui-san.” Sakumo-sensei greeted what seemed to be a secretary at a desk outside the elevator.

“Hatake-sama,” Yui, a moderately attractive kunoichi - he doubted a civilian would be chosen to work this high up in the Tower - returned. “He’s ready for you. Go right on in.”

“Thank you, Yui-san. Say hello to Kenta-kun for me.” he smiles. Man, Sensei really knew everyone. Aozen looks around the waiting room (for that was clearly what it was) at several people who were sitting down and giving both Sensei and him a questioning look. Huh. Bypassing lines. And he was pretty sure he knew who they were about to meet, even if he wasn’t sure why.

Two ANBU stood outside of a double-door down the hall, and Aozen took a moment to observe them curiously. He’d never seen one before, and he didn’t have enough time to guess what animals their masks represented before the door opened and Sakumo led him inside.

The office of the Hokage was a wide room. The dominant features were the stacks of books, scrolls, and papers that were set up across the room, and the filing cabinets that lined the edges of the room closest to the door. Aozen was simply impressed at the sheer magnitude of paperwork one office managed to hold.

The next thing one’s eyes were led to was the oval desk sitting in front of half-wall windows, the light of Konoha shining into the room. Sitting at the desk was a man who could only be Sarutobi Hiruzen, Sandaime Hokage of Konohagakure.

He’d known that the man was supposed to be short, but he still hadn’t expected someone so relatively diminutive. Even so, he had an undeniable presence that sparked even Aozen’s minor sensing ability and filled the room. He wondered what the man looked like to Sensei’s eyes.

The Sandaime looked up at them from beneath the fabled hat of his office, dark brown eyes crinkling into well-worn crow’s feet as he smiled with a grandfatherly warmth to rival Sensei’s.

“Ah, Sakumo-kun. Right on time for tea, as ever.” The Sarutobi spoke, voice gravelly but certainly steady. Aozen gasped.

“You invited me for tea with the Hokage and didn’t let me change? You’re a lying liar who lies,” Aozen immediately turned on his sensei, whisper-shouting at him and shooting him a glare to end all glares. The man, merely turned an infuriatingly genuine smirk upon his student, and raised a brow.

At which point Aozen remembered where he was and straightened, clearing his throat and looking back towards the Sandaime. “Hokage-sama.” he said, and after another moment’s hesitation, bowed as low as etiquette demanded - which was quite low, and had the added benefit of hiding his reddening cheeks from view for a few moments.

The Sandaime chuckled, and Aozen couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than the man simply admonishing him for his outburst.

“And you must be young Aozen-kun. Sakumo has told me much about you.” That the Hokage was willing to drop the suffix was either a bypassing of formality, or merely an indication of familiarity.

“...only embarrassing things, I am sure.” He said, finding humor to be the best attempt at salvaging his dignity. It must have worked, for both the Hokage and his sensei laughed.

“Come, sit. The tea will be arriving in moments.” They both obliged and sure enough, the door opened behind them only seconds after they’d settled into their seats - carried by a large ANBU. Aozen blinked and couldn’t help but stare at one of the village’s elite shinobi, and a huge, heavily-muscled one at that, carrying a plate of tea.

“Thank you, Horse.” The Sandaime named him. Said ANBU bowed his head, then disappeared. Aozen looked on in fascination - the Shunshin had been flawless. He glanced around the room, wondering where the other ANBU guards were waiting.

“So, Aozen-kun. I usually prefer not to start the occasion off on a somber note, but I have to pass on my condolences on the passing of your father.” His gaze was kind, surely genuine, but Aozen couldn’t help but grip onto the scabbard of his sword where it rested on his lap.

“You signed the scroll,” Aozen remembers. He blinks several times when that same signature threatens to overtake his vision, focusing on the man in front of him.

“Ah. I’m sorry you had to read it - but yes. I sign every such notice.” Aozen’s gaze flickers to the stack of papers on and beside his desk, wondering how many of them were similar notices to other families. He looks back to the Hokage.

“That’s nice of you.” He says earnestly - it’d be easy to pass it off in favor of mass-produced notes.

“I’m glad you think so. But I think more pleasant topics are in store for today.” The man says diplomatically. Aozen is glad, as he may very well start dissociating if that were to continue, which isn’t particularly fun.

“I am - ah, surprised you would invite me to tea, Hokage-sama.” He can’t deny being more than a little nervous, not to mention apprehensive. It wasn’t every day one met with the military dictator of your home. With the added remembrance of the nature of the world he was in, compared to his old one, it was a little surreal.

“Are you?” The Sandaime seemed to find that amusing, for whatever reason. “I like to keep an eye on Konoha’s shinobi, and you are among the most promising of them. Prudent that one of my own promising students should become your own teacher.”

Aozen blinked several times, befuddled. He slowly turned to stare at Sakumo-sensei, who had the grace to look at least a little bashful, but largely still unapologetic. He turns back to the Hokage.

“You taught Sakumo-sensei?” Well, he was fairly sure that had never been a part of canon. On the other hand… “That makes sense.” he mused, then cleared his throat as he realised he had, once again, spoken his thoughts aloud. He was very out of sorts today.

“Does it? How do you mean?” The Sandaime said curiously, reaching forward to take a sip of his tea.

“Um,” Aozen said intelligently, taking his own teacup into hand to buy him a few more extra seconds of thought. “Well, Sensei is, er, very skilled, and - stuff.” Sakumo nearly snorted into his teacup at Aozen’s eloquence, or lack thereof. “It would make sense that he had - has , a skilled teacher. I guess I had just never thought about it.”

“Mhn.” The Hokage acknowledged, seemingly as amused as Aozen’s sensei. “You can’t be blamed for not knowing. Though the Densetsu no Sannin,” a clear measure of pride at the moniker his students have earned, “were my genin team, I also took Sakumo-kun under my wing for a period of time.” When the Sandaime turned a questioning gaze at Sensei, Aozen’s eyes followed.

“My first sensei was Senju Tōka. She was killed by the remnants of the Kinkaku Force after the First Shinobi War.” Aozen couldn’t hold back a wince. Sensei had clearly made peace with the fact, but still.

“We are just, ah, full of fun today.” He was trying to resist the urge to fidget with his hands. Thankfully, both of the older shinobi were again only amused.

“She died as a true shinobi of Konoha, which is better than many can hope for.” Sakumo-sensei said. Some dry comment about life expectancy ran circles in his mind, but he ignored it. “Sarutobi-sensei completed my training, though not single-handedly.”

“Still,” the Sarutobi in question interjected, “I am proud to have trained you at all.” Four of Konoha’s most powerful warriors, all trained by the Hokage. He had something of a distinguished lineage behind him, then - no pressure.

The attention shifted off of him as the Hokage and Sensei went back and forth for a moment, and Aozen could clearly see where Sakumo had gotten many of his mannerisms from. His methods of speech were similar to Sarutobi, as was his general demeanor. He’d always thought the Sandaime was an interesting character, and not the least just because he was supposed to be super powerful.

What kind of personality did it take to go that far? Moreover, what kind of person did it take to be Hokage? He’d held the title longer than any other Kage in the world, as far as he knew, and he would have held it for another decade, at least, in canon. He blinks when he realizes he’s been staring, for the Hokage is staring back, infinitely amused.

“Do I have something on my face, Aozen-kun?” he asks, raising a brow. His tone makes it clear that he is thankfully joking.

Aozen blinks. “My apologies," he says formally. It is a bit of a moot point, because he has already shamed his mother and his entire lineage with his lack of courtly poise and manners, but he gave himself points for trying. "That is - no, Hokage-sama. I am just curious."

“Oh?” Sarutobi says, intrigued. “This is a social occasion, Aozen-kun. If you have a question, I would love to hear it."

Aozen purses his lips, considering. What question did one ask the leader of a country? He decided for something simple. "Did you dream of becoming Hokage?” The question seems to surprise him; Aozen’s making full use of his ambiguous status as both genius and seven-year-old to bypass social norms. To his delight, the Sandaime actually seems to give it some thought.

“I believe most shinobi do, at one point or another.” The Hokage says. Aozen quirks a brow; did he really think such an obvious non-answer was going to get past him?

“But you trained under Nidaime-sama. Were you chosen early? Or did you have to - fight for it?"

"Tobirama-sensei chose his students carefully - but he never made anythingeasy."The Hokage traced the rim of his cup, eyes going just a little distant with memory. "He knew that the position of the Hokage would test its occupant just much as any training he gave us would. I have always tried to follow his example." Aozen nodded slowly, thoughtful, as the Hokage continued: "Do you might if I ask a question of my own?"

“Yes. I like questions.” He likes having questions beyond his own to think about. Variety is the spice of life, or something.

“Doyoudream of being Hokage?"

Aozen can't help the doubtful expression that slides into place. "Not really."

"Why not?" Hokage-sama asks, though his tone his light and a smile is on his face.

Aozen casts a glance at the paperwork which, in another orientation, would block him from seeing the Hokage's face. "I dislike homework."

This startles a laugh out of both of the older shinobi. "Yes, I can see how that would discouraging. But let us suppose - for curiosity's sake - that youwereHokage. What is one thing you would change?"

“Are you offering me the position, Hokage-sama? Because I think Sensei would be a better fit."

“I resent that implication," Sensei chimes, as Aozen knew he would.

Sandaime-sama's smile is wry. "I've tried to convince him to let me retire, but he just won't have it. But no, Aozen-kun, it's just a question. It's one that is sometimes in the Academy's exam, though it wasn't this year."

Aozen nods at that and looks out the window at Konoha, sipping his tea while he does.

What a question. In order to answer it, he’d have to have an idea of what Konoha should be; should it be closer to his own world of Before? Wars and conflict still happened but the standards of living were much higher in most places, and people didn’t live with death over their shoulder all the time.

He dismissed the idea immediately. That would take too much effort, and would certainly be a process of several lifetimes. The existence of chakra, of veritable superpowers, made it nearly improbable from the outset. Power would inevitably give way to greed, as it had for hundreds of years during the Warring Clans era.

The orphanages come to mind. He’s never actually seen them in person, but he knows for certain that children, of shinobi in particular, are orphaned all the time, especially during wartime. Children left vulnerable and alone, and many of those who enter the shinobi Academy become adults at frankly absurd ages - he himself could probably survive on his own now, although much of that is probably his past life’s experience. Danzo’s ROOT is thought of after that, and he has to fight to keep a scowl off his face. Danzo is an enemy he’ll face some other day, and he’s not supposed to have knowledge of them in any form.

What of the education system? Segregation of the gender is fairly common, as shown by their separated classes, but they also learned together most of the time. He doesn't have nearly enough experience with others to know if sexism is an issue here, though as much as he'd like tohope it isn't, from what little he knows of the culture, that simply isn't true.

Another prevalent issue that he did have experience with was the disparity between clan shinobi and civilian-born shinobi. The gap between the two was massive, and one he probably wasn’t even fully aware of considering his own position on that spectrum. A-ha - and there’s something. Just as there is friction between the clan and civilian shinobi, so too is there friction between shinobi and non-shinobi.

There was great emphasis placed on the idea that being a ninja was the highest calling any individual person could have. Nevermind the fact that regular, ordinary people were literally what made the village work. Perhaps the Akimichi were responsible for much of the food production, but he knew personally, from his visits with Sensei, that they were staffed in no small portion by non-shinobi members of the clan, and there was a great deal of farmland throughout the Land of Fire besides.

Not to mention the various trades and business which offered a continuous flow of currency outside the largely static income of shinobi missions, which could and did fluctuate in availability and pay. Lack of missions, and thus income, was a large reason for war. It was probably why the Second War began in the first place.

He realizes that the question is asking too much. By asking the one thing you would change, you're forced to consider all that you can't. Though a single decision can make an impact, there's a tangled nest of problems to unsort. It seems far too much for one person to handle.

Which, he supposes, is part of the problem. The Hokage is only ever one person, and nearly all decision-making power rests with them. When he speaks, it is slow to make sure he gets the words right without stumbling.

"I would institute an electoral council of shinobi and civilians. Give them policy-making power and allow them to..." The word escapes him for a moment. "implement and amend laws for the population at large. Assign term limits so that no one can force a monopoly on certain political, er, attitudes."

He falls quiet for a moment, and the Sandaime speaks into the gap. "Who would elect such a council?"

"The people." Aozen answers plainly.

"How would the shinobi know what civilians to vote for? Or the civilians for the shinobi, for that matter? It may very quickly devolve into a simple popularity contest."

"There is a divide between civilians and shinobi that has never been bridged. We live in the same city as them, eat the same foods, and share the same patriotism, but we have no idea what it is like for them. Or them for us. How many superstitions about shinobi exist? How many of our own people are afraid of us? They do not understand us, and we do not understand them. A council of mutual presence, where its members were chosen by the people to actually representthem, might be the first step to fostering that mutual understanding."

"Do you believe that the current civilian and shinobi councils in place are ineffective?"

Aozen blinks. "I do not know enough about them, Hokage-sama. I doubt they areineffective. But I know that you cannot build a better world for people. Only people can do that. Otherwise it is just a cage."

The Sandaime's gaze is suddenly heavier than it had been previously. He looks with the Hokage's eyes at Aozen, but Aozen has to stand his ground in this. He's proud of his words, even if they are idealistic. The elder's expression relaxes as he reaches for a paper on his desk half-hidden beneath other folders and tugs it out, glancing at it.

“‘Wise beyond your years,’ your Academy instructors said.” Sarutobi reads, then glances up at Aozen. “I see now they were not exaggerating.” Aozen could’ve smiled, but didn’t. He had no idea. He glances sidelong to see Sakumo-sensei looking down at him with a complicated expression on his face, but he can pick out the affection in his gaze.

“I just enjoy thinking about things," he says, a tad sheepish. Sometimes he just thinks about how weird shoes are, and that's not productive at all. Now that he's consciously aware of his situation, brought starkly back to reality, and can't help but feel a little embarrassed. He just lectured the Hokage.

“Would that more children had the conscious awareness you do. Still, it gives me hope to hear young citizens thinking of the future." He visibly paused, then sighed. "I regret to cut our tea so short, especially given the interesting, but I have grown busier these days in light of the war ending.” Aozen’s just able to catch some new emotion - weariness? - flit across his face before it’s immediately under control.

“Sakumo,” the Hokage continues, “you may as well stay, since I’ve some things you could stand to know. Young Aozen,” he looks back to him and that grandfatherly smile again forms, “I will be watching your career with great interest.” Aozen stands, glancing to his mostly-empty teacup and then back to the Sandaime.

“Hai, Hokage-sama. Er, until I see you next.” He finished, bowing. Uchiha were ordinarily pale enough that blushes showed easily, and Aozen was, alas, not immune to this physical quirk. He glanced to Sakumo. "The same to you, Sensei?"

"You can head back home for today, Aozen. Be ready in case I stop by."

"Hai, Sensei." He deliberately didnot offer Sensei a bow as he did the Hokage, as a final measure of petty revenge.

========================================

Sakumo watches his student walk out of the room with no small amount of fondness.

He’d not known what to expect when the man sitting across from him had offered him the opportunity for an apprenticeship. Certainly not an Uchiha - and certainly not this Uchiha.

Prodigies, he knew. He’d been one himself, and had traversed the summits and pitfalls that so-called ‘geniuses’ faced. Now, only a few years away from forty, he thought he could look back and be thankful of all that he’d overcome.

Aozen had been and still wasan enigma. Nevermind that the boy at seven years old could process and deal with grief better and in a shorter amount of time than he’d seen shinobi twice and three times his age do, though he was certain that particular battle wasn’t over.

The speech his student had just given was an ideal example: at seven years old, he had presented a cogent idea that showed a great deal of thought and abstract thinking that would normally be above and beyond what someone his age was capable of. It might be an ideal grounded in naïveté, and Sarutobi-sensei had already dealt with similar arguments during his tenure, but ultimately it had merit, and it was encouraging that he'd thought of it of his own accord.

He sipped his own tea, a pleasant juniper blend, eyeing his sensei over the rim of his cup. The man took his pipe out from beneath his desk and lit it with a minute application of Katon chakra, and they both sat in silence for several moments; Sakumo savoring his tea and Sarutobi simultaneously ruining the taste with that damned pipe of his.

“So,” Sakumo elected to be the one to break the silence, “your thoughts, Sensei?”

Sarutobi snorted out a cloud of smoke. “I think the boy was holding back in his Academy tests even more than I thought he was. Do you know, when asked to perform the Bunshin, he also placed a sound genjutsu over them? They spoke to the proctors, who said they hadn’t even detected it being cast.”

Sakumo felt his eyebrows reach for his hairline. He hadn’t known that. “A proclivity for genjutsu, especially amongst Uchiha, is not unprecedented.” Curious that Aozen had never cast a genjutsu in any of their spars, however. He still had Tōka-sensei’s various notes on genjutsu, kept safe in his home - he wondered how an Uchiha would make use of them. He wondered if Sensei would approve, even.

Sarutobi puffed on his pipe. “How goes his training?” He asked, drawing the Hatake out of his thoughts.

“The boy’s a natural at both taijutsu and kenjutsu. He’s a credit to his clan in that regard, and soaks up the lessons as though he’s already unlocked his eyes.” He’s certain Aozen will be a terror once he does get the Sharingan, though he’s not sure what to feel about the inevitable circ*mstance surrounding it, knowing what he does of the fabled dōjutsu.

“We’re working on stamina and endurance while his body is still malleable. I had intended to move onto elemental ninjutsu in a few weeks, though I’m intrigued to see how it goes. He’s lightning natured.” Sarutobi-sensei doesn’t quite wince, though he can see his lips quirk around the tip of his pipe.

Lightning release is notoriously difficult to master, with a reputation for injuring inexperienced users greater than even Fire release techniques - both staples of the Uchiha clan, one might note.

Kakashi was lightning natured as well, and he knew his son hadn’t quite managed to figure out the chakra on his own despite a few disastrous first attempts, after which Sakumo had forbidden it without supervision. He’d already muscled his way through Sakumo’s own Doton techniques, though.

“He’s already learned the Uchiha’s Gōkakyū, but I’m mostly impressed with his progress with the Shunshin. He’s already better with it than some Chunin I’ve seen.”

The Shunshin was not, contrary to misguided popular belief, a teleportation technique: rather, it was a speed technique. It was restricted to Academy students because of the easy potential for injury; channeling chakra through one’s muscles to propel one forward could both destroy the muscles and propel one at high speeds into a solid object if one wasn’t careful.

Most shinobi didn’t use it in battle except to avoid large strikes because moving at great speeds limited one’s visibility to blurring shapes, a veritable death sentence. Aozen had already demonstrated not only willingness but ability to use it to great effect in their spars, dodging and counter-attacking in quick succession. He expected the Sharingan would only amplify that ability.

“Not unlike Jiraiya’s student.” The Hokage comments.

“Namikaze Minato, wasn’t it?” Another exceptional prodigy. Civilian-born, even.

Hiruzen-sensei affirms this with a nod. “Jiraiya has asked permission to share Tobirama-sensei’s notes with the boy.” Sakumo’s brows raise.

“Fūinjutsu?” Hiruzen nods. “Jiraiya did take to the art very well, I suppose. It makes sense that his student would follow.” Fūinjutsu was a truly terrifying art, and the Nidaime was a genius. Sakumo had never taken to sealing beyond what his sensei thought was acceptable, as his talents lay elsewhere, but he could certainly appreciate it for what it was.

He contained a wince as thoughts of sealing inevitably led to Uzushiogakure. He had no desire to relive memories of that shattered city so soon.

“Mhn,” his sensei hums, considering. “You’ll be taking him on missions soon, I expect?”

Sakumo felt his lips twitch towards a grin. “I’m feeling particularly inspired in that regard, Sensei. I had intended to start with D-ranks.” Apprentices normally didn’t do D-ranks, not that Aozen would know that. They were intended for new genin teams both to build camaraderie and teamwork, as well as begin generating an income for them.

Sarutobi Hiruzen may play up his persona of a warm grandfatherly man, and it wasn’t all an act, but as a teacher the man was practically sad*stic. When he entered his tutelage, Sakumo had already fought in the First Shinobi War and had reached the rank of Chunin, but he was put to work regardless. He had memories of doing five or six D-ranks in a day alone with only minimal use of chakra to accomplish his tasks. It had forced him to come up with rather creative usages of his chakra and jutsu.

The Sandaime chuckles. “I’m so glad at least some of my teachings have rubbed off.” Sakumo doesn’t quite roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing. Sarutobi knows very well how much of his skills Sakumo owes to his teachings.

“He and Kakashi have established a solid rapport, as well. They’re good for each other.” Sakumo doesn’t think Aozen sees how Kakashi is beginning to take cues from him. If they hadn’t met before Aozen had been assigned to him, Kakashi may have dismissed him outright, but as far as he’s aware he’s one of the only people Kakashi actively gets along with. His son has already marked his student as pack, and he can’t help but see that as a good thing.

“Ah, yes. Another bright star of the newest generation.” He can’t help the flutter of pride at the nod to both his son and his student. “I have heard that he is not getting along well with his new team.”

Sakumo resists the urge to sigh as his pride deflates. “That’s something of an understatement.” Sakumo knew Inuzuka Keisuke well. He was a strong jōnin, and a decent teacher, but the biggest problem was Kakashi's teammates. “Kakashi respects strength. He’s advanced for his age, and if his fellow genin don’t measure up…” he shrugs helplessly. “It’s the Hatake in him.”

Not for the first time, he wishes Natsumi was still around. Her loss was a constant ache in his heart, and he laments that Kakashi would never know her bright, firm guidance - some guidance that would no doubt be helpful in situations like this.

“Although,” he adds, pushing his grief to the side for the moment, “Aozen did ask about where Kakashi and his team are training.” He glances out the window. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s planning something.” Aozen was nothing if not a thinker, and the Uchiha in him means he’ll act on those thoughts when he has the opportunity.

A silent pulse of chakra and ANBU Rabbit appears in the office next to the Hokage’s desk. Sakumo offers a respectful nod to the familiar kunoichi (not that he’s allowed to acknowledge that familiarity, since she’s on-duty), which is promptly returned.

“Hokage-sama,” she says, ANBU mask rendering her voice monotone. She offers a scroll, which Sarutobi-sensei takes, before disappearing.

“I suppose that’s my cue to take off, eh?” Sakumo says, beginning to rise.

“Actually, you may be helpful. This is about recent ANBU assignments. I could use your input.”

Sakumo pursed his lips and settled back in his seat. He had retired from ANBU when the Second War had ended, which the Sandaime knew very well since it was his idea. "I'm retired, you know."

“Perhaps," Sarutobi-sensei counters, "but paperwork never sleeps. Do your old sensei a favor, wouldn't you?" Sakumo chuckles and shakes his head, but leans forward as they get down to work.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Training ground twenty-one was like any other training ground, without any particular additions aside from training dummies, targets, and Konoha’s natural terrain; it was largely flat with slight curves, with trees interspersed, and on the smaller side of training grounds. For this reason, it was popular among new genin teams, who would most often be working on simple teamwork or chakra control exercises and as such didn’t need the amount of space chunin and jounin did.

One such genin team was practicing there now; Aozen had it in good faith that it was, in fact, Kakashi’s genin team. The grounds were open enough for Aozen to verify that this was indeed the case before he even entered them, fortunately.

He perched himself on a tree branch a respectful distance away, mind awhirl but determinedly focusing on the genin team and jounin across the training ground - tea with the Sandaime had been something , certainly, and more than he wanted to deal with right then.

The Jounin-sensei was on the taller side, with spiky dark hair, and even from a distance Aozen could spot the dark red fangs tattooed on both of the man’s cheeks. If that hadn’t told him he was an Inuzuka, the dark-furred ninken standing up to his waist - a not inconsiderable feat of height - definitely would have keyed him in.

He was lecturing his three students animatedly: Kakashi was as recognizable as ever even without the scarf, his shock of white hair a familiar beacon to Aozen’s eyes. The one next to him was surprisingly almost the same height as Kakashi, but a bit taller; a female, he guessed, with light blonde hair and no other distinguishable features he could tell from behind and at this distance. The third was the tallest (though still only a child’s height), a male with dark hair. He had no idea who they were.

He wasn’t really sure what his plan was. He knew that Kakashi wasn’t getting along with his team, and had felt… bored, probably. Bored, mildly concerned, and he knew that he could do something. He was fairly certain that Minato would, at some point, be along to take his friend as an apprentice, but until then, he had no idea what was meant to happen.

He felt the problem was both that Kakashi’s team didn’t understand him and that Kakashi didn’t care to let them. Maybe he could just talk to the boy’s sensei - who was probably a much better teacher than he himself was. Maybe he could just watch them. He was not very good at stealth, as he could not grasp the concept of minimizing one’s chakra presence, but fortunately Kakashi had an abysmal chakra sense and he doubted the two genin were much better.

He didn’t know when their practice had begun, but he presumed it was currently around the start of it, as he saw, after an exchange, the two unfamiliar genin seperate off to one side. Kakashi and his sensei did the same a moment after. Without much preamble, they began to spar while the Inuzuka’s ninken prowled off to the side. He hesitated a moment, then moved closer along the edge of the training ground, finding another tree to sit on.

Sparring was like, a normal thing that genin did, he guessed. Sakumo-sensei and he sparred all the time, and it was nearly always constructive. He’d pegged early on that Aozen was not the type to benefit from verbal instruction on how a kenjutsu or taijutsu form worked, and instead mostly resorted to learning by doing.

Kakashi probably had the ability to learn either way, as freakishly intelligent as he was, but he was inevitably a boy of action. As Aozen watched, the young Hatake flung himself at his sensei in a flurry of physically weak but precise blows aimed for available weak points: eyes, solar plexus, kidneys, and the like. The Inuzuka blocked them with ease.

His gaze flickered over to the other two genin. They were, as far as he could remember, the first ‘normal’ genin he’d ever seen. The blonde girl was aggressive and attempted to close the distance immediately. The boy was smaller and thus on the defensive, attempting to make distance.

Ah - he recognised the boy. Shiranui Mino, the one in his class with really good marksmanship scores. As he watched, he saw him kick the girl in the shin, giving him enough time to leap back and throw a senbon. The blonde raised an arm with a bracer on it to try and block it, but evidently failed. He heard her shout something indistinct and then felt a strange tingle on the edges of his chakra sense as she did. He tried to peer closer, but --

“Do you spy on every genin team’s training, or just mine?” An unfamiliar voice at his back had him with a kunai in hand before he could consider it, too used to Sakumo-sensei’s random surprise attacks.

(once, he gave the guards at the entrance to Uchiha-ku a heart attack by springing upon Aozen as he was coming home from training. he ruined Aozen’s oden once during a food break by casting a genjutsu on him. not even lunch was sacred to the man. bathroom trips were his only solace)

The Inuzuka sensei had a kind of rawness to his gaze that seemed to brook no lies from whatever it was focused upon. They were the bright color of honey or perhaps sanded redwood, a color which was pretty to look at but only intensified their scrutiny.

The man’s posture belied these eyes, for he had his hands placed lazily in the loop of his belt, a slight slouch curving his spine. He stood quite comfortably upon the smallest branch Aozen had ever seen anyone stand on, seeming almost amused by the weapon being pointed at him.

“Aa,” Aozen eloquated, slowly putting the kunai back in his pouch. The casual raising of the Inuzuka’s eyebrows after a few beats of silence indicated that he wanted an answer. “I have not spied on anyone else’s genin team. Er, that is, I was not spying on yours either. I have done no spying.” Perhaps he should give up on ever being as articulate as he wanted to be. He appears to have talent for the shinobi arts, as long as those shinobi arts involve anything except expressive speaking.

“Good, because if that was meant to be spying it was a sh*t attempt. Er, terrible attempt.” he corrected his cursing far too late for it to mean anything as Aozen merely blinked, and probably also blushed.

“So,” the Inuzuka continued, stepping with ease onto Aozen’s own branch. He shifts to make room for the much larger man. “What were you doing?”

“...I was coming to see how Kakashi was getting along with his team.” He looks back to the field to see both pairs still sparring - including the Inuzuka and Kakashi. He looks at the Jounin, then back at the field, then back to him. Shadow clone, his mind answers.

Another brow raise. “Are you Kakashi’s friend?”

“Uh, well, I like to think so.” His only friend, if he was being honest, which was mutually true for the both of them. He’d not talked to Mohira enough to count him, which he felt a little guilty about.

“Huh. I’ll be damned - I didn’t think he had any friends. How’d that happen?” Surprisingly, the man seemed genuinely interested.

“I beat him in a spar when we were in the Academy, then asked if he wanted to practice together sometime. We’ve been doing that ever since.”

“Ah. I suppose it was too much to hope that the both of you were doing normal kid things.” The man said, more to himself than Aozen. He had no filter; if Aozen were a normal kid he’d probably be offended on his friend’s behalf, but if he were a normal kid he probably also wouldn’t be in this position. As it was, he just shrugged.

“To answer the question you didn’t quite ask, he’s not getting along with his teammates well at all.” The jounin looked towards the training ground and the ongoing spars.

“He doesn’t respect them,” Aozen guesses. Well, actually, not a guess, more of an inference because Kakashi has disparaged them behind their backs before, which Aozen thoroughly disapproves of.

“Nope.” Inuzuka-sensei confirms. “What’s your name?”

“Uchiha Aozen-desu. Nice to meet you. I belatedly apologise in advance for Kakashi’s rudeness.” It was all he could really do, to be honest. Inuzuka-sensei barks out a laugh at that, taking a few moments to settle. Aozen notes that the man has really sharp teeth.

“Inuzuka Keisuke. You’re Sakumo’s student, aintcha?”

“Hai.” he confirms with a nod.

“Hm. Well, since most of my attempts at bringing the pup to heel haven’t succeeded, did you have anything in mind?” Aozen thought it was pretty bizarre that a Jounin would ask a seven-year-old genin for help with anything, but this was about as good an opportunity as he’d get to help Kakashi, so he went with it.

“Who are his teammates?” he decides to ask.

“Shiranui Mino and Yamanaka Ikoni. Mino’s following in his family’s footsteps, a deadeye with anything thrown, and his parents tell me that he’s being trained by them in poison-making. Ikoni’s an aspiring genjutsu specialist with a decent knack for taijutsu.” From what he remembered of the Before and what he now knew, both seemed like typical shinobi aspirants of their respective clans. Nothing to set them apart from anyone else, not that that was a bad thing.

Kakashi was a little genius (read: bastard) with a propensity for snatching up any jutsu put in front of him. No wonder he had done so well with a Sharingan; he’d been a Copy-nin for years before he’d gotten the dōjutsu. On-top of that, he knew from Sakumo-sensei himself that the Hatake, like the Inuzuka, were renowned and highly adept trackers, on account of their natural bloodline abilities (that technically aren't kekkai genkai) and their ninken summoning contracts.

A Yamanaka’s hiden mind and genjutsu techniques, with a Shiranui poison specialist, and a Hatake tracker and prospective jutsu-freak. All trained by an Inuzuka.

“They are well suited to become a hunter-tracker squad." Aozen notes. Rather than form a hundred different divisions, Konoha simply had squad designations. Usually, these applied to Chunin or Tokujo squads, as they were more likely to have the requisite skills already learned. Genin teams also weren't guaranteed to stay together for the rest of their ninja careers, but occasionally some would be tagged and built for certain purposes. Like this one, apparently.

“Sharp. None of them have realised that yet because they’re usually too busy sulking.” Yeah, Kakashi was pretty good at that.

“Um, well,” Aozen said, trying to ponder up a solution. “Kakashi has been raised to respect strength, as a Hatake.” Keisuke nods, waiting for him to continue. “I don’t think he realises what being a shinobi means, though - he’s focused on learning, and being stronger, and proving himself to Sakumo-sensei.”

“So he needs a wake up call.” Keisuke surmises, though he sounds as though he’d already known this. Aozen nods anyway. “Beating it into him hasn’t appeared to work very well. Telling him hasn’t, either.”

“Sakumo-sensei has tried talking to him, too, but it hasn’t worked.” Aozen tries to commiserate. At that, Keisuke gives him a strange look.

“Huh. Join us on the training ground.” And then he disappears - dispels? - in a puff of smoke, leaving the Uchiha no small amount of confused. He obliges anyway.

At some point while they were talking, Keisuke-sensei had stopped the spars and lined the three genin up to talk to them. The ninken remained sitting comfortably in the shade some metres away. Kakashi perked up noticeably at Aozen’s sudden appearance, looking as though he wanted to abandon the others but his fellow genin just looked a little startled.

“Students,” Keisuke-sensei began, “this is Uchiha Aozen. I have recruited him to help with your training.” At that, the Uchiha in question gave the Inuzuka a bemused look, because this had not been even remotely discussed.

“Ah. Uh. Uchiha Aozen-desu. Nice to meet you.” He introduced himself, unnecessarily of course, but it was polite.

“Yamanaka Ikoni-desu. Good to meet you.” The Yamanaka girl returned thereafter. Maybe it was just clan manners. She was giving him a notably suspicious look.

“Shiranui Mino.” Followed the brown-haired genin with a lazy wave. They both turned to look at Kakashi.

“Yo.” The boy said, in a manner which Aozen knew to be positively giddy for him. No doubt Kakashi was associating his presence with some ‘real’ training. He watched the Yamanaka roll her eyes at his comparatively lackluster introduction, and the Shiranui slouch a little more. Hm.

“We’re gonna have a team exercise. This time, though, it’ll be you three against Aozen. Arai can answer any of your questions, Aozen. ” He was momentarily confused at who ‘Arai’ was before the ninken, nearly as tall as he was, silently bounded over to stand beside its partner.

“But Sensei, we don’t even know who he is! He's just some kid!” Ikoni shouts - yes, shouts, the exclamation point was not just for dramatic effect. A ‘genjutsu specialist’, Keisuke-sensei had said - weren’t they supposed to be subtle?

“Yep.” Keisuke practically drawls. “Get into your positions.”

Aozen’s gaze shifts from Keisuketo Arai hesitantly. The ninken merely gives him a look that seems to say Well? Get on with it. He notes that the Inuzuka and his partner both have the same colored eyes as he himself walks over to a neutral position several metres across from the others. Neat.

“Team Keisuke.” Pronounced the jounin from off to the side of the field. “Your mission is to get this,” he tossed a bag probably the size of his palm across the way to the trio; Kakashi caught it, “to the end of the field in under the time limit. Aozen, your job is to prevent them from doing so for the duration. Arai can answer any questions you have.”

Ah. Question one: what? He was fairly sure he wasn’t good enough to fight three combatants, one of them easily on his own level.

Ikoni raised her hand to ask the obvious question and did not wait to be called on. “Sensei, what’s the time limit?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” He answered magnanimously. “Anything else?”

Surprisingly, it was Kakashi who spoke next, albeit without raising his hand. “Training parameters?” He wondered distantly if Kakashi was modeling his own slouch on this man - they were remarkably similar.

“Training,” the man affirmed with a nod. “No permanent injuries, this is just a spar, but do your best. Break to discuss strategy. You’ve got a couple minutes.”

Hum. After a moment of thinking, Aozen removed his katana from his belt and stepped away to place it on the side of the field. Sakumo-sensei could of course still destroy him with his pinky finger, so holding back was altogether unnecessary, and Kakashi could be reliably expected to keep pace with him if not beat him on occasion.

When he came back, Arai was looking at him almost expectantly.

“Arai-san.” Aozen began, trying to remain respectful. “I, uh, don’t have many questions at this moment.” There was a pause as he considered how to continue; he did not expect a response.

“Worry not, dark-eyes-ash-pup.” He definitely did not expect a baritone voice deeper than even the ninken’s partner. “Your thoughts?”

“Aa.” Aozen said, a little numbly. It was one thing to have seen a cartoon animal talk. It was entirely another to see it in front of his face. “Ahem. Yes, well, ah. Kakashi is the main threat, but I can handle him one way or another. Mino shouldn’t be allowed to go to range or he’ll disable me.” Probably. Ranged weapons were incredibly useful, but you couldn’t change their target once they were already in the air - hm. That bore thought.

“And the sharp-mind-clan?” rumbled the ninken. When Aozen blinked in unrecognition, the wolfdog amended with deliberate syllables, “I-ko-ni,” then huffed, hopefully in amusem*nt instead of annoyance.

“Well, if she knows any of her clan jutsu then I’m probably screwed. Genjutsu…” A red eye flashed through his mind; he dismissed it immediately. “My sensei has shown me how to break genjutsu. I can take her in close quarters.” In fact, he very much hoped she was going to resort to close quarters.

He looked up to see (and hear, though not distinctly) the trio of genin arguing. Or, rather, it was Ikoni speaking in harsh tones to the other two, neither of whom seemed to bother with speaking all that much. He noted that Kakashi had attached the bag Keisuke-sensei had thrown to his belt.

“Time! Get ready, kiddies.” Keisuke announced from the sidelines. Aozen drew two kunai - blunted, of course. Across the way, Mino reached into a pouch on his belt while Ikoni and Kakashi got into a combat stance. Arai loped over to his partner. “Begin!”

Aozen threw a kunai directly for Mino and ducked in the same movement to dodge the senbon that probably would’ve hit him in his forehead. At the same time, Arai bounded forward, no doubt to close the distance and capitalise on the distraction Aozen’s kunai hopefully provided.

Predictably, Kakashi did not go for the objective, but rather for Aozen. Kakashi was faster in close quarters by necessity due to being smaller than literally everyone. Perhaps a week or two ago this would’ve been enough, but Aozen hadn’t been doing speed drills with Sakumo-sensei for nothing.

Aozen parried a blow from Kakashi’s kunai with his own, redirecting his momentum off to the side and stepping past him, putting Kakashi inbetween him and Mino. Yamanaka Ikoni was slower than Kakashi but made up for that in enthusiasm, sailing towards him with an admittedly telegraphed fist ready to be planted in his face.

He wasn’t particularly sorry to disappoint her, because getting hit in the face was not very fun, thank you. He applied the exact same principle he’d just used on Kakashi on her, except he helped it along by wrapping a hand around her wrist and yanking her past him --

-- right into Kakashi, who had recovered quickly from Aozen’s parry but was unprepared for a 12-year-old to barrel into him. Her triumphant shout - again, genjutsu specialist? - turned into a cry as they collided in a tangle of limbs. Poor physically underdeveloped Kakashi was no match for a twelve year old’s weight, even a girl on the smaller side for her age.

They tumbled to the ground. Aozen could have smiled, but instead he danced closer for just a moment, just enough to catch Kakashi as he tried to shove the girl off of him and snatch the nondescript brown leather bag off his belt, then step back. That was way easier than he expe -

A senbon vacated the bag from his hands by force, though it didn’t possess enough power to, say, pin it to a tree. He looked over the field at Mino - careless, entirely too careless of him to forget about another enemy. He would’ve died if it wasn’t training.

He threw the kunai in his other hand towards Mino to force the boy away and dashed over to rectify his mistake by picking up the pouch.

By then, Kakashi had recovered even if Ikoni was still getting to her feet. It made little difference, technically, because by this point could probably outpace all of them via shunshin and win the day.

That would be counter-productive though, because although Keisuke-sensei had not said it, the goal of this lesson was to teach Kakashi the importance of teamwork, and it was doubly important that it came from him. Apparently.

So, when Kakashi came back at him with a vengeance, Aozen managed to jump just out of reach of the kick he tried at. It was at this point that Aozen was beginning to think of how he might teach the lesson. Kakashi disregarded his teammates entirely, viewing them as obstacles to his progress instead of valued members of Konoha who he could learn and work with.

So, Aozen would show him just how detrimental it would be to ignore them.

A seal-less kawarimi meant that Kakashi stabbed a log instead of Aozen and he was now immediately out of range of everyone for at least a few seconds. He observed the battlefield. Keisuke and Arai were still on the side of the field, watching.

“Get the bag, you idiots!” yelled Mino as he approached them. Ikoni’s gaze met his, and he felt something strange with his chakra as she formed a single handseal. As though there were tears in his eyes, the three genin turned into indistinct blurs that quickly grew even less distinct as time wore on.

He flared his chakra in an instinctive kai , recognising the disruption of his chakra as someone - probably Ikoni - attempting to blanket him with her own. The world shifted into razor sharp focus, and he recognised both Ikoni’s expression morph into surprise, and the three shuriken whizzing through the air towards him with Kakashi following in their wake.

Maybe the shuriken were slow or something, but Aozen dodged them with ease. If he had his katana he might have tried to deflect them, but alas. Kakashi was next in line but Aozen was only one handed at the moment so rather than face him head-on, he dashed past.

Ordinarily, turning a back on an enemy was just plain stupid. But lo, Aozen had a plan. Ikoni was caught by surprise as Aozen was suddenly in her space and about to employ the exact same trick he had at the beginning of the spar. He closed a hand around an arm that was still a part of a formed hand-sign and yanked back. The girl, too slow to respond, was once again tossed towards the oncoming Kakashi.

Kakashi was no slouch, of course. Rather than crash into his teammate, he leapt over her with grace to rival Aozen’s, poised to unceremoniously stab Aozen with all the force that a five-year old prodigy could muster while moving at speed.

The last of his three training kunai he could store with an outfit this basic found its way into his way quick enough to parry the strike and allow his footwork to carry him to his right. Kakashi, naturally, continued forward and slipped into the space Aozen had just vacated -

- and into the path of a trio of senbon Mino had thrown which were intended for Aozen. Kakashi spasmed as he fell forward, the senbon embedded in his back. Aozen withheld a wince in favor of looking up to Mino, who wore an expression of shock. He threw his last kunai at the boy (as he had the other two), who dodged it despite his surprise. Except this time, Aozen was there to follow-up, Kawarimi-ing behind him in order to land a blow to the back of his head. Or, perhaps, pretend to, considering both of his teammates were down.

“Time!” came the call just as Aozen appeared in place of a branch a few feet behind Mino, who still twitched to face him, obviously off-guard at him being so close. Aozen elected to sheepishly kind of wave.

“Your accuracy has improved.” Aozen compliments - he’s decent with senbon, his parent’s training made sure of it, but he couldn’t hit a pouch from someone’s hand at twenty metres.

“T-thanks.” Mino returned, blinking several times. “Uh, your Sharingan…” Aozen froze.

“My what? I don’t have a Sharingan.” Aozen responds immediately. Mino blinks, then frowns.

“Pretty good, kid.” Keisuke-sensei said as he walked over, Kakashi and Ikoni in tow. Kakashi looked annoyed, senbon in hand which had no doubt been removed from his back. Ikoni looked a little grumpy, too.

“You didn’t tell me you had the Sharingan.” Kakashi said, pushed his way past Mino to look at Aozen - except he wasn’t looking at Aozen, he was looking at his cheekbone. This close, it was easy to see the angle of his eyes and the tight furrow in his eyes signalling his confusion, or perhaps his hurt.

Aozen takes a step back. “I don’t have the Sharingan.” he repeats, looking between them.

“What?” Ikoni demanded, stepping forward. “You clearly do. My genjutsu was useless…” she crossed her arms and huffed.

“I…” Aozen tried to say something but the words wouldn’t come out. He looks to Keisuke, as though he could somehow solve the problem, but the man also bore a frown.

“You alright, Aozen?” The man asks, audibly concerned.

No. No, he isn’t. Looking past them he’s astonished he didn’t notice it before, some cognitive bias blocking out the sheer detail in his gaze. He can see the threads on Keisuke's jōnin vest just as he can see the veins of the leaves forty metres behind him, and suddenly he’s overwhelmed.

“Aozen -” Kakashi steps forward, perhaps to help or perhaps to get an answer.

Aozen runs.

========================================

Aozen didn’t know where or what he was fleeing towards, only that anywhere else was better than where he was, surrounded by the stares of those who didn’t know the conflict raging in his head.

He blurred faster than he ever had before, the chakra in his legs giving them the strength to shave bits of bark off of trees with their impacts and, once he’d reached the marketplace, disturbing the tile roofs of the buildings, and likely the residents within them. He couldn’t possibly have cared less.

Once he realised that the only way he was able to keep up with such speeds was the super-perception granted by his Sharingan, he stopped, might have screamed, deactivated his eyes, and began running again at a more sedate pace (which was still very panicked and pretty fast).

He sought the largest forest he could see for solace, and he knew in the back of his mind that it belonged to training ground forty-four but still didn’t care all that much. A leap carried him over the fence surrounding the Forest of Death and onto a branch of some of the larger hashirama trees, and he went a bit further in for good measure, staying high up and avoiding the forest floor.

He collapsed on a thick branch, back against the tree, and huffed.

“God, but I’m so f*cking tired.” he said aloud in English, the words clumsy and unfamiliar to a tongue that had adapted to a different language, but they rang true all the same.

“What even is this bullsh*t? I’m overdue for a mental breakdown.” he continued speaking to himself, switching back to Konohan except for the English curse words he’d throw in.

He wasn’t even sad. He was just angry. He’d thought there had been more crying to do, but evidently not; perhaps he’d gotten those tears out with the panic attack that morning, which he’d done his best to forget about.

Who even was he, anymore? Was he Uchiha Aozen, or was he Thomas Goodley, some nobody from Kansas? Had he really lost his dad? Was he really living here? Was he dissociating again?

He slapped himself for good measure.

Of course he’d lost his dad. He loved his dad to pieces, thought he was the coolest thing since chakra, had treasured - continued to treasure every moment spent with him, especially when he’d gone back on active duty. He thought of the bonsai tree in their living room like an embodiment of his legacy every time he watered it and he usually had to fight not to cry again.

But it had only been two months and he was already tired of grief. Maybe that was cruel of him, but he didn’t care, because his dad had died and -

- and all he had to show for it was a stupid Sharingan that he couldn’t properly use without flipping his sh*t. Was that how it worked? People he loved died and he got more powerful for it? Was this some cursed aspect of the narrative ? Because tragedy and pain make the best stories, of course.

He twisted to punch the tree he was sitting on and began cursing once it became abundantly clear that anger did not preclude pain.

He was right back where he was when Tou-san had first died; lost and confused, and he hated it. Because it was beginning to feel like everything was compounding and he was having a bit of a crisis - did it count as midlife if his shinobi life expectancy was conceivably in his teens?

He wanted something or someone from his previous life in front of him, and he maybe wanted them to tell him that he’d been in some sort of coma for the past few weeks and had experienced some grand dreams and delusions. Frankly, he was surprised this sentiment hadn’t sprung up when he was writing his journal and triggered another breakdown then, but hey, alone in the middle of a forest was as good a time as any, right?

Except maybe he didn’t actually want this to be unreal, only that it would be much easier if it was. The people here were real, even if some he’d seen were practically caricatures. His dad was real, his mom was real. Kakashi and Sakumo-sensei were real. His stupid Sharingan eye was real.

He was real. He was real even though sometimes he wished that he was not, or was confused by how this whole ‘reality’ thing was meant to work - like now, for example.

The only thing he was not entirely certain was real was the line between who he was now and who he used to be. Or if the line was more of a dashed, dotted line, with a few smudges further along like the person who’d drawn it had been left-handed (a terrible issue for left-handed people who wrote, he’d been told).

Was he acting all the time? He had never normally been so polite. He’d actually been a bit awkward, but usually with a dry wit a fair amount of people found annoying at times. He’d also been categorically not seven years old, and not really a prodigy of anything. All of his interactions thus far had been accompanied by a great deal of thinking , and he was usually pretty exhausted by it even though thinking was worthwhile. It made him wonder if he had been thinking of how he should act, instead of actually doing and being himself.

“Aozen?” He managed not to jump and run once more at Sensei’s voice, which came from another branch adjacent to his own. The elder Hatake wore a genuine face of concern; no doubt discovering his student inside the Forest of Death, sitting on a tree as he was wont to do in his apparently worst moments, was mildly alarming.

“Sensei,” he said, some degree of urgency leaking into his voice outside of his own will, “I think I’m losing my mind.” Sakumo, to his credit, only blinked once at this revelation and took only a few seconds to respond.

“Okay.” He said dubiously. “What makes you say that?”

Aozen could’ve laughed at the absurdity of the question; or more accurately, at the absurdity of the true answer. I died, and was reincarnated, so that’s pretty weird .

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Sakumo-sensei, he does , but… that just doesn’t feel like something you tell someone. At least, not yet. He’d already confessed to maybe possibly losing his mind, but that was a sure way to get a mental examination by a Yamanaka, which was something he mentally classified as ‘not good, very bad, probably best to avoid’, alongside people who poured the milk before the cereal.

“I activated my Sharingan.” This elicited a noticeable expression of surprise from his sensei. “When I got the letter that -” he sighed, because he couldn’t actually say the words aloud without a notable hitch in his throat. “That Tou-san had died.”

“Okay.” Sakumo says, in a blink appearing on the same branch, and crouching in front of him. “How do you feel?”

Aozen cursed this seven-year-old body and all that it brought with it. He felt like an adult and he wanted to look like one too, but his hands were almost too small to comfortably wrap around the hilt of his own blade. As it was, he felt like any emotion he expressed was a caricature of itself, like he was throwing a tantrum. He sometimes even acted accordingly, as though he *were* seven, even smart for his age.

But he wasn’t. And he was tired of acting like it.

“I can’t control my own mental processes. I got a panic attack this morning when I tried to activate it on my own. I used it without realising during a spar and once I was aware of it I ran halfway across the village without thinking.” This felt much more like bitterness than anything, directed at himself.

“This is a conversation I am unequipped for,” Sakumo gently admits, “but I am here for it if you wish me to be. Do you want me to listen, offer advice, or do something about it?” Aozen leaned his head back against the tree.

“Sensei, you’re such a good person. This world’s better with you in it.” Sakumo blinked at the profound sincerity from, to him, a seven year old.

“Thank you, Aozen.” He said, and for a moment the sheer warmth in his voice reminded Aozen so much of his dad that his heart physically ached in his chest, and he couldn’t bear to look at him. Sensei patiently waited for his question to be answered.

“What could you do about it?” He asked, more for curiosity’s sake than anything.

“Me personally? Nothing, except direct you to the proper resources. I know many Yamanaka who are available for appointment.”

Aozen didn’t quite stiffen, but the prospect was unappealing. “No Yamanaka therapy, please.”

“Of course,” Sakumo acquiesced immediately, surprisingly. Did he need therapy? Probably. But they were problems he couldn’t really talk about, not in their entirety. He’d be walking a tightrope not to reveal the wrong things, which really just sounded like a headache. If he couldn’t relax in a therapy session, then it was basically useless, and a trained psychologist would be able to notice it, probably.

“I need to talk to Fugaku-oji.” he decided. If there was anyone who could help him deal with the Sharingan and its associated trauma, it was probably Fugaku - although, the man was probably dealing with the same traumas he was, if not worse.

But who else could he ask? Perhaps selfishly, he didn’t want to subject his mother to that conversation yet, and he didn’t really know of anyone else he could turn to. The idea of going to, for example, Kaede-san or Atsuhiko-san (Kaa-san’s partner and Mohira’s dad, respectively) didn’t even seem like valid options.

“Then I’ll take you to him.” A pause. “Where is your sword?” Aozen thought about it then groaned.

“It’s back at the training ground with Kakashi’s team. I’m sorry Sensei, I’m not supposed to -”

“Quiet, pupling. I’ll let it pass just this once.” He wore an easy smile that inexplicably made Aozen feel better. Sensei had the kind of eyes and smiles that made it simple to believe in him, even when he said words that didn’t make sense. Like ‘pupling’.

Sakumo turned his back to him. “Hop on.” Aozen sighed but obliged. His legs were pretty tired, to be fair, and this made things simpler.

========================================

Aozen insists on walking once they get to Uchiha-ku. Out of respect for the clan and without wanting to cause alarm, Sensei always enters through the main gates instead of zipping straight to the Clan Head’s home, which he could no doubt do. Aozen is Uchiha and thus known, and Sakumo is a living legend and also acknowledged as Aozen’s sensei, so not an unfamiliar sight.

His emotions have faded in intensity by the time they reach the home but that just means he isn’t hyperventilating anymore. His thoughts are still a whirl because he knows he needs to talk about things but doesn’t know what exactly to say, especially to Fugaku.

Does he ask him about his father? It almost seems rude, because surely the man was grieving too. Does he talk about the Sharingan? What does he say? There were probably rituals for this sort of thing…

“Aozen.” Sakumo was a calming presence at Aozen’s side, and now a warm hand on his shoulder. “We’ve arrived. Do you want me to go in with you?” Aozen frankly doesn’t know why Sakumo is asking him the questions here, he’s a mess and also seven (but not really because he’d decided he wasn’t).

“Aa - um. If it’s about the Sharingan, then… probably not.” Sakumo-sensei was Sakumo-sensei, but he was not Clan, and some things simply weren’t talked about outside of the Uchiha.

He nods as though he understands completely, then knocks on the frame of the door, flaring his chakra to accompany it. A respectful few seconds later, the door opens to Mikoto-sama, dressed impeccably as she always is.

“Hatake-sama,” she demures, bowing her head. Mikoto is young still, but has long since adopted to her position as the Clan Head’s wife. “Aozen-kun,” she greets second. “We did not expect your visit - do forgive us for the state of our home.”

“Nonsense, Mikoto-sama,” dismisses Sensei easily, waving a hand. “You have always kept your home in the most admirable of states.” Mikoto flashes what he thinks is a genuine smile and perhaps a blush. “And besides, I was simply bringing Aozen here. He wanted to speak to Fugaku-dono.” Aozen bows his head when he is mentioned, as is proper. Say what you will about decorum and uptight social rules, but they’re very good for hiding behind.

“Of course. Aozen-kun is always welcome in our home.” She says. Aozen is surprised by the high level of respect freely offered, and bows again even as he starts to blush.

To his mind Mikoto was an adult he did not know particularly well except that she exemplified everything an Uchiha woman was meant to be: strong-willed, dignified, graceful, and devoted to the Clan. Or perhaps more accurately, devoted to her husband.

The shinobi patriarchy was an enemy for another day.

“Thank you, Mikoto-sama.” he says quietly. “Thank you, Sensei.” He bows to him, too, but the dignity of the moment was ruined when Sakumo ruffled his hair.

“We’ll talk later, Aozen.” Aozen merely nods. Sakumo disappears without a trace as Aozen turns to go inside.

“Fugaku is in his study. Would you like anything to eat? I’ve nothing prepared but that’s no obstacle.” Mikoto said, a gentle handle on his shoulder to guide him down the hall to, apparently, Fugaku’s office. He’d never been.

“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.” He offered her a hesitant smile but continued where he was led. Anxiety did that to a man - er, boy. Manboy. Ew, nevermind, that sounded disgusting. Mikoto hummed her acknowledgement and they continued on.

The study was on the second floor of the house and the journey there was short, but Aozen felt his anxiety drumming up in his chest and stretching out the length of time whilst simultaneously making it feel as though he had no time to think at all.

What would he say? What could he say? How did Uchiha normally do this? Was there some kind of speech - ritual, maybe? He knew the old ways, had grown up being taught them by Mikoni-obaa-sama, but while he could probably recite the lore behind the - eyes if asked, he didn’t know how to go about telling someone else he had them.

In moments they were in front of the door. Mikoto opened the door before he could protest, revealing Fugaku’s office.

It was (un)surprisingly spartan in layout, with a single desk in the center and two chairs in front of it. Shelving was set into the back wall and a cabinet lay against the left, which stretched all the way to the ceiling. The shelves had various scrolls and some trophies displayed on them; a ceremonial tanto here, some kind of medal there, what looked like some kind of warhorn, and the likes.

Fugaku looked up from his desk, wherein he was writing something on a piece of paper. His eyes flickered between Aozen and his wife.

“Hatake-sama brought Aozen-kun here. He wished to speak to you, Fugaku.” says Mikoto. Aozen sees a flicker of cognizance cross Fugaku’s face as he swivels his gaze back to him. “I’ll leave you both alone to talk.”

Bless Mikoto and her situational awareness. He had been afraid, momentarily, that he’d have to ask to talk to Fugaku alone. She gives Aozen a small pat of his hair with her hand, managing somehow to imbue a sense of comfort in the gesture. She leaves, and closes the door behind him.

“Have a seat, Aozen-kun. What’s wrong?” Fugaku said, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Aozen obliged, bringing himself up to sit down on the chair (which was frustratingly clearly made for someone of adult size) but not immediately to answer.

“...IhavetheSharingan.” He blurted after several silent moments. Fugaku blinked slowly.

“Enunciate, Aozen.” He directed simply, though not sternly.

Aozen straightened his posture like Kaa-san had taught him and controlled his breathing like Sakumo-sensei had taught him. Then he attempted to enunciate, like Fugaku was telling him.

“I have the Sharingan,” he said, voice much calmer than it had any right to be. His heart was beating and stomach was fluttering as though he was due to give a public speech. He tried to tell himself it was silly - it was only Fugaku-oji, after all, and he could tell Fugaku-oji nearly anything. These thoughts did little to quell his heart’s tremulous rhythm.

A second passed. Two. Three, four, five.

“Are you certain?” Fugaku said at last, face carved from stone.

Was he certain ? There was an inexplicable burst of anger at that simple question, though it was asked without inflection or implication. The anger was enough to momentarily override his anxiety, and by this point he knew how to activate the Sharingan. A flex of chakra to his eyes and the room burst into hyper-clarity.

The image of Fugaku’s flinch as he witnessed Aozen’s Sharingan would be yet another unhappy memory burned into his mind.

“I’m sorry - you don’t need to keep it active.”

Frankly, he didn’t know if he could. He released his hold on his chakra and the world blurred, comparatively like taking his glasses off had been in his old life.

Huh. He hadn’t thought about wearing glasses in a while. Seems ironic, now.

“I’m sorry, Aozen.” Fugaku said. Aozen looked at the desk, unsure of how to respond. Fugaku rises and rounds the desk, kneeling next to Aozen’s seat. “This should not be your burden to bear so young.” he continues solemnly.

“This is an Uchiha’s lot in life.” Aozen responds.

“...yes. It is.” Fugaku agrees quietly.

He had had the Sharingan for barely a month and activated it perhaps three or four times, and already he was beginning to understand what the Uchiha’s curse really meant. He could understand how a person could be driven insane by this grief - the grief of being unable to forget.

“Have you told your mother?” He asks, and Aozen has to resist a grimace.

“No. I - it came out accidentally during a spar. I ran. Sensei found me.”

“This was the first time it was activated?”

“...no.” Aozen answers simply.

“...I see.” Fugaku murmurs, and Aozen knows that he does. A spar is rarely intense for a Sharingan to be activated, especially not by a seven year old. And Fugaku was close with - with Aozen’s father.

“I understand this is difficult for you,” Fugaku continues, “but this is a conversation you should be having with your family.”

“But -” Aozen begins to protest, “you’re Fugaku-oji.” Fugaku favors him with a small, wan smile.

“I know, Aozen-kun. But your mother comes first. She deserves to know about this - there are certain traditions that must be observed. Afterwards, if she approves, we can speak more.”

Aozen heaves a sigh, sinking into his seat.

“Alright,” he nods. Fugaku smiles again and stands. He forms a hand-seal and, with a silent puff of smoke, a crow appears on the edge of Fugaku’s seat. Aozen quietly startles, both at the sudden appearance and at having never seen a summon before. Something to bring up to Sakumo-sensei at some point; he knew about the Hatake family contract, after all, but had never seen them.

“Kino. Tell Yuhoki-san that she’s needed here at the Clan house. Non-urgent, but important.” The crow squawked in return, feathers ruffling. It somehow managed to look indignant. Fugaku sighs. “I said it was important, Kino - else I would not have called you.” He steps back and slides open the study door and the crow squawks again before flapping its wings and flying through. He closed the door afterwards.

“We’ll wait here for your mother to arrive, then I’ll leave so you two can have your talk in private.” Fugaku says, and then simply… goes back to working on whatever he had been before Aozen had come in. The atmosphere wasn’t awkward, though he did feel a little bit like he was in the waiting room at the doctor’s office.

He didn’t have to wait long. Crows were fast fliers, apparently, and his mom was quick when she wished to be. He felt her before he even heard her, recognising the chakra of the woman he’d spent his entire life in close proximity to.

It flared and he felt Fugaku’s flare back, after which the door slid open. His mother stepped inside, dressed in the blue flak jacket of the Police Force. She closed the door behind her.

“Fugaku-sama - Aozen.” There was a slight pause as his mother looked at him, before she remembered decorum and offered the Clan Heir a bow.

“Kaa-san,” Aozen returned, brightening slightly despite his still-fluctuating mood.

“Yuhoki-san,” Fugaku greeted, standing from behind his desk. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Of course,” his mother inclined her head. “What’s wrong? Has Aozen done something?” She glanced at him again, then back to Fugaku. He was wrong; this felt rather more like waiting outside the Principal’s office. He wasn’t even in trouble.

“No, not exactly. Aozen has awoken his Sharingan.” Fugaku began without preamble, prompting silence to rise to a deafening pitch in the small room.

Yuhoki slowly turned to look at him and Aozen averted his gaze.

“I told him he should have spoken with you first - which I will now allow you two to do. Take whatever time you need.” And then he stepped past Yuhoki and into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Aozen kept his gaze on the desk, feeling slightly ashamed and guilty in equal measure and unable to meet his mother’s eyes. Then he was being pulled into a familiar embrace, hands instinctively wrapping around his mother’s shoulders.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” Kaa-san whispered into his hair, one hand holding him close to her chest and the other hand stroking his hair. "It's okay."

He teared up, then began to cry for the second time that day, and hugged her back with all his might. Guilt and shame dissipated into nothingness; anger and sadness followed them shortly after. This was not sorrow, nor even grief, but comfort; his mom was here, and for even just a few moments, everything would be alright.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

“We are Sharingan, and the Sharingan stand sentinel.” his mother said to him the next day, in the privacy of their own home.

“Sentinel to what?” he had asked. The crushing guilt and sorrow had faded with the new day, leaving him feeling drained but with a rising curiosity towards his Sharingan.

His mother hums. “Mikoni-sama has told you of our Clan’s stories?” He nods. She continues, “In the oldest of our legends, it is said that we were granted our eyes by the ancient dragons.”

When he was a child, Mikoni-obaa-sama told him and the other children these stories, but then they sounded simply like fairy tales. As children, they were all fascinated by things like dragon and chakra and great tales of heroism of Uchiha long since passed on.

His mother spoke to him with solemnity, though, a deliberateness to her tone and a weight to her gaze upon him.

“When the dragons left this world for the next, they did so with the promise that they would one day return, and that it is the Uchiha who would be charged with safeguarding this world for their return. So it is that the Uchiha became heir to the dragons, masters of fire and lightning, with the power to warp reality.” She marked a notable pause.

“As the Warring Clans era continued, belief in the old legends cemented as a way to remind ourselves of our inherent superiority, especially where the Senju were concerned. We stood sentinel because it was our duty to the world, but over time it morphed into arrogance.”

“When Hashirama-sama and Madara-sama created the village, so did the Uchiha. As the world progressed, so did our ideas. Nearly all of the other clans have left the old ways behind. A few remain; the Uchiha, the Nara… the Sarutobi, as well. Even so, many shinobi have no need for religion, and have focused the old ways into newer concepts of duty.”

“Now, the Uchiha stand sentinel for the village. Konoha is a beacon of ideas, progress, and power in this rapidly growing world. We are born warriors, and against a world which seeks only their own power, we serve as the most stalwart, the most devoted.”

Aozen considers this. He knows propaganda when he hears it, but he also knows that his mother is a smart woman. Belief is not always a matter of brainwashing, either - far from it.

“Doesn’t it seem like a step down?” He asks, tone hesitant. “From shepherds of the world, to protectors of a single village?”

“It is only a story,” his mother concedes. “They’re not always to be taken literally - but who knows? It could be more correct than we know. Other stories and explanations have come up, tales of the Sage of Six Paths and his children - it’s these stories which most follow today. I know Mikoni-obaa tends towards the old ways, however.”

The Sage and his children, Aozen knows, is what is technically true, even if it does sound mythical in its own right. It was also hundreds of years ago, in a world where archaeology and other sciences have not quite developed, pushed to the side in favor of newer and better ways to wage war with magic.

“What about the Sage?” he asks, curious despite himself.

“Ask your sensei about him. Hatake-sama is rumored to be something of a scholar.” Aozen hadn’t known that.

“The Sharingan is a manifestation of our duty.” Kaa-san continues. Here she hesitates. “To be a shinobi, Aozen - to be an Uchiha. It means sacrifice.” Here she reaches forward to settle a hand atop his head, thumb brushing his hair.

“I was afraid of that.” he says quietly, ducking his head. He thought perhaps he could somehow escape this fate. He had thought originally that it was only a figment of the narrative, that tragedy and loss made for exciting plots.

More and more, though, as he transferred out of the belief that he was simply ‘living in a story’, he realized that this was simply the reality of the world he found himself in. Power was a crude motivator, but it seemed to be the dominant one in the Elemental Nations.

“But we are more than sorrow,” his mother continued, prompting him to look up. “More than anything, the Uchiha feel . We are creatures of passion and fervor as much as we are anything else. Even if we are a ‘noble’ clan, with manners and ceremony galore, we act first with our hearts.”

“Our dedication is born of love. Because we love so deeply, it can too easily be twisted into darker things. That is why we must remember why we fight.” He remembered her words, spoken to him from the branches of a tree months ago. It felt much longer than that.

“I understand, Kaa-san.” he pauses. “Or… I will. I’ll remember, and eventually I’ll understand.” He reminded himself to stop pretending. It was an ongoing process.

Kaa-san smiles. “Such a wise boy. Inexperienced is not ignorant, Ao-kun.” He smiles in return at the praise.

“What about the eyes themselves? What can they do?” He knew, loosely, as all Uchiha children were educated in the capabilities of the Sharingan. But it was one thing to hear about it as a child, and another to be properly taught.

“A fully mature Sharingan has three tomoe. Each tomoe represents a level of the Sharingan’s development, and each grants access to a layer of its power.” Aozen listens, rapt.

“The first tomoe represents clarity. With it you can see the movement of chakra, able to detect the influence of genjutsu. Not as well as the Byakugan, but the difference is largely irrelevant.

“The second tomoe represents insight; your vision is greatly enhanced, allowing you to see and detect the smallest of movements. The Sharingan has a reputation for being able to see into the future, but really this is simply being able to anticipate movement based on the tiniest of muscle tenses and movements.

“The third and last tomoe represents learning. An Uchiha with a fully matured Sharingan has the skill and ability to see the chakra as a jutsu is formed, and can learn it simply by watching it in use.”

Aozen was fascinated despite himself. When it was put like that, it became easy to forget the circ*mstances surrounding its activation. Even so…

“Make no mistake, Aozen: the Sharingan is a gift.” Kaa-san interrupted his thoughts, voice august. “But it is not one freely given. We are heirs to the dragons, and the power we wield is earned .”

Aozen considers the lesson his mother gave him on his own time. Sensei informed him that he will be out of the village for two days on a mission, giving him time to process this new development on his own. At first he was disappointed, but he realized that the time was sorely needed.

He does not like the Sharingan. The benefits it provides cannot outweigh the fact that its acquisition came at the cost of his father’s life. No matter which way he’s tried to frame it; it was only his reaction which caused its activation, or that it was not the cause of his father’s death… he cannot separate those facts.

But his mom and Fugaku-oji both made it clear, albeit indirectly, that he could not just ignore its existence, and doubtless Sakumo-sensei would have something to say about it when he got back as well.

He could acknowledge its utility… though he was unsure still how well he’d feel putting it to real use.

Kaa-san had insisted he practice activating it and getting used to seeing the world through its lense, but if he kept them activated for too long he could feel black kanji begin to creep into the edges of his vision, which he had yet to say anything of. That, at least, he felt was a personal matter and nothing else.

Being a shinobi is a matter of practicality and rarely comfort , Sensei once said. We do what we must because we are the only ones who can. The only easy day is yesterday.

Regardless of how uncomfortable he is about it, the Sharingan represents new opportunities. He’s not had much reason to think of the far future recently, of events he wants to change, but he has always been aware that he will need to have some measure of skill and power to do it. And power, as his Kaa-san told him, is earned.

Being able to learn jutsus with a glance, cast genjutsu more easily, and see a mote of dust from thirty yards… and that’s not even getting into the more obscure abilities of the Sharingan. He thought he remembered something about being able to plant impulses into an opponent’s mind with it, but he was unsure. He’d ask either his mom or Fugaku-oji at some point.

He has to be able to hold the Sharingan for longer than forty-five minutes before he can get to any of that, though.

Such a bother, he sighs to himself.

He is walking without aim on one of the many paths outside the populated areas of Konoha. It’s a large city, and he’s undisturbed by the few passersby he sees on his walk, most of them civilians.

This is, of course, until Kakashi ambushes him.

He hears the subtle metal chink which his instincts tell him belong to shuriken before he sees anything, and instantly commences a roll. The shuriken impacted the ground where he stood, having come from behind him at an angle.

He crouches low in an opening iaijutsu stance, ready to draw his blade from his hip at a moment’s notice. Standing a few metres away, albeit not in a combat stance, is Kakashi. He’s not wearing his scarf, strangely enough, revealing his ordinary blue training fatigues. His unruly hair is forcibly stuffed beneath the band of hitai-ate.

Taking a moment to gauge whether or not Kakashi is going to move, or if he’s trying a genjutsu, Aozen relaxes, standing. He looks pointedly at the shuriken on the ground, then back to Kakashi.

“Those could’ve killed me,” he snarks.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Kakashi says, completely avoiding his remark. He moves forward to retrieve the shuriken from the ground - one does not waste tools where possible.

“What?” Aozen frowns. “That’s not true.”

“Hn.” Kakashi grunts. He seems genuinely displeased, judging by the slant of his eyes. “You show up for my team’s training, beat us all with the Sharingan, then run away, and I haven’t seen you since.”

“I…” okay, when it’s put like that, perhaps. He sighs. “It’s complicated. I’m sorry.” He walks over to a nearby bench which has remained unoccupied and sits. Kakashi remains close enough to talk normally, but does not follow.

“How?” Kakashi asks, unapologetically blunt. Subtlety is difficult to teach to a five year old, it seems. Inwardly, Aozen sighs once again.

“It has to do with my father’s death, so I would prefer to leave it at that.”

“Oh.” That seems to pacify him a little bit. He can see some of the tension leave his posture as he comes to sit down on the other side of the bench. “Why were you there in the first place?” He moves on, fortunately.

“To see how you were getting along with your teammates,” Aozen answers truthfully.

Kakashi frowns. “Why? I’ve already talked to you and otō-san about them.” Oh, boy. Here we go.

“Yes, that’s… kind of the problem, Kakashi.” He sighs again and considers how best to approach this. “What did you think of the fight?”

“Ikoni was slow, and her attempts at taijutsu and genjutsu were obvious and telegraphed,” Kakashi begins immediately. “Mino has decent accuracy,” he was surprised Kakashi had managed to say a single good thing, “but he relies too much on it and refused to close in.” Ah, there it is. “They kept getting in my way every time I tried to get close to you.”

“Not quite.” Aozen amends. “They didn’t get in your way , Kakashi, I used them against you. Mino wasn’t going to throw a senbon at him if you were in-between me and him. And Ikoni was obvious, yes, but that just meant I could redirect her straight into you. And you weren’t bothering to think about them because you were so focused on me.”

For once, Kakashi was quiet not because he didn’t want to speak, but because he couldn’t . His ears subtly reddened.

“This is what Sensei and I have been trying to tell you, Kashi. You can’t -- you’re not the only one on the field. You’re on a team .” He continues. Kakashi turns to look at him, brows furrowed.

“Why would they have assigned me on their team if I’m so far ahead of them?”

Aozen understands the glint in Kakashi’s eye and realizes that the boy is hanging on to his every word. He’s… actually listening. That in itself is a miracle, but more pressing is the surrealism of the moment, because he’s in the act of influencing Hatake Kakashi’s character. This is a moment that would be written in as a flashback when Naruto was just a story. He blinks away his discomfort.

“Talent for the sake of talent is not... “ he pauses. “There is more to being talented than just being the most skilled person in a room. Konoha was founded by two rival clans who were at war with each other until they realised they could be stronger together.”

“You mean sharing .” It’s not quite disdain, which means he’s leaps ahead of where he used to be in regards to his teammates.

“Listen - the three of you working together? I would have been on the floor in moments and you would have had the objective. You know that, but you are so used to the strength of the individual that you refuse to acknowledge it. Not every ninja is like you, me, or Sensei.” Far from it, really. “But that doesn’t mean they’re terrible ninja.”

“What is strength, then?” Kakashi asks. Aozen blinks. He sees, then, that Kakashi is genuinely trying to find an answer to what seems to be a simple question, but he can understand why.

Throughout the entirety of the Academy, his entire frame of reference for the world was through his father, more or less. He was better than the rest of his classmates and he was probably informed of such. And then Aozen comes along who gives him a challenge but is also a similar age to him, and it kind of reinforces his view of the world at the same time.

“Strength is…” He hesitates - of course he does. What kind of answer do you give to a question like that? He could go with a cliché answer, but this is Kakashi’s actual view of the world in question. He’s not qualified to answer this, not really.

“Strength is not found from one place, or person. And it’s - not the be-all, end-all. There is more to life than strength?” It sounded a bit more like a question, but he was trying, damn it. Kakashi was attentive, at least. “Uplifting others, teaching them to be better - that is a kind of strength. Think of how good your team could be if Inoki was better at genjutsu and more precise with her taijutsu, if Mino could herd enemies with his shurikenjutsu, and you’d be there to finish the job with your ninjutsu.”

He could see the gears working in Kakashi’s mind as the idea worked its way through his head. Aozen doesn’t know how teamwork doesn’t automatically work its way into a child’s head - something about a natural tendency for socialisation leading to groups and friendships… but then, groups and friendships weren’t really Kakashi’s thing. There’s probably some psychological assessment here; he’s not messing with it.

“What if I don’t like them, though?” Kakashi suddenly speaks, and the question is so earnest that Aozen can’t help but laugh.

“I mean... that is life. You do not have to like people to be nice to them. And just because you do not like them, does not mean there’s anything wrong with them.” Another stretch of silence as Kakashi considers.

“Maa… sounds exhausting.” Kakashi’s back to normal; Aozen smiles anyway because he can tell that the boy had actually listened to what he'd said.

“Yes, I suppose it can be. Too bad you’re the one stuck on a team. I work alone.” He crosses his arms smugly.

“Without those teammates in the way, I can beat you.” Kakashi boasts. At this rate, Aozen is edging Kakashi out in terms of skill due to his training. Perhaps that’ll be changing soon?

“When you can beat me with those teammates in the way, I will count it as a win.”

“Bet on it. A hundred ryou.” Kakashi returns. He turns to frown at the Hatake when he realises it was a challenge, and not a declaration.

“Gambling? Where did you learn about gambling?”

“Otō-san left some of his samurai movies for me to watch while he’s away.”

“Aa. Bad habits, Kashi-kun.” Kakashi’s eyes narrow. He hates being called ‘-kun’ by anyone except his dad.

Aozen senses an incoming attack and dives out of the way before Kakashi can punch him in the face. Unceremoniously, they begin to spar on the beaten path (without jutsus, though - no one likes ANBU being called on them).

Aozen feels lighter than he has in days.

========================================

Sakumo-sensei returns to the village right when he said he would, and informs him that his training’s composition will be changing.

The day still begins with physical practice, taijutsu katas, kenjutsu practice, and the occasional spar. After lunch, though, they begin going to Sensei’s home to study.

“Knowledge is power, my young student,” Sensei says. “We’re more than just flashy fighters; we’re shinobi , and that means a lot more than what the Academy tells you it does.”

Sakumo begins cultural lessons on the other Hidden Villages and also on the major population centers in each country. It feels like he’s back in the Academy again, but this time the lessons aren’t intended for young children.

And there’s no math. A definite plus.

Geography lessons are first, where he learns the locations of the Hidden Villages. Turns out they're not very hidden, but then, they're also the population centers of the shinobi in a given country, which includes a great deal of civilian traffic. It would only take a single person to see the village to then record its location. Each country also has a civilian capital, where the daimyō resides and rules over the rest of the country. Ostensibly.

He’s drilled on the customs of nobility, and after just a week his mind whirls with all of the different forms of address, when it’s proper to use them, the multitude of different tea ceremonies… his Uchiha upbringing only goes so far. He knows how low to bow to different people, at least, and how to sit seiza for a few hours.

Not much else. He’s not of the main family, so he has never attended a tea ceremony and though technically all of the Uchiha are a noble family, not all of them are noble noble.

This is all amidst lessons in shogi, too. It’s Japanese chess, essentially, and he’s pretty sure in the Before it was invented first. Similar to chess, but just different enough to throw him off. He was never that good at chess Before anyhow.

Sensei mops the floor with him, predictably, but strings him along in most of their games in an attempt to show him what he’s doing wrong. He’s studying openings and mid-game strategies at the moment, but it’s slow moving with all of the other information being crammed into his brain.

After a few weeks, he’s also taught Konoha sign. They were taught the basics in the Academy; things like attack , scatter, mission success, and the likes, but Sensei tells him that there’s much more to it than that.

Most of it is what he would expect of a sign language, obvious contortions of the hand into distinct symbols. It's not a full signlanguage, but you can generally have conversations. Apparently, however, there are more complicated versions of many signs.

Most of these complicated versions Sensei attempts to teach him are, frankly, ridiculous. When he was first shown it looked like Sakumo-sensei was just twitching his hand. Aozen called him crazy, but unfortunately, the more he attempts to learn it, the more those subtle twitches of the hand make sense.

The curl of each knuckle can represent a different word, and a millimeter of movement left, right, up or down can mean a question, order, statement, or some mix of the three.

He… doesn’t quite have it down, but sometimes Sensei expects him to have entire conversations with hand-sign alone. Fortunately, he suggests that Aozen use the more obvious signs to communicate with his fellows and in the field.

Then, of course, they begin to discuss philosophy.

========================================

“Sensei, what do you know about the Sage of Six Paths?” Aozen asks.

The question surprises him, admittedly. He wouldn’t have expected an Uchiha to ask about the Sage. He wouldn’t have expected any to ask of him, really - the Sage was not a common topic of discussion outside monasteries - but of course his student would surprise him.

“A curious question. Where did you hear of him?”

“Kaa-san mentioned that most people today believe in the ways of the Sage, instead of the old religions.”

“Ah,” he nods. They’re sitting in his living room in casual conversation whilst they both sip tea. “Yes. Would you like me to tell you the tale?” Aozen nods, clearly interested.

“Long ago, humans did not possess chakra. Only some of the ancient spirit animals possessed it or knowledge of it. Instead, the world’s chakra was focused in the form of a great tree which bore bountiful fruit - but humans were forbidden from eating it.”

“Forbidden by who?” Aozen interjects.

“It’s unclear,” Sakumo admits. “The gods, most likely, or some iteration of them. In the stories, there is a princess named Ōtsutsuki Kaguya. The motivations vary depending on the origin of the tale, but universally, Kaguya-hime ate one of the fruits of the tree, and in the process gained the power of chakra. With it, she ended all wars and became worshipped as the Rabbit Goddess.”

"She went on to have twin sons: Hagaromo and Hamura. They too inherited the gift of chakra. At first, this was a blessing to Kaguya - but over time, she grew jealous of her own children. A madness had developed inside of her, and she grew to covet chakra; not just hers, but that of her sons, and then all the world.

"This madness culminated in her merging with the great tree from which chakra was born, and becoming a great beast: the Ten-Tails. Hagaromo and Hamura did battle with the Ten-Tails, and eventually triumphed, where they separated the chakra from the beast's body and imprisoned the husk into the moon. Hamura took the Ōtsutsuki and went to the moon, in order to guard the husk from those who might defile it. It is said he remains there to this day.

"As for Hagaromo, he stayed here. He believed that chakra was meant to be spread amongst all humanity, not concentrated upon a single person. However, he knew that it could be misused, and so he developed the ways of ninshū, the precursor to ninjutsu, and taught it to the world.”

“Ninshū?” Aozen asks, with a glint in his eye that indicates something has caught his attention. He usually has it whenever they pass by a weapons shop with a display.

“Ninshū,” Sakumo begins to explain, pleased by his student’s interest, “was a method of understanding both chakra and the self. The Sage said that by connecting one’s chakra to another, everyone could understand each other without communication… how did it go - ‘pray for one another’s safety’.” He’s remembering an old manuscript written by a priest at one of the many temples in the Land of Fire. He’s taken the information to heart, even if he hasn’t explicitly read it in some time.

Aozen takes a moment to digest that information.

“That isn’t what happened, though.” he eventually says, looking up to Sakumo for confirmation.

“No,” he agrees, “it is not. The Sage had two sons, much like his mother. Indra, the elder, grew jealous when his father named his younger brother Asura his heir, and learned how to weaponize chakra; to use it to connect physical and spiritual inside themselves, rather than to each other. In the end, he turned into his grandmother in that regard, using chakra for harmful and malicious ends, just as the Rabbit Goddess did.”

Another round of silence as Aozen thinks. Sakumo silently allows him some contemplation.

Sakumo is an S-rank sensor, and as Senju Tobirama once said, “ You cannot lie to a sensor, ”. He’s not an empath by any means, but over the years he’s learned to interpret the subtle shifts and changes of a person’s chakra to indicate their thoughts. He’s gotten quite good at it.

It is for this reason that he can sense Aozen’s understanding of the subject in question beyond the admittedly minimal explanation Sakumo offered. He is thinking not just of what he’s been told, but what it really means.

That is the crux of the boy’s genius. He is exceptional in most regards, certainly, but he does not possess any unorthodox aptitude with chakra that others do not, nor does he have the tactical acumen he himself had been praised for when he was young. But Aozen understands.

It is more than intelligence. He might even go so far as to call it wisdom. More than anything else, it's exceedingly strange. Kakashi, for example, excelled at whatever was put in front of him, and had blessedly inherited the strategic mind both he and his mother had possessed, but he has his limits. He lacks a comprehension of systems and the nuance of where he fits in them, and so he takes what he is given and seeks guidance from his elders. Though his standards for just who can give him guidance are selective.

Children do what they are told, and they do not learn to ask the most important questions until later. The most gifted of them learn earlier, certainly, but many don’t. In this way, they make the best weapons.

It is the innocence of children that makes them truly fearless, he muses.

Aozen is different. Sakumo looks into his eyes and sees a certain kind of insight. In the moments in between training, when he gets lost in his thoughts and stares at nothing, or the compliments he’s offered when feeling unwell.

When he told him to spend time with Kakashi upon finding out about his own father’s death; not long ago, when he told Sakumo that the world was better with him in it. There was something more there, a depth that shouldn’t be possible from the mouth of a child.

This ability to understand will be what drives him to excel, he thinks. He requires guidance as all students do, but doesn’t depend on it. He experiments with what he has and is gradually learning how to take his skills to new heights.

He is a kinesthetic learner - probably the Uchiha’s Sharingan sense at work. He’s listened to Hiruzen postulate aloud about the relation between the Uchiha clan’s dōjutsu and their biology, and, now that’s got one for a student, he’s inclined to agree with his sensei’s thoughts. Additionally, while it’s not Sakumo’s preferred style of teaching, he knows Aozen is even patient enough to sit through lectures, else he probably would have died of boredom in the Academy.

Over analysing is likely to be his greatest weakness. He can see all of the options in front of him but he does not quite have the experience and self-assurance to know which one is ‘the best’. Occasionally he will spend too much time thinking that manifests as a half-second of hesitation. Sakumo is always deliberate in taking advantage of these moments to put his young student on the ground, because it is those half-seconds which will mean death in the field.

Pride, too. He is patient but thus far he has excelled with whatever is put in front of him, but Sakumo knows that this creates certain expectations which cannot always be met. There will inevitably come a time when he is faced with failure, and if Sakumo is not very careful in preparing him, he will break under such pressure.

He has seen both mean the end for shinobi with similar promise as Aozen. But, as usual, his thoughts are turning more and more morbid of late. He files away these concerns to be contemplated when his student is not right in front of him.

“‘The truth of the matter is this: it takes more than power to secure peace. Peace cannot be bought with bloodshed or subdued with power -- it must be won and recognized by many, and then supported so that it may flourish and grow as the years do pass us all.’” Aozen speaks.

Sakumo blinks in surprise at Aozen’s profundity, though the air with which his student spoke the words make it seem as though he’s quoting something.

“Uchiha Madara said that,” Aozen explains, seeming a little sheepish. “Fugaku-oji let me see some of the old texts in the Clan head’s library.”

“Ah,” Sakumo intones, amused. “Best not to quote him around just anybody. Fushima-sama and Sarutobi-sensei, in particular.” They were both old enough to remember Madara’s betrayal, especially Fushima.

“Still,” he continues, “they are wise words. In many ways, a verbalization of what ninshū stood for. The Sage believed that equal distribution of chakra amongst the populace was the first step towards equity and mutual understanding.”

“But chakra can be used for a lot of great things,” Aozen points out. “It can be used to heal most wounds. A team of chakra-enhanced workers could construct a building in a day. Seals can bypass the need for a lot of technology, and enough of them can store a warehouse’s worth of things in a single place, or provide a substation’s worth of energy.” Sakumo raises an intrigued brow.

“You’ve thought a lot about this.” He observes neutrally.

“It was one of the first things I thought about when I learned what chakra was,” Aozen admits.

“Really? Most usually think of flying, or throwing lightning bolts at people they don’t like.”

“Well, there was some of that as well, but once I got serious about it.”

Sakumo hums. “What do you think of ninshū?” Aozen leans back.

“I think… that in theory, it sounds great. Maybe it would even work - I think it would definitely help. There is such a gap between shinobi and civilians - we are basically gods to them. But also, I think that if chakra were to be made equal among all people, then we would simply find new ways to wage war amongst ourselves.” A pause where Sakumo can tell he’s not done. “Do you think some people are naturally greedy?”

“In my experience, greed is nearly always predicated on something else, usually fear or envy.” A beat as he considers. “I think some people are naturally inclined towards greed, and that it’s a condition which can be remedied. Material greed will never end, and is usually a veneer for a shallowness of the spirit.”

He worries momentarily that he is speaking too much for a seven year old to understand, but again he sees that spark of understanding in Aozen’s eye and wonders at its source.

“How do you fight greed?” Aozen asks; a profound question, to say the least.

“Hm. A question with a shaky foundation, I think. Ask instead; how do you heal greed? As I mentioned, I believe spiritual wellness, a promotion of knowledge and learning, can do so. Greed isn’t something that can be fought, per se. It’s a struggle which begins with the self.”

Aozen gives this due thought. Eventually, he asks another question.

“How can you end war?” he says quietly. He doesn’t look at Sakumo when he says it, and he can tell it’s not a question that he expects to be answered.

Sakumo sighs, because it’s a question that he’s asked himself many, many times.

“‘All war is fratricide, and there is therefore an infinite chain of blame that winds its circuitous route back and forth across the path and under the feet of every people.’¹” Sakumo quotes. Now it’s Aozen’s turn to look surprised.

“Who said that?”

“Senju Hashirama. You can see the similarities between him and Uchiha Madara; they were, after all, brothers in all but blood.” He ignores the unfortunate irony in saying that. “They founded this village not necessarily to end war, but to end senseless slaughter. It was a step towards unity, and now we have conflicts every few decades rather than every day.” He sighs again.

“The system in which we live is imperfect,” Sakumo continues, “Shinobi are imperfect; we are weapons, not always agents of change. To quote an old Iron country war-philosopher, ‘The society that separates its scholars from its warriors will have its thinking done by cowards and its fighting by fools’². It should always be the hope of one generation that the one following it will do more for their world than they did. It is my hope that you will do more than I have.”

Aozen listens intently, eyes wide. At the end, he simply nods.

“I will, Sensei. I promise.”

Looking into his eyes, Sakumo believes it.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Fugaku and Aozen stood opposite each other, both slightly crouched in the opening stance of the Uchiha’s taijutsu form. The form was easily adapted to kenjutsu given the Uchiha clan's aptitude for it, but he had been bid to leave the weapon aside. Fugaku apparently needed no such weapon in any case and stood comfortably, muscles tense and poised to move.

Both of the Uchiha’s Sharingan were active, and both were locked upon each other. Fugaku’s fully-matured three-tomoe spun lazily set inside the crimson orbs, whilst Aozen’s younger and considerably newer eyes did the same with only two tomoe.

The area surrounding the small training ground was silent, the seals inlain into the ground preventing a certain level of sound from going in or out. Not that he expected this to be a particularly high-profile fight.

The slightest scuffle on the ground as Fugaku brought a foot minutely forward returned his attention to the fight. Again, he had let it wander. Sloppy.

To say that Fugaku had moved first would technically be correct, but the purpose of this exercise was that it did not matter. Sharingan awhirl, Aozen was able to detect the minute flexing of Fugaku’s muscle. Perhaps unconsciously, the elder Uchiha’s chakra also crackled and burned just beneath the surface with the movement.

Aozen mirrored the motion perfectly in time with him. Together, they began to go through the motions of a partnered kata, punches, kicks, blocks, and counters flowing one after the other at a speed that was frankly abysmal compared to what would ordinarily be expected of shinobi combat, even as a genin.

Speed would come later, or so he’d been told. A part of him itched to react to the moves he knew would happen as they would happen, to counter and move forward and take advantage of his partner’s slow speed.

But, alas, that was not how the Sharingan worked. Or rather, it was, but he was ‘fighting’ another Sharingan wielder; one considerably more experienced and powerful than him, at that. Not that it was a very high bar.

Abruptly, he was slapped in the face. He blinked several times at the unexpected sting, and looked up to see Fugaku’s unimpressed face.

“You’re -”

“- not focused, I know,” Aozen sighed.

Fugaku’s mouth quirked. “Impertinent, too.” Aozen winced.

“My apologies.”

“I’d accept that if I knew you were being sincere.” Fugaku retorted.

Damnit. Since when did the Sharingan grant the ability to see emotions? Aozen bit the inside of his cheek and looked up at the Clan Head to gauge his mood, and whether he should deactivate his Sharingan or if they were going to continue lessons.

Fugaku was, of course, inscrutable. Even with the Sharingan, he might as well have been carved from stone. Aozen held back another grimace and deactivated the chakra flow to his eyes. He felt more than saw Fugaku do the same.

“So? What’s making you impatient?” Fugaku crosses his arms. Aozen almost makes to place his hand on the hilt of his sword, but unfortunately the weapon has been placed off to the side of the ring.

“I am slightly frustrated with a perceived lack of progress.” He answers clinically. Fugaku’s brows reach for his hairline.

“Oh? Graduating at seven and being apprenticed to the White Fang isn’t enough for you?” His tone is teasing, but Aozen can’t resist the urge to sigh.

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

“I won’t say it is, but…” See, at least Fugaku was laid-back. Thank Kami for that.

“I feel like I’m not learning anything,” he blurts, trying not to sound petulant. “I know that is nonsense, because Sensei has been teaching me shogi and infiltration techniques and we still practice kenjutsu and spar and… other things.” He has the good sense to tell when he’s rambling.

“So the issue is… you’re not moving fast enough?”

Aozen bit his cheek but nodded; that seemed the best way to put it.

“And what exactly are you trying to reach?” Fugaku continued, raising a brow.

Aozen hesitates. That was literally the worst possible question. Was he trying to be powerful enough to contend with S-rank shinobi? With Danzō? With Uchiha Madara ? To prevent Orochimaru’s defection, or Tsunade’s ‘leave of absence’? To save his Sensei from suicide? His clan?

“I don't know.” It feels like a lie. “I have learned no new jutsu since my apprenticeship began, and hardly any genjutsu. I have gone on no missions. I just… I feel as though I need a tangible marker of my progress. To feel like I’m making any.”

Fugaku considers this for a moment, then sighs. “Let’s sit,” he says, gesturing to the tatami mat next to the sparring circle. Aozen does, the both of them sitting seiza as was proper across from each other. He feels a bit like he’s being chastised - they’ve only been practicing for an hour, after all.

“Students in the Academy hear about all the famous shinobi when they’re young. They make for an easy way to introduce history lessons without instantly boring the entire class. Senju Hashirama and Uchiha Madara, the Five Kage, not to mention our own Hokage, past and present.” Fugaku began. Aozen forced himself to be patient, because he was sure this was going to be a good lesson worth listening to and not something he’d already told himself twenty times.

“What those lessons don’t impart is what it actually takes to get to that level - or the level of any powerful shinobi. Sakumo-sama isn’t throwing jutsus at you even though you’d be able to learn them, but he is giving you something much more valuable: he’s giving you the basics, and he’s giving them to you a hundred times, so you can master them.”

“Shinobi don’t die in great battles like at the Valley of the End. They die because of small, simple mistakes. Footwork isn’t good enough. Your accuracy is ever so slightly off. You lose focus .” The last part was pointed, causing the young Uchiha to wince.

“I understand,” he conceded.

“I hope you do,” Fugaku responds. “Because if you die in battle due to thinking too hard, I’m going to resurrect you so your mother can give you a lecture.”

His tone was joking, but Aozen wilted under such a threat. His mother didn’t give lectures that often because Aozen was actually a well-behaved child, but she had this way of looking at you that made you regret every decision you ever made. An outright lecture would probably make him run for the Shinigami.

“Alright, I understand.” And he does, really, but it’s difficult not to get anxious about the future. Writing in his journal usually helps, but sometimes he wishes there was a shortcut. A way to make changes now, before issues have a chance to develop. The Third Shinobi War is coming soon, and…

“Get up and we’ll spar at full-speed.” The words were a welcome respite from the increasing morbidity of his thoughts, and prompted a burst of excitement and adrenaline that had him to his feet and in the center of the circle in moments.

They bowed to each other as was proper for two Uchiha and then activated their Sharingan.

Fugaku’s chakra was like streams of lava running through his body, with flames occasionally licking the edges whenever he channeled it into his movements. His Sharingan eyes were an inferno, concentrated orbs of power that bore down on him - and he was pretty sure Fugaku was going easy on the chakra!

Looking down on oneself wasn’t particularly possible, and mirrors didn’t really reflect chakra flow, so he couldn’t really say what he looked like to Fugaku’s eyes. Certainly nothing quite so impressive. He was lightning-natured, so perhaps something along that line.

The spar began without preamble. Aozen went on the offensive, skills ill-suited to defense and keen to use his speed to his advantage. He saw Fugaku’s intended block and made to duck under it to get inside the man’s guard, but the elder Uchiha’s eyes saw his own intended action and moved to accommodate him in turn.

Fugaku could probably see further than him (if that was how it worked) but this was training and so the spar turned into something of a dance. As though it had been choreographed and practiced beforehand, each move followed the next fluidly, both combatants able to see two or three moves in advance.

Of course, it was by no means an equally balanced dance. Fugaku leveraged his superior strength to disrupt Aozen’s momentum and he stumbled, his flow disrupted.

He saw Fugaku coming in for a jab for his throat to pressure him and he made to grab for the man’s arm so he could lean around the blow and --

Fugaku aborted his movement so suddenly that he was left reaching for air, caught off-balance. Fugaku nonchalantly took advantage of this by sweeping his legs. His back made contact with the ground with an ooft , some of the air involuntarily leaving his lungs.

“The Sharingan shows you a possible future. To trust it unconditionally is unwise.” Fugaku imparts his wisdom while Aozen’s busy trying to breathe, then offers him a hand to help him up.

“Aa,” Aozen says once he has the air to. He understands. They take their positions a few metres apart from each other.

Aozen shunshin’s into a roundhouse kick without warning as part of an experiment. His Sharingan allows him to see it; Fugaku raised an arm and blocked the blow, but his reaction was marginally slower that time.

He adapts immediately, of course. The momentary advantage gained by the surprise is lost as more blows are traded and little ground is gained on his side. He wishes he had his katana, but the logical side of him knows that he shouldn’t be too reliant on a single weapon.

It turned into a game of analytics, practically, as he no longer relied on the foresight granted to him but had to learn Fugaku’s style as he went to make the best decision. This was a slow-going process, of course, but he mentally imagined it as something of a chess match --

Oh! Shogi! There was a purpose! This mental crow of triumph heralded a faltering of his movement which Fugaku immediately took advantage of to land a series of blows on his chest. He staggered back and then onto one-knee with a grunt of pain. That was going to bruise.

“You do not pull punches, Fugaku-oji,” he groans. He deactivates the Sharingan as he begins to feel the drain on his chakra.

“Kiri-nin hit harder. So do Iwa-nin, and Kumo-nin.” he responded magnanimously.

Yikes. Aozen winced; Fugaku didn’t pull his metaphorical punches, either.

“Are they who I’m going to be fighting?” He said, looking up at the man. Was the war coming sooner than he thought?

“Probably bandits first,” said Fugaku, avoiding the question that Aozen hadn’t really asked. “How’s your chakra?”

“A little low,” he admits. He’d been getting a little better at managing the flow to his eyes. With some breaks, he’d lasted over an hour with them in this training session. No anxiety attacks as well, which was a plus.

“Genjutsu theory, then.” Fugaku dusted himself off and then headed towards the back door of the house.

Don’t groan , he reminded himself. If you groan, then you have to read the theory after running laps around Uchiha-ku . Fugaku-oji had outright prohibited any Sharingan genjutsu for the time being, a measure his mother apparently agreed with. The most he’d done was break out of them with his Sharingan, which wasn’t particularly difficult. The eye did the majority of the work. At least the theory was interesting, so long as it wasn't the same scrolls he'd been reading for a week.

Aozen stood up, gently massaging the spots on his chest where his new teacher’s fists had impacted, then followed.

========================================

Good news: he told Sensei a little bit about his frustrations, so he’s finally going on missions.

Bad news: He needs thirty D-ranks before he’s eligible for C-ranks.

Worse news: D-ranks suck.

The worst news: While he works on public D-ranks, Sensei has hired another genin team for D-ranks of their own.

Their mission? Capturing him.

Grocery shopping had never been so harrowing. He’d had to make three return trips for some peaches because they’d gotten spilled on the ground the past two times he’d had to shunshin out of an ambush.

The genin team tasked with hunting him was, naturally, Kakashi’s. Keisuke-sensei and Arai-san seemed uninvolved, fortunately for him, and he’d had yet to see them. No doubt he and Sakumo-sensei were laughing it up somewhere.

He’d finished grocery shopping within a record hour and twenty minutes, had to listen to the woman he delivered them to complain about how long it took, and then had to suffer Sakumo-sensei’s feigned ignorance.

“Another team attacking you? How curious. You defended yourself, I hope.” He said mildly.

Aozen simply favored him with a Look™, channelling his mother in the process. “You are conspiring against me.” He accused dryly.

Sakumo looked terribly bothered by this. “I’m unsure what you mean, Aozen-kun. I have been in the Hokage Tower all day. The report number goes at the top, not the bottom.” He smoothly changed the subject by giving him direction; Aozen almost believed him. Almost.

His next mission involved taking down posters and replacing them with new ones. A wrong date for the opening of some new restaurant, or something to that effect. It was marked for same-day completion, as though he had any other choice.

Their locations were to his advantage, as it was a civilian business, meaning the advertisem*nts were in civilian locations and at civilian heights. He had little doubt he’d be observed from the moment he stepped outside of the Tower…

...or, rather, Aozen would be noticed from the moment he stepped outside.

He favored Sakumo-sensei with an assessing glance. He took his katana from around his waist and then offered it to his Sensei; the man took it with only a raised eyebrow. He then formed the hand seals for the Henge no Jutsu.

In a puff of smoke, he reappeared as a nondescript shinobi several inches taller dressed in standard Konohan fare, with a flak jacket marking him as a chuunin. He kept his hair the same color and length but let it down to his shoulders instead of in a ponytail.

Sakumo-sensei chuckled, whilst some of the other genin around the mission desk shot him wary glances. The jounin largely seemed unbothered. “Don’t get into trouble, student.”

“I have not yet forgiven you.” Aozen remarked pointedly, and then headed out the door with the posters tucked under one arm.

None of Team Keisuke were sensors as far as he knew. The only issue would come if they recognised that they had never seen a chuunin of his description enter, but the odds that they’d been observing long enough to come to that conclusion were fairly low.

Of course, he had no idea where they were observing from. He shunshin’d onto the rooftops, because no chuunin would walk on the ground the entire way there and also he was anxious to be done with this job.

Keeping up a henge whilst also running through shunshin put a strain on his chakra control, and he released the henge just in time to drop into an alley near the market district to catch his breath.

Not having his katana while knowing that there was a team of vindictive genin trying to capture him made him feel rather vulnerable, but he knew Sakumo-sensei would take care of his sword and also he couldn’t quite henge an object separate from him that large yet. Genjutsu, perhaps? Something to work on.

Another Henge put him into the form of another nondescript character, this time a simple street kid matching his height and build. Keeping most of the details the same meant minimal work on his part to keep things as realistic as possible.

He hadn’t mastered things like smell but he could get details down to the threads of the stitching in his clothing. And plus Kakashi probably couldn’t smell him through a crowd.

Or at all? He didn’t know if Sakumo or Keisuke had been teaching him how to track. Hrm.

He kept his glances around curious and light at passing shops and carts and went mostly unregarded. He didn’t see anything on the rooftops and he couldn’t really sense anything unless it was right on top of him.

The first several posters went without issue, but he quickly realized it was going to take him a lot longer at a civilian pace. He’d probably have to keep his Henge up for the entire hour it would likely take him to cross Konoha’s main district.

Oh well. Sensei said that the more he stretched his chakra usage to the limit, the more his reserves would increase. A headache would be a small price to pay for that.

The first thirty minutes were uneventful, and as a result, he let his guard down. It’s not until he comes to the next poster that he sees Team Keisuke exiting a manjū shop right next to it.

Kakashi looks positively dejected, a pronounced slouch in his posture intense enough to rival Mino’s - who doesn’t look much different. He’s munching on one of the pastries from the shop. In the middle of them is Ikoni, who also has a pastry in hand and seems to be remarking angrily on something - probably him.

Good for them. Team bonding exercise, even if he suspects Kakashi does not want to be there.

Unfortunately, because Kakashi does not want to be there, he isn’t paying attention to Ikoni and catches Aozen’s eyes as he stares at them. Aozen-as-a-civilian offers a hesitant wave and then looks past them to the poster, skirting around them to avoid getting close enough to detect his henge.

It doesn’t work. As he’s reaching for the poster to rip it down and put a new one up, a tanto finds its way underneath his arm, pointed into his ribcage. He looks beside him to see not Kakashi, but Ikoni. Kakashi is standing a few feet away with his hands in his pockets but his eyes narrowed. Mino is just eating his manjū.

“Found you,” she says, wearing a cat-that-got-the-canary smile. Aozen puts on a confused expression.

“I - I’m not sure what you mean, shinobi-san. But if you are going to threaten me, I will have to call for help.” His voice is mostly the same just with different inflection, and he sees a flicker of realization on her face.

He allows himself a smile mirroring her own. Sure, if any shinobi were to come they’d probably be able to find out that he was just another genin wearing a henge, but it certainly wouldn’t look good for Team Keisuke since the civilians wouldn’t be able to realize that.

“Put the tanto away.” Kakashi muttered, casting a glance around. Kakashi, of course, was never one to break rules, and the golden rule of Konoha was that a shinobi never used their abilities on a civilian.

Ikoni’s face rapidly went through the five stages of grief but skipped ‘acceptance’ in favor of going back to anger. Grudgingly, she took the tanto away and sheathed it back at her side.

“Watch your back, Uchiha.” she groused.

“My name is Daisuke. But I appreciate the advice, shinobi-san.” He responded cheerfully, bowing his head. None of the passers-by had reacted except for a few sidelooks. He didn’t sense any other shinobi in the vicinity, so he turned to head to the next spot and left them to their manjū and angry muttering.

Aozen - 2. Team Keisuke - 0.

He had gotten lucky. They couldn’t ambush him in the grocery store for his first mission, and frankly even if he had been dressed normally, if he’d only walked in the crowds as he had just done they still couldn’t have attacked him without risking undue attention. Only ANBU and the Uchiha Police had the authority to detain other shinobi.

He doubted he would be so lucky. Frankly, he was half of the opinion that his original victory against all three of them had been a fluke. He had begun to learn how to properly use the Sharingan since then, but he had no interest in using it in combat yet. Kakashi was younger than him and was perfectly capable of beating him in spars on occasion, so surely he could do the same.

Plus, Sensei had pretty much only taught him taijutsu and kenjutsu, with the occasional genjutsu. He’d not learned a single Raiton jutsu! Not even Doton, the man’s affinity… and he still hadn’t seen Sensei’s summons.

Uchiha-ku was filled with cats but he was still a dog person, damnit.

He allowed a note of smugness to punctuate his next meeting with his Sensei at the mission desk, but said nothing. He had only a mild headache, and he was used to those from all the times Kakashi had gone for the head and hadn’t missed.

Sakumo-sensei merely smiled as he always did, his usual tempered joy obfuscating his real feelings.

He had come to learn that, though Sensei’s kindness was without a doubt genuine, he was still a shinobi; kindness, too, could and would be used as a tool. In this case, a smokescreen.

His next mission: A client had lost a necklace given to them by their grandmother in one of the public ‘parks’ towards the outskirts of the village. They had been having a picnic in the area and only discovered it was missing the day after. They believed it would still be there, as evidently it was not an incredibly populated spot. A description of the necklace was attached.

In summary: An open grass field, looking for a tiny object. Alone.

Where anyone could easily ambush him, and he would literally have his eyes plastered on the ground in order to complete his mission. He’d probably need his Sharingan to have any chance of finding the thing.

Wondrous. Sensei, as ever, had the last laugh.

He was frankly terrible with pranks and had no idea how he’d ever get back at the man, but he'd surely have to figure out something.

He took the journey in shunshin to avoid being intercepted and to shorten the journey. He took cover in a tree on the edge of the clearing. The park was somewhere in between the Hatake compound and the Aburame compound - though he’d never visited the latter.

There were benches and a large tree in the middle of the space, as well as some shrubbery on the edge of the walking path leading further into the city. Two women were sat on one of the benches, chatting and eating whilst unaware of his presence.

The civilian had not described where they’d been sitting in the mission request form, so he had no idea where to start. He could ask the women, but - chatting to strangers. Eugh. A last resort, to be sure.

Beneath the tree seemed the obvious spot. It offered shade from the midday sun, and something to lean against for comfort.

He huffed a breath. Look at him, going through exposure therapy of his own volition. He channeled chakra into his eyes and took several seconds to adjust as the world shifted into red-tinted technicolor.

He looked first to the treeline surrounding the space, trying to see if he could spot Team Keisuke hiding, waiting for him to come into open view. Regrettably, he couldn’t, though that could be due to his own lack of mastery over the Sharingan.

His visual acuity was still being trained, and outside of spars and close-quarters, it was easy for his gaze to be caught on minute details, like the complexity of a leaf or an insect, or the barrage of color - tinted crimson though it was.

With no enemies in clear sight, he shifted his gaze to the tree. Even with the Sharingan, trying to find this was the metaphorical needle to the metaphorical haystack, so he’d probably have to -

Wait. Was that… it? Right there? He squinted - a placebic endeavour, as the Sharingan didn’t really work that way - but could only make out the broader details of such a small object, as far away as he was. It was a gold chain with the smallest flash of green from the emerald at the ends.

It matched the description. Surely it couldn’t be so easy, though. Shouldn’t be so easy. But if it were … Well, he would be a fool not to take the chance.

He deactivated his eyes and took another few moments to readjust to the comparatively poor vision before hopping down from his tree and shunshin-ing across the field. The necklace lay on one of the exposed roots a few feet away from the tree itself. Sure enough, a simple gold necklace with an emerald set inside of a decorative claw, which matched the description provided.

Act first, ask questions later. He reached forward, but a senbon impacted the ground in front of him before he could.

A senbon and relative accuracy at fifty meters - that meant Shiranui Mino.

His head snapped to the side in time to spot Kakashi coming out of shunshin some fifteen metres away. Past him, Ikoni was running out from the treeline.

Well, sh*t.

He abandoned the necklace, because he could take care of that later. He met Kakashi head-on, katana drawn in an instant. Kakashi neatly parried with a kunai, sliding under the blow which would have cut his face. Aozen pivoted, bringing his katana down and around to, in-turn, parry Kakashi’s jab for his midsection.

They separated after the contact, Aozen stepping back and resetting his guard while Kakashi did the same. Heavy impacts on the ground heralded Ikoni’s arrival to his right. Kakashi tensed and his hands moved together to form hand seals - annoyingly fast, but if he had to guess it would be a Doton.

He moved to engage Ikoni instead, where she would also be placed in the line of fire should Kakashi continue with his jutsu. Contrary to the expectations set by their last fight, however, she was actually ready for his approach.

Shuriken flew towards his face. One went wide, and he caught two on his sword, but his forward momentum was halted.

“Doton: Iwa Tounyuu!” He heard Kakashi’s voice call from his left. Ikoni was already moving away - toward the tree, he noted - so friendly fire was evidently not a concern for the Hatake.

An impact that felt like a baseball on his shoulder knocked him off-balance, and pain blossomed shortly thereafter. He cried out and scythed his katana around him with one hand to ward off any reprisal. Of course, his entire left arm now hurt from a rock thrown at him.

Kakashi didn’t let up, of course, because he was ruthless like that. A flurry of blows were shortly exchanged, Aozen’s defense now weakened with an injured shoulder but his expertise with his sword managing to hold the Hatake at bay.

By this point, Ikoni had grabbed the necklace that was supposed to be the objective for his mission and was running away. Kakashi, seeing this as well, disengaged, beginning to backpedal but still keeping his focus on Aozen.

Aozen shifted the grip on his weapon so he could form hand-seals, and began to blur into the seals for a Jutsu of his own making.

The idea had come about when he recalled his first attempts at the Gōkakyū no Jutsu, where he had felt the heat of the Katon jutsu but could only manage puffs of smoke and a sore throat. Certainly, a fireball was a valuable battlefield jutsu, but at his young age he had yet to grow his chakra reserves to any great degree, and he desired versatility.

Snake - Ram - Boar - Tiger!

He let the heat build up in his abdomen, taking a breath to let in more oxygen. In some fashion, Katon jutsu was just fire using chakra as fuel. Smoke was generated as a result of incomplete combustion, so in essence, he had to focus his chakra enough to ensure it didn’t completely burn, but turned into half-burnt chakra.

Truthfully, practicing it in his spare time had resulted in more coughing fits and sore throats than mastering the Gōkakyū had, but he’d actually created his first jutsu, so that was cool. He simply hadn’t had a chance to use it until now.

He half-breathed half-coughed a cloud of black smoke out of his mouth and into Kakashi’s face; his friend’s mask did little to protect him from inhaling it or getting it into his eyes, and he immediately recoiled, coughing and momentarily sightless.

He coughed past his own discomfort and rushed past him towards Ikoni’s retreating form, but was immediately forced into evasive action by a kunai and shuriken thrown his way; Mino, of course.

He couldn’t deflect a senbon if Mino chose to throw it, so he had to close the distance. He formed his chakra into the familiar rhythm of shunshin and sped towards the treeline that the Yamanaka genin had already reached, and the Shiranui was throwing things at him from.

He came out ready and right on Ikoni’s tail, but his motion was arrested by his feet catching on something and toppling him forward.

Wait - he tripped? He never tripped! He shuffled around to look, and - oh, fantastic. A trip-wire. He was now completely vulnerable, and before he could begin to get back up, Kakashi appeared with a kunai in hand pointed at his face.

“Get out of here,” Kakashi bit out, teary-eyed and with a rougher voice than normal from the smoke jutsu.

“See later, Uchiha!” he heard the Yamanaka call out with a laugh, fading as she ran away. Presumably, Mino was following.

Aozen sighed and relaxed on the ground, letting go of his weapon. He knew when he was beat.

“You owe me a hundred ryo.” Kakashi said after a cough, still holding a kunai.

“What? I owe no such thing.” He was now short several hundred ryo, because he wasn’t going to be able to cash in on that D-rank.

“You said once I can beat you with my teammates in the way -”

“I said I would count it as a win, I never agreed to pay anything!”

“Ahh, I guess I’ll let it slide.” Kakashi probably would’ve eye-smiled, but his eyes were still red-rimmed. He put the kunai back in his holster and relaxed, reaching up to rub at some stray tears. No doubt, his teammates were probably far enough away that Aozen wouldn’t be able to catch up without a location. And plus, he’d still have to get past Kakashi.

“Where did you learn that jutsu you used on me? I’ve never seen it before.” Kakashi continued.

“Aa. A question for a question, ‘Kashi.” Something something, an uninformed shinobi was a dead shinobi.

He squinted - whether he was suspicious, irked at the nickname, or still suffering from the smoke in his eyes, Aozen couldn’t say. “Deal.” Kakashi said.

“I invented it based off of a katon jutsu.” He answered, feeling a small bit of pride at having actually invented a jutsu. “How did you know about my mission details?”

“Maa, a shinobi never reveals his secrets, Aozen~” Kakashi, the cheeky git, began.

“It was Sakumo-sensei wasn’t it? He’s a traitor -”

“Otō-san is very honorable -”

“- you’re ganging up on me and it’s unfair -”

“- but that is the life of a shinobi, young kohai -”

Aozen tackles him.

========================================

They show up to the Hokage Tower a little dirtier than they had been a few minutes ago, their tussle having ended in a draw. Team Keisuke (with their Sensei, this time) and Sakumo are waiting outside, the two Jounin talking to each other and Ikoni chattering away to Mino, looking unbearably smug once she notices his approach.

“Sensei, I would like to make a formal complaint. Hokage-sama will be hearing of my displeasure.” Aozen began.

“If I knew that you were aware of what forms to request, I am certain I would be terrified.” responds Sensei, looking thoroughly amused. Beside him, Keisuke snorted. Arai sat at his side, snout resting in-between his paws. Mino and Ikoni had quieted down at their approach.

“Not so smug now, huh, Uchiha?” Ikoni said, sounding hypocritically smug. He couldn’t tell if she was genuinely trying to get on his nerves though, so he treated it as simple teasing.

“You did very well, shinobi-san,” he said, putting on his ‘civilian’ voice. “I knew you could do it all along.”

Her smug smile faded a little bit, brows furrowing together as she tried to decide if he was being serious or patronizing. Mino, at least, seemed to find it funny, as cracked a smile before determinedly schooling his face into neutrality.

“So, what did we learn from this exercise?” Keisuke spoke up, arms crossed and weighted gaze resting upon the lot of them.

“Let other people do your work for you.” Kakashi spoke up. Aozen rolled his eyes.

“The necklace was on the tree roots, anyone could have found it.” His dōjutsu just shortened the ordeal.

“He makes a good point. Use every resource you have available - including your enemies’ own efforts.” Keisuke stated, and Kakashi harrumphed, vindicated.

“More shinobi doesn’t necessarily make things easier.” Mino, surprisingly, spoke up. He’d been pretty quiet the whole day.

“Until it does.” Ikoni added under her breath (she was still kind of loud, though).

“Also correct,” Sakumo-sensei affirmed. “Aozen successfully rendered your numbers ineffective using his environment,” Aozen was not ashamed to say he preened a little under the praise - “but was unable to account for the difference in an open field.” - only to wilt a little at the subsequent observation.

“Especially now that it seems you three are capable of actually working as a team.” Keisuke added, sounding both exasperated and satisfied at once.

“Aozen,” Sensei said, and the Uchiha’s attention snapped to him. “What changed with your last mission?”

“Ah. I assumed that they were still looking for me, so I had intended to get the necklace and get out until I was ambushed. I didn’t detect them until Mino had thrown a senbon - ah, nice shot, by the way - and so I tried to defend myself and neglected the necklace in the process. Only, it seemed they were no longer after me, but the necklace.”

“Indeed,” Sakumo-sensei agreed with a nod. “This constitutes an important lesson about being a shinobi; the mission can and will change at any time. It is the Hokage and their administration’s job to send you on missions with as much information as possible, they can’t do everything. It’s our job to complete the mission, and that means dealing with new obstacles as they appear in the field.”

Aozen gripped the pommel of his sword tightly to mask his desire to fidget. He understood Sensei's point, but it was also basically a long-winded way of saying he’d failed.

“Of course, these were just D-ranks, and nobody’s fate was hanging in the balance.” Sensei continued. “It’s a good way of introducing the stakes, so you’re not caught flat-footed when it happens on a C-rank or B-rank further down the line. What it does mean, is that Team 3 will be receiving the reward for completing the mission.”

The aforementioned Team 3 broke out into cheers. Or, rather, Ikoni cheered, Mino smiled and crossed his arms, and Kakashi straightened and eye-smiled at his father. Aozen sighed.

“Chin up, student,” Sakumo-sensei reached down to tug on a long tuft of hair that had come loose from his ponytail, prompting Aozen to wince and bat at his hand.

“I am supposed to be mad at you. This is my mad face,” He said, pointing to said ‘mad face’ - which was not very mad at all, really, as Aozen was trying and failing to hide a smile.

“Oh, yes. This is my ‘contrite’ face.” Sensei pointed to his own face, which was formed into a typical expression of fond amusem*nt. “Like I said, chin-up. Perhaps there’ll be an opportunity to return the favor soon.” The glint in his eye turned devious, and Aozen’s smile responded in kind as he looked over at Team 3.

Ikoni stuck her tongue out at him. “We’ve beat you once, and we can do it again.” He was pretty sure she wasn’t actually trying to be mean, as she had yet to sneer. Beside her, Kakashi hummed, which Aozen knew was a sign of agreement.

“Hmph. I should’ve let you all keep fighting amongst yourselves. That was more fun.” Aozen pondered.

“What do you mean, ‘let us’?” Mino asked, canting his head curiously. Aozen considered this question, then shrugged, deciding the answer was too complicated to explain.

“Well, this has been good fun, but it’s time for Aozen and I to head out. Farewell.” Sakumo chimes, saving him from follow-up questions.

“Later, Sakumo, Aozen.” Keisuke sent them a lazy wave. At his side, Arai peeked his head up to huff, offer what seemed to be a nod, then go back to resting. The others all said their goodbyes in time, with Kakashi promising Aozen to spar soon. Idly, Aozen wondered if he should instead corral the boy into doing something normal, for once.

“Keisuke tells me that Kakashi has been helping both Ikoni and Mino with their taijutsu skills. A stark change from a few weeks ago. Training is apparently no longer ‘like herding a bunch of angry kittens’.”

Aozen hummed. “Was bound to happen eventually.” He said with a small shrug.

Sakumo-sensei chuckles. “I’m not entirely sure if it was, you know. I’d been thinking of telling the Hokage to transfer him to a new team, or find someone for him to apprentice under.

“Aa,” Aozen said noncommittally. Inwardly, this prompted a small surge of panic. Does this mean Kakashi no longer apprentices to Minato? He’d kind of been expecting that to happen this whole time, and had just assumed his timelines were muddled after seven years of life without any wiki page to reference. “And now?”

“Depends. He’s much more cooperative, but he is still above their level and I expect will continue to be for quite some time. Perhaps in the future an apprenticeship will benefit him, but for now, it’s good for him to make friends near his age.”

Aozen didn’t know quite what to say to that, so he changed tack. “Do you know Keisuke-san well?”

“He’s one of my closest friends among the Inuzuka. I’ve known him for several years - it’s one of the reasons I agreed to Kakashi’s placement on his team.” Aozen turned to give Sensei a raised brow.

“Did you help choose the team placements for this past year?”

“No,” Sakumo smiles, “that’s the Hokage’s purview alone, but he does take advice under consideration, especially if that advice comes from trusted shinobi, or shinobi parents. With Kakashi’s limited time in the Academy, there was little else to draw on for any inclination as to where he’d fit.”

That made sense. He said as much.

“I should hope so - if Sarutobi-sensei hadn’t had it at least somewhat figured out this many years into the job, I’d grow concerned.” His wording raises a sudden question into his mind, one he’d pondered on his own, especially since their tea with the Hokage, but never asked.

“Sensei, would you ever become Hokage?” He peers up at the Hatake, watching some surprise flit across his face.

“I’m not in line to. Officially, I’m simply a Jōnin. Should the Hokage fall without naming a successor, next in line is the Jounin Commander, and should he fall, the ANBU Commander would then assume command until order could be restored.”

“I know about the emergency protocols, Sensei. I meant if Sandaime-sama retired and offered you the hat. Would you?”

Sakumo, to his credit, gives the question due consideration.

“I’ve never desired the position,” he eventually admits. “Or at least, it’s been some time since I have. If Sarutobi-sensei named me his successor, then I would do my duty and take up the position - though I don’t think I’d be very good at it, to tell you the truth.”

Ah, that was Sensei. Self-deprecating, often to a fault. He wonders how much of it is true humility and how much of it is part of the web he spins to put people at ease.

“I think you’d make a great Hokage, Sensei. If you ever wanted to.” Minato may be a rising star and Orochimaru is a conundrum he’s leaving to his future self to resolve, but Sakumo never really got a chance, in the Before. He’s confident, people like him, and he’s powerful, and he’s also scary-smart.

Sakumo-sensei laughs, loud and warm. “Thank you, Aozen-kun. You’re much nicer to me than Kakashi.”

“One of us has to keep you humble. It’s a part of our master plan.”

“Oh? Plan to what, exactly?”

“Manipulate you into doing our bidding, of course.” They both laugh at the silly joke as they head on to their respective homes.

========================================

It was Friday, which meant an early end to training for Aozen in favor of heading home. Friday was his and Kaa-san’s personal day, where she got off in the morning and didn’t have to work the next day, and Aozen ended training in the afternoon, which meant they could devote time to each other and no one else.

Most often they decided to watch some kind of movie - usually a terrible one, so they could laugh at the poor quality. They’d make dinner together and settle in on the living room couch to eat and relax.

Kaa-san would fuss over his hair no matter what state it was in; clean, tussled, or just-out-of-the-shower. She would show him all manner of braids that he could use for his own hair, from formal styles to a particular kind of bun and braid to wear during battle. Other ones she’d show him and make him practice on her.

“Kaa-san, you’re just using me as a free hair-stylist,” he’d say.

“Of course," she'd respond. "I have to get my money’s worth out of you, since you eat so much,” she’d respond, and they’d laugh. Other times she’d remark that his future girlfriends would thank him for her ‘training’, at which point he’d roll his eyes.

On some occasions they’d light some incense at the small shrine next to Aozen’s bonsai tree and pray to Amaterasu for Tou-san. Then they’d watch The 400th Blade , which had been his father's favorite samurai movie. It was utterly cliché, about a samurai who survived a suicidal battle he and his fellow warriors were sent to by a murderous shogun thanks to the help of a female shinobi. Together they rally a rebellion against the shogun and, in the process, fall in love.

Kaa-san would tell him every time about how he’d always compare himself to the samurai and her to the shinobi; together, he’d jokingly say, they could overthrow the daimyō and create a utopia.

It was one of the few times his mother would truly smile, talking about his dad. The smile always faded too soon, but they watched the movie’s happy ending nonetheless.

Not always, though. Sometimes they just watched funny movies. For several blessed hours until he inevitably fell asleep on the couch, there wasn’t a single other thing in the world. No Sharingan, no training, no moral dilemmas about changing the future, no shinobi business; just him, his mom, and the comforting scent of sandalwood incense.

Of course, there had to be an outlier eventually.

“Tadaima!”¹ He calls upon entering, slipping his shoes off in the entryway.

“Okaeri!”² He hears his mother call. “In the kitchen!” she adds.

“Okay!” he returns, and heads into the house. He freezes in his tracks once he reaches the living room, because he is greeted by a small child sitting on their living room couch. The boy looks up at him, revealing chubby cheeks and a shock of curly dark hair, and the familiar dark eyes which herald him to be an Uchiha child. Now that he’s aware of him, he can sense him, too - a shinobi child, to be sure.

The boy waves, cheeks curving upward into a grin as happy as a baby can make it. “Oka-eri!” he says, the words clearly unfamiliar.

“Kaa-san…?” He asks hesitantly, not taking his eyes off the child.

“Ao-kun?” Kaa-san returns from the kitchen in the tone indicating she’s focused on something.

“There is a child in our living room.” He states. Aforementioned child’s expression turns into one of mild confusion mingled with curiosity, looking at Aozen and then towards the hallway leading towards the kitchen. There’s a pause, then Kaa-san laughs before leaving the kitchen to come their way.

“I forgot, you wouldn’t have met him. This is my sister’s son, your cousin, Shisui. We’ll be taking care of him for a while.” Aozen’s brain grinds to a halt.

Sister’s son. Cousin. Uchiha Shisui. Shunshin no Shisui. Shunshin no Shisui who is currently a toddler with chubby cheeks and only a basic grasp on fine motor control and a middling grasp on language. Shisui who is waving at him, evidently just happy to be here.

“Ohaiyo!” Shisui says brightly.

“Aa,” Aozen says, feeling like he’s stepped into the twilight zone. One would think living here for so many years had inoculated him to the fiction vs reality buffer, but in comes Shisui to blindside him. “Fascinating.”

“He’s a sweet boy,” Kaa-san continues, reaching over behind the couch to smooth down Shisui’s curls. “A bit like you were,” here she gives him a pointed glance over the boy’s head, “though more energetic.”

“Aa… well, it’s, ahem, nice to meet you, Shisui-kun.” He smiles at the boy, because once he’s got past the initial shock, he’s able to see clearly that the child is absolutely adorable.

“Yes!” Shisui agrees, chipper as ever. "Who are you?"

“Shisui-kun, this is Aozen, my son.” Kaa-san interjects.

“Nii-san!” Shisui throws his hands on the air like he just doesn’t care and Aozen nearly chokes. He’s been here, like, thirty seconds and Uchiha Shisui is calling him nii-san.

Kaa-san, blessedly sensing his distress, intervenes, “Aozen’s going to help me in the kitchen, then we’ll be back in a few moments. Why don’t you play with your toys?”

Shisui, for his part, seemed perfectly content to do so, picking up what looked to be the equivalent of fidget toys. Aozen knew they were useful for normal children but especially so for shinobi, so they could begin training their hand dexterity as soon as possible.

Kaa-san leads him into the kitchen where she’s in the midst of preparing dinner - yakitori, he thinks distantly - before she turns to him.

“Are you alright?” She asks immediately, and places a hand against his forehead. Fever is, apparently, always the first thought. Placing a hand against his head is probably the worst method to check for one though, since Uchiha tend to run hot.

“What? Er, yes, I am fine. Just a little… surprised, is all. There was not much warning.”

His mother, for her part, has the grace to look apologetic, smiling softly. “I’m sorry. There wasn’t much warning for me, either. Aunt Yua has fallen ill.”

Aozen frowns. “Worse than normal?” Aunt Yua has been sick for the past year, but it’s been manageable, or so he’s been told. He got the impression that Kaa-san and Aunt Yua weren’t that close, so he’d never asked.

Kaa-san nods. “The clan healers think it’s something in her lungs. They got her to go to the hospital, but she’s staying there while they figure out what’s wrong. So until we get more news, we’re going to be taking care of Shisui. It won’t be much trouble, really. I’ve told Mikoto, and she says she’s told Fugaku, which means I’ll be getting fewer shifts -”

Aozen reaches forward to put a hand on her arm. She rarely rambles, normally so poised. “Kaa-san, it is fine. I’m fine with him being here. Are you okay?”

She smiles wanly. She looks as beautiful as ever, blessed to not even show so much as darkness underneath her eyes, but there’s a weight in those eyes that’s been there ever since Tou-san died.

“Just a little stressed, really. Thank you, Ao-kun.” She draws him in to kiss his forehead and hug him. He obliges, easily - Kaa-san gives the best hugs. “Do you want to take care of Shisui, or me? I know you can make dinner on your own at this point -”

“I’ll take care of Shisui. He’s cute. Even if I did not expect him to call me ‘nii-san’ within the first two minutes.”

Kaa-san laughs. “From what Yua told me, he’s very open with his affections. And… he’s a bright boy.”

“‘Like I was’, you said.”

“I haven’t seen him often, but Yua said as much. I’m sure you’ll do fine. Just call me in if you need help.”

“I’ve handled Kakashi, so I’m sure he’ll be no trouble.”

With another laugh, Kaa-san sends him back to the living room. Shisui is focused intently on one of the fidget toys, working with it as though it’s a puzzle to be solved. Upon noticing Aozen’s entrance, he brightens.

“Hi-hi!” He waves again, and Aozen can’t help but smile and wave back.

“Hi there, Shisui.” He sits down next to him on the couch. “What are you up to?” He’d been good with kids in the Before. Had loved them, in fact. They weren’t as difficult as people seemed to think.

...well, as long as you weren’t the one actually raising them, he supposed.

“Playin’,” he responded matter-of-factly. “Do you wan’ play?” He offered the toy up to Aozen.

“Hm,” he pretends to consider. “I think I do. But - how about we learn a new game?” When all else failed, he still mostly remembered how his own parents treated him.

Shisui’s eyes alight. “A new one?” He asks, as if this were some great discovery.

“Well, of course. This one works with two people. Show me your hands.” Immediately, the boy obliges, splaying out both of his hands in front of him. Aozen laughs. “It goes like this - I’m gonna teach you different shapes to make with your hand, and then we’re going to go against each other…”

It was a more complex version of rock-paper-scissors, or toad-snake-slug, meant to get a shinobi child used to the beginner shapes for hand-seals. But it had also served as a great form of entertainment for three-year-old Aozen, so surely three-year-old Shisui would enjoy it as well.

Of course, he did. Aozen intentionally ignored the true purpose of such a game and indulged the boy’s innocence and clear fun-loving nature. They played until Kaa-san came with dinner, whereupon the night’s usual event began.

Shisui made their normally calm and easygoing night a rather more excitable affair. He enjoyed dinner very much and the movie they watched even more so; at several points he would point at the screen and proclaim either a question or simply how cool he thought something was.

He made Kaa-san smile more than normal simply by virtue of his bubbly presence - himself too, really. In light of the day’s activities, this was a metaphorical cherry on-top, unexpected though it had been.

He went to sleep content and with a warm feeling in his chest that’d been hard to find of late --

- and if he’d felt a little extra burst of happiness at being called ‘nii-san’ so easily, well, who was there to blame him? He’d always kind of wanted a little brother.

========================================

He’s in Sensei’s kitchen, which is odd. Sensei is self-professed as both not a great cook and an extrovert; thus, when they eat together it’s usually in a restaurant, or otherwise it’s takeout in the living room.

He shrugs to himself and walks through the house anyway, towards the living room. It, too, is empty, and he can’t sense anyone. That’s not too strange, though - he’s not a great sensor.

Perhaps he’s outside… although, something tells him that’s not the case, for whatever reason. Elsewhere in the house? It’s a large home, but it’s all single-story, relegated to a wide space rather than built into two stories.

He knows where everything is, even if he’s never been in, say, Kakashi’s or Sensei’s room. He stops by the dojo just in case, sliding the door open only to glance into an empty room. He frowns and continues on.

He knocks at where he knows Kakashi’s room to be, but there’s no answer. It looks to be daytime by the light streaming in through the windows, so that’s not particularly odd. Last stop: Sensei’s room.

He knocks, but there’s no answer. Still, something compels him to open the door to check nonetheless.

At first, he thinks Sensei is kneeling down in prayer, his forehead to the ground - but then he both sees and smells it, the blood pooling beneath his form and the room’s light glinting off the metal of the tanto still clutched in one hand.

There are five ninken in a line all sitting beside him, and they too almost look like they could be resting - but there is no movement, no rising of their chest as they breath, and the room is completely silent.

He fights to breath and hurries to shut the door, stumbling backward to get away from the sight, because it’s wrong, wrong, it has to be wrong - it can’t have happened yet, it was his job to prevent it. He trips on something and falls backward.

He stumbles to turn and run away from this untruth, but the sight and feel of grass beneath stops him. He’s hyperventilating, but he still manages to push himself up to his feet and observe his surroundings.

He’s somewhere nondescript, with low-cut green grass and trees forming some kind of perimeter. It could be a Konoha training ground, as unremarkable as it is. As he looks, he starts, noticing someone in front of him casually leaning against a rock.

They - male, he thinks - are dressed in a high-collared kimono colored solidly in dark blue. Shinobi sandals, and what’s visible of his legs are wrapped in bandages, though he thinks perhaps it’s not because of an injury.

The man wears a sandogasa atop his head, and the angle of the sunlight behind him combined with his hat casts a shadow over his face. Dark, thick brown hair falls down beneath the rim of the sandogasa, further obscuring his features.

When he speaks, it is matter-of-fact, and the smooth tenor manages to give him chills.

“The clock is ticking, little Uchiha.”

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Aozen woke up with a start; suddenly and gasping for breath, sitting up and feeling like he’d simply been shifted from one place to another, rather than having just woken up from a dream.

Or, rather, a nightmare. It is not an entirely unfamiliar sensation, but nightmares are not the sort of thing that gets easier with exposure, or so he believes.

He shifts to look over at his alarm clock, which reads 4:47 AM. He groans and lets his head collapse on his pillow, well aware that he should but will be unable to fall back asleep.

So, he wastes a few more seconds mentally bemoaning the fatigue in his still-growing body and clinging to his mind before shuffling out of bed. He throws on some simple training fatigues, with a haori to guard against the morning chill.

As he walks through the house, ostensibly to make himself some breakfast, he can feel the chakra signatures of his mother and Shisui; the younger like flecks of light heralding the sun just below the horizon, and the other like the steady, inundating heat of the forge. They are comforting sensations, though Shisui is still unfamiliar and somewhat bizarre.

He starts up some eggs and rice and fixes himself a cup of tea, and stands silent and still somewhat groggy in the kitchen as he waits for his breakfast to cook.

Said breakfast is a short and quiet affair, accompanied mostly by the mental grumblings of someone who wishes they were still asleep, but who does not wish to confront the reasons for which they were still awake.

In the absence of sleep, he goes about his normal routine as though it were a regular morning. Dishes were cleaned with as little effort as possible before he began the process of cleaning and sharpening his sword in the living room. There was an alcove designed specifically for this purpose, although he usually did it in his room nonetheless.

In the field, he’d not have such a luxury as water stones for sharpening, nor even the guarantee he’d be able to do it every day. The mission was more important than a sword, after all. But, his Sensei said, there’s no reason you shouldn’t afford your blade every respect possible when you can.

He paused for a moment, hands stilling on the blade: he stared at those same hands.

They were so small.

They belonged to a seven-year-old, of course. The sword was smaller than a normal katana; enough that it could technically be called a wakizashi, but was referred to as a katana anyway. The memories that belonged to his mind couldn’t change the shape of his hands, but…

He wondered if there were children in ROOT who were as small as him. Smaller, probably. If his memories were accurate, then malnutrition tended to do that. Most likely, they also knew how to sharpen a katana, and every other variety of weapon meant for shinobi to kill.

Just like he did.

They didn’t have the benefit of morality, though. The luxury, maybe? They didn’t have almost twenty years to develop a sense of their own; they were probably taught how to kill before they were taught how to talk.

With a sigh, he resumed sharpening, and finally turned his mind towards the distress that had awoken him not long ago.

In the story, Sakumo died. When the story had simply been a story, he’d been content to ignore this fact. Even after he’d come to terms with his reality, he had still mostly wanted to ignore it.

A prophetic dream made it clear that he could no longer do so. He has no idea who the strange man in the dream was, nor is he sure why he remembers the entire thing so clearly, but if anything these oddities reinforce the fact that he has to expect to do something, and soon.

So, he assesses the problem like he had been taught to do in shogi. ‘Work the battlefield, one problem at a time,’ Sensei had taught him.

Problem number one: Sensei would be sent on a mission. Aozen had no idea what that mission was, or when it would come. Neither did anyone else, except -

Well… it had to have been Danzō, right? Not just the mission-gone-wrong, but the fact that the people of Konoha turned against Sakumo so completely. The power of a mob was a terrible thing. There’s no chance that it was natural .

Considering the lack of information about the mission and when it would happen, he could try and dampen the effects of that mission when it came - except this was reactionary, not preventative. Something to keep in mind in case he failed, perhaps.

He switched to a nuguigami¹ to begin removing old oil and dust from the blade.

He could theorize about the mission itself. The largest and most worrying idea was that the mission was actually what started off the Third Shinobi War. That would make an unfortunate amount of sense - it wouldn’t be so hard for Danzō to paint Sakumo as a villain then, if a failed mission had started an entire war, especially so soon after the last one.

But what were the chances that the war might have occurred anyway? He didn’t know enough of the current political climate in any of the nations - including Konoha - to say for certain. Wars in the Elemental Nations began because of simple reasons: financial troubles, the onset of famine, but only occasionally because of actual international incidents.

There had been conflicts before between only a few of the nations, as opposed to involving all of them. Kiri and Kumo were the most notable. Some of the smaller shinobi nations warred occasionally, several of which he hadn’t even known existed until Sensei began educating him in the greater spectrum of geography.

Civil war really didn't happen. Kiri was the only example he knew of, and that both hadn’t happened yet and had only occurred because the then-Mizukage had been mind-controlled by the Sharingan.

Perhaps he could ask Sakumo. Sensei would doubtless want him prepared in the eventuality of a war…

… and there was always the possibility of letting Sakumo in on his secret.

He threw the used nuguigami away, and unwrapped the ukiko² ball to begin applying the polishing powder.

It was all terribly complicated. Unfortunately, he had no way to guarantee he’d be listened to, or believed. Sakumo definitely knew he was more intelligent than any normal person his age, but there was that and there was reincarnation.

Well, technically reincarnation had a very well established position in the mythology and religion of this world. He put the uchiko ball in the case and began rubbing the powder into the blade with another cloth. This was followed with a nuguigami to wipe excess powder away.

He inspected his sword. Clean, as he expected, and free of rust or blemishes beyond the expected. Only small marks, like points where his own Sensei’s blade had scratched his, that would require a trip to the smith to remove. He wasn’t that obsessed with the visual purity of the sword; frankly, it was cool enough that he even had an inkling of how to use it.

It would require no oiling for some time, so he returns the blade to the saya and slides the entire thing through his belt. He didn’t think he’d be training, but he also knew he wouldn’t be sleeping, and he felt more comfortable with it on him.

He walks into the back garden, a small affair with two sitting chairs on the back porch and a few plants arrayed along the border of the wooden fence, and a small koi pond in the corner. Apparently there’d once been consideration on his parents’ part to install a zen garden in place of the grass here, but mother had vetoed the idea.

Tou-san really should have been a gardener. He sighed, placing himself in one of the chairs, and gently let the thought go as best he could. His thoughts were already a little too sad.

So, a lot of thinking but no solution. What he needed was a second opinion, but he couldn’t get one without resolving the entire reason he needed one in the first place. A vicious cycle.

He closed his eyes and began the process to fall into meditation. Cleaning his blade and working through his thoughts, at least partially, had calmed him enough to make the process easier than he was expecting.

He went through questions he could ask his sensei instead, like when he’d be learning a jutsu. He allowed chakra to flow through his now-relaxed tenketsu, the warmth suffusing his body having the added benefit of protecting against the morning chill.

The chakra pool at his core, normally a complacent buzz, felt rather more agitated, which he took to mean there was a storm coming soon. It was nearing December, but Konoha winter typically didn’t properly begin until late January, and snow was very rare.

He breathed in, then out, willing himself to calm.

========================================

It was a miracle that Sakumo did not, in any way, shape, or form take after his son in his later years. There were few things one could complain about when it came to Hatake Sakumo; punctuality was, furthermore, not one of them.

While in the Before he was by no definition a morning person, the past several years of waking up early for school, and more recently, his sensei’s unfailing policy of punishing tardiness to their early-morning practices had necessitated some kind of transformation.

The compromise with his circadian rhythm was that, although he didn’t even really need an alarm to wake up on time for morning events like training anymore, he still woke up and spent the next several hours thinking in the back of his mind that he was asleep.

That particular morning was different, of course, because he never ordinarily had nightmares and so he was up for four hours before his training even began.

Sensei showed up as he always did: in a swirl of leaves. Aozen had compared their shunshins before, about how his was generally unaccompanied by anything except occasionally smoke but Sakumo, even in training, left leaves. Sensei said it “had style”, which was fair enough, really.

Some small part of him had been afraid he’d flinch when Sakumo arrived, but it was really no different than any other day. He looked the same, with his gentle smile, his impeccable jounin uniform, white hair pulled into his long ponytail. He pondered the last detail.

“Sensei, have you ever considered cutting your hair?” He ponders aloud as they walk into the training ground.

“I have, with the same trepidation I feel when I think about taking a stroll into Iwagakure.” Sensei responds without missing a beat, prompting a weird look.

“Really? It wouldn’t be that bad, would it?”

“Picture Kakashi, but in the shape of a bowl cut. This long hair is a mercy.” At that, Aozen winces, but gets a good chuckle out of it.

“Are there pictures?” There had to be somewhere - he was looking the next time he went over to his house. Kakashi could help.

“Stored safely in the form of ashes that no one can ever look at, yes.” Sakumo responds dryly. The both of them go into their stretching routines to prepare for the day.

“Oh, come on - oh! I bet Hokage-sama has some. I will ask him.” This sounds like a wondrous idea.

“If you do, I can promise you I’ll make you run until you’re about to throw up.” That meant Hokage-sama did have some! Finally! He could get back at his Sensei!

“You already do that, though.”

“Hm… you’re right. I suppose I won’t tell you what I’ll do, then, to keep you guessing.” Which - okay. Fair.

Though the beginning of training was always some physical conditioning and then basic taijutsu and kenjutsu katas to nail down the basics, the latter half of training was usually in flux. Spars, or new kenjutsu techniques, or shinobi lessons, or some other strange method of training his chakra.

Which was precisely how this training played out. He ran a mile within the training ground, did it again in shunshin, stretched some more, then did a short series of weighted exercises. By the end of it, he could reasonably assert that he was probably the most in-shape 7 year old in Konoha. After that came katas, the basic footwork of taijutsu and kenjutsu, and the simple act of drawing his sword quickly and sheathing it repeated maybe hundreds of times. Shurikenjutsu followed.

Mindfulness was the key to these exercises. It was easy to do the same thing over and over (physical exercise aside); it was doubly easy to get lazy in doing so, and become sloppy. He had to remain aware and cognizant of what he was doing to ensure that perfect actions became perfect memory became reliably perfect execution.

It was terribly boring, and all so terribly necessary. Thankfully, he was used to it, but he was also ready for some variety.

“Sensei.” He began.

“Student.” responded the Hatake placidly, a small smile playing upon his lips.

“I have some concerns.” Aozen continued, taking a seat under a tree as he let his shoulders rest from the throwing of so many objects.

“I am listening,” Sakumo said enigmatically, turning to look at him.

“One: I have yet to see your summons, but I know you have them. Don’t give me that look, I’m pretty sure Kakashi has them too and he’s been hiding them from me.” Sensei just smiled in that smug-kind way of his, where you know he’s being smug, but he’s also the kind of person who can make the expression, then if you call him out on it you feel bad.

“Two: I am lightning natured. I want to learn lightning jutsu. I tried asking Fugaku-oji for a jutsu scroll but he tricked me and just gave me a scroll that said ‘Go ask your Sensei’.” He was surrounded by traitors and tricksters. “Don’t laugh.”

But it was too late. The man was laughing uproariously, enough to place a hand on his knee, bent over.

“Ah, and people say he’s humorless. That’s a good one, I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“He is humorless. No-Fun Fugaku, that’s who he is.” Aozen crossed his arms, disgruntled. “I’m going to tell my mother to put that on the bulletin board at the KPD headquarters.”

“You know, I think your mother may be the only one brave enough to do that.” Sakumo says thoughtfully, recovered from his laughing fit.

“You haven’t answered my questions.” he grouses. He won’t get away so easily this time.

“Both will be answered in time. First: lunch?”

“You can’t bribe me so easily.” They had a short stare-off, one where Sensei again wore his smug-kind smile which said he already knew the outcome of this particular skirmish.

“But yes, since you’re offering, I will take lunch.” Aozen conceded magnanimously.

Lunch was had at his sensei’s house, which was an indicator that the second half of lessons would likely be cerebral in nature. The food was a pre-curated order of takeout from some inner-city restaurant that had a balanced blend of whatever was healthiest for a growing shinobi, but also tasted good, as ever.

Sakumo was reading some kind of scroll, and had another sheaf of paper on the table next to his food. This was not an uncommon sight and Aozen was normally content to eat quietly with only the occasional comment, but this time he felt it may be an opportunity to gather information.

“I doubt those are romance novels,” he began. Smooth, Uchiha . “Are you settling for Jounin Commander instead of Hokage? I bet the paperwork is the same.”

Sakumo laughs. “No, thankfully. A certain Senju has that position filled rather well.”

Aozen blanks. “There are other Senju besides Tsunade-san?” It made sense, but he’d never thought about it.

The Hatake raises a brow. “Was someone giving you a different impression?”

“No, I just… assumed.” A sheepish shrug.

“Well, let that be a lesson to you. Don’t assume; infer. Don’t rely on your inferences, but ensure they’re solid enough to act on when you need to.”

“Aa,” he acknowledges. “What exactly is the difference?”

“You can call it semantic, but it’s the difference in mindset which is important. An assumption is one made quickly, often rashly. It’s made using the information you have taken at face value, but not with all the information you can and should have. An inference is informed, which can help guide intelligent and responsible decisions.” Sakumo explains calmly, then takes a bite of his rice.

“In correction of your earlier assumption: Tsunade-san is certainly the most famous living member of her clan, but Senju Takurō has been a ninja for longer than she’s been alive, and the Jounin Commander for almost as long. Although,” he adds after a moment, ”your impression is unfortunately not without basis. The Senju clan is dwindling in number.”

“Aa,” he intones again. “I see.” He wonders whether Tsunade’s brother has already died. That was one detail he wasn’t sure of from Before, and so had no idea what to think of it. There was also her boyfriend, Katō Dan… both reasons she left the village. “I also see you didn’t answer my original question.”

“The question you didn’t actually ask, you mean.” Sensei clarifies knowingly. Aozen shrugs. “Since you’ve become my apprentice, and since the war has ended, I’ve been in the village far more often, which Sarutobi-sensei has seen as an opportunity to leverage my experience in mission assignments and assessments. He is very fond of delegation.”

“I would not want to assign an entire village’s worth of missions by myself either.” Aozen defends the Sandaime, for some reason, as he digests this information.

“Fair,” Sakumo chuckles, and they fall quiet.

He had failed to consider that point in his earlier ruminations. Of course Sakumo having an apprentice would change things - just as having a son would, really, but Kakashi was a prodigy who needed half the care a normal child did. Naturally though he couldn’t actually predict what his presence would mean and where things would diverge nor just how much they would do so.

The Nara had it right - this thinking business was so damn troublesome.

“Ah,” Sensei said a few minutes later, as though there was something to be ah-ing about. By then, Aozen had finished his food, and looked up in time to see his Sensei form a single hand-sign.

In a puff of smoke which quickly dissipated, the living room was now full of five dogs of varying breeds, two of whom were the same. Largest among them was a Husky, flanked on either side by two Akita Inu, and behind them was what looked like a Boston Terrier and a… Pomeranian? All of them wore Konoha hitai-ate.

“Pack,” Sakumo said, speaking to the dogs - ninken, he corrected, “meet my student. Aozen, meet my pack.”

“Aha!” The husky speaks. Right. Talking animals. “Finally! We’ve been asking the Boss to meet you for ages now.” Aozen turns an accusatory glare on Sakumo, who has the grace to look apologetic.

“I thought you’d be taller.” The Terrier speaks, sounding feminine and contemplative.

“I am seven.” He explains matter-of-factly. Had they not seen Kakashi?

“Yeah, but I was this big when I was seven.” The husky responds - and indeed, the husky is large. Large enough to rival Arai, who was more wolf than dog, though not quite as big. Still big enough to almost match Aozen for height then standing.

“You were tiny for the first few years, though,” one of the Akita Inu speaks up, snickering in a surprisingly human way, though clearly still a dog.

(it was a very difficult thing to describe in words, honestly. you had to be there)

“Uh-huh!” The other Akita Inu agrees, bobbing his head. “I remember a time when I was bigger than you!”

The Pomeranian pads over to him whilst the other three bicker; the Terrier looks on with something approaching exasperation.

“Ignore them. I’m Cho.” She speaks, holding out a paw. He slides off his chair and takes the paw in hand, giving it a good shake.

“I’m Aozen. It’s, ah, good to meet you.” He says politely, offering a furtive glance to Sakumo on the other side of the dinner table.

“It is, isn’t it?” Cho says, shaking in such a way that her fur rippled. The others bound over once they noticed introductions had actually begun.

“Yo! I’m Yuki!” One of the Akita Inu says.

The other follows up, “I’m Adzuki!” In a very similar, lackadaisical tone.

“They’re brothers,” Cho explains, with the air of one offering some great insight into someone else’s ‘condition’.

“Amaya,” The Boston Terrier introduces herself, looking very regal. She was even wearing a haori, Konoha-green.

“And I’m Kenzo.” The Husky finishes, baring a doggy smile. “You can pet us! We’re all pretty soft, and you seem nice.”

“Hello,” Aozen repeated. “Well, uh, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you all.” He’s hesitant, as it feels a little wrong to pet a sapient animal-spirit, but they are all kind. He gives Kenzo some scritches, then moves over to the others, giving them each their due pets. To their credit, they are quite soft, and he feels better.

“Boss has kept us busy, which I don’t think is much of an excuse at all, but,” Kenzo says.

“No more courier runs, please!” Adzuki bemoans

“No more courier runs,” Sakumo agrees, resulting in cheers from the pack. They all seem a fairly enthusiastic bunch. No doubt a trait they either get from or simply share with their pack leader. “No, instead you’ll be taking a more active role in portions of Aozen’s training.”

“Like we did with Kakashi’s?” Kenzo said, and Aozen would swear his knowing tone was an exact copy of Sakumo’s.

“Exactly that. Soon, but not today. I’ve got other business for you all.” His tone again seemed to reference something they all knew about.

“Alright, alright,” Kenzo said in a conciliatory manner. “It was good to meet you, Aozen! We look forward to training you!” Before Aozen could respond, Sakumo made a few hand-seals and they all disappeared in a puff of smoke, just as they’d arrived.

He swiveled to look at his sensei. “That was more ominous than I expected.”

“Oh?”

“He said ‘training you’, not ‘training with you’. You’re going to make me do copious amounts of physical exercise, aren’t you?”

Sakumo merely smiled, as he so often did. “You’re going to be an incredible shinobi someday, Aozen. Everything I do is intended to guide you along that path.” The sudden praise shocked him into silence. He wasn’t great with expressing gratitude. Sensei knew this, of course, so he continued, “But yes, I am going to do that.”

“Well, at least give me a jutsu to make it worth my while.” He crossed his arms and leaned back, a smile tugging at his lips despite his words.

Sensei hummed. “You have noticed that I have neglected to teach you any jutsu, despite the fact that you are capable of learning them. This lack of instruction has not hindered you; I am told you created a jutsu of your own, and used it against Kakashi-kun.”

‘I am told’ meant that he had been spying on him in some form, but it was a training mission, so he was unsurprised. “My first attempts at Katon produced nothing but smoke. I envisioned that with a different focus on the jutsu, I could amplify that effect to different uses.”

“And so you did. You’ve even inspired Kakashi - though don’t tell him I told you that. I believe he wants it to be a surprise.” Aozen appreciated the warning. Knowing Kakashi, this surprise jutsu was probably the predecessor to the Chidori.

“What you’re capable of with just the jutsu and tools you have is impressive, and what you have accomplished without direction is just the same.”

“Aa, it was only a single jutsu, really just a modification of an existing -“ Sakumo raised a hand and he fell silent, his attempt at modesty forgotten.

“The reasons I haven’t taught you anything before now are myriad. Raiton is notoriously difficult to learn, even with an affinity. Burns are incredibly common, but more severely, nerve damage has been known to happen.” Aozen blinked; he had not known that. “But, despite this, I had actually envisioned learning jutsu to be one of the easiest parts of your training. Can you imagine why I might think so?”

Aozen knew exactly why Sakumo thought so, and he didn’t like it one bit. He nodded once.

“Indeed. I thought you might. However, I am now under the impression that this is not the case. Do you know why that is?” Another nod from Aozen. “Verbally, please.” The tone of the conversation had completely shifted.

“Because I do not…” Like? Enjoy? “…wish to use the Sharingan.” Because I do not desire the Sharingan.

“That is the impression I have gotten, yes.” A pause, where Sakumo merely looked at him, thoughtful. Despite himself, Aozen focused his gaze on his sensei’s chin, not his eyes.

“It is not my place to talk to you about this. I can give you my thoughts, but ultimately, it is a matter for your family to discuss with you. You are more than your eyes, Aozen - they do not and will never define you. But they are a not inconsiderable part of you, nonetheless.”

“Yes, sensei,” He said, bowing his head. He could not find anything else to say - Sensei was right, of course, but that didn’t make any of it any easier, or more rational.

“So, until that discussion takes place, your jutsu training shall take a different form. I am going to let you go home early today, but not without assignment.”

“Your improvisation of a jutsu shows ingenuity,” Sakumo continued, “This ingenuity is a valuable skill for any good shinobi, and the hallmark of many great ones. It will become necessary, or so I believe, that your ingenuity be honed into a finely tuned weapon. As such, your assignment is this: consider the value of sealless jutsu, and how it might be accomplished. Contemplate what it is to truly embody an element, and how you might do this with your own element. If you wish to experiment with manipulating chakra, then I forbid you, unless someone of a chuunin rank or higher who has experience with Raiton is present.”

Aozen opened his mouth and closed it a few times as he tried to formulate a response. He had expected some kind of punishment, but had instead received an unusual, very open-ended assignment. “Sensei, is there a specific conclusion I am supposed to reach?”

“Excellent question. The truth, I suppose. Any other questions?” As frustratingly vague as ever. He resisted the urge to sigh.

“Any reading material?”

“It’s not true contemplation if the conclusion comes from someplace else, is it?”

“The truth is the truth, no matter the source,” Aozen countered.

“Perhaps,” said Sakumo, smiling slightly, “but better the truth you find yourself, from looking inward, than a truth not truly earned.” Aozen contemplated this, then conceded the point.

“I suppose I am not yet to the point where I can out-philosophize you.”

Sakumo chuckled. “I’ve got a few decades on you yet, pupling.”

========================================

This new assignment heralded a return to his ‘thinking’ ways, where he’d sit in place and simply think about things, in all varieties of shapes and topics. This time, though, he had a more definite focus.

Certainly it was possible. How plausible it was remains to be seen… Sakumo-sensei surely knew this. Was the lesson not to actually create a jutsu, but to learn more about his own chakra? Or perhaps it was meant to show him the importance of hand seals instead, where he was meant to go to his sensei once he discovered how difficult or ‘impossible’ it was.

That was nonsense. It was possible. He knew that shinobi could do it, but that it was typically a measure of great skill and experience with a particular element to perform sealless jutsu. In other regards, even he’d already succeeded: he had been performing sealless Shunshin for a long while now, and had recently grasped the Kawarimi and Henge, although the latter could use some polishing; some of the details get lost in translation, as it were.

Technically, those techniques and elemental jutsu all begin from the same place. Chakra was chakra, and it was the only necessary ingredient for any jutsu. The inability of some people to perform one elemental release compared to others was a matter of…

Hm. What was it a matter of? Spiritual inflexibility? Well, did the jutsu begin in the spirit? Okay, now he was getting somewhere.

Where did a jutsu actually begin? Obviously it wasn’t with the hand-seals, because otherwise every Academy student who practiced them would have been causing fires and floods left and right. Hand-seals only molded chakra into jutsu if one also channeled their chakra at the same time.

The hand-seals were only a guide. Everyone knew this, at least intellectually, but he guessed it mostly boiled down to the hand seals becoming equivalent to the jutsu.

Why was it so difficult to do jutsu without hand seals, then? Even Sensei had warned him to have a shinobi chuunin-level or above with him if he attempted to actually perform anything with his chakra, as the potential to hurt himself was pretty high - “especially for raiton”, he’d said.

The sense he was getting was that a jutsu was a particular formation of chakra. That formation could reliably and continually be repeated and called back to with particular handsigns, or a formation could be created with the knowledge of how handsigns worked to induce a particular effect.

Okay, that was a fairly explicit definition of how jutsu worked. Congratulations Aozen, you’ve accomplished as much as a dictionary.

But it wasn’t how chakra itself worked. He could and did channel chakra for a variety of effects, like increasing his muscle density and strength; the Shunshin, which was still his greatest chakra-related skill, was essentially just that.

He stood and formed the hand-seals for the Gōkakyū no Jutsu, forcing himself not to examine the process too closely, but consciously limiting the chakra so as to not start a fire. It went off without a hitch, a medium-sized fireball being sent out into the sky. The chakra flow was cut off to not allow it further and it dissipated a dozen metres or so afterward.

Okay… there was definitely a feeling to the way his chakra flexed while performing the jutsu. But how did he define that? “You’ll know it when you see it” was well and good unless you were trying to actually discover something.

He shunshin’d a few metres away, then a few metres back. He hummed to himself, then kawarimi’d with a nearby twig. Another silent few beats of thought, then he henged into his mother. He moved around a bit, trying to get a feel for his chakra before he switched back to himself.

He had a few ideas. His running question was: what was the difference in process between forming an elemental ninjutsu versus a non-elemental ninjutsu, like any of the three he just performed? The difference with the shunshin was apparent quickly enough, as it was using chakra as pure energy to affect something, but the others had manifested effects different to that nature.

He could skip the question entirely. He was eager to move to raiton, but he also had a conundrum in front of him that was incredibly interesting to solve. Starting with the Gōkakyū, he could try to reverse-engineer the jutsu… perhaps to its bare form of fire chakra outside the body, or simply trying to achieve a different effect. With the same hand seals, maybe?

He could start with a single hand-seal to jumpstart the process of chakra molding and then go from there to try and mold raiton chakra.

Frankly, the only reason he’d never tried to before was because he wasn’t fond of the idea of severe electrical burns. He’d gotten lucky when learning the Gōkakyū, escaping with relatively minor burns, but the Uchiha healer who’d helped him had described clearly (in dumbed down terms, because to them he’d been four at the time) what could happen if he wasn’t careful.

Those weren’t the only questions, though. Perhaps he shouldn’t be looking for the differences between elemental and not, but the similarities. Was it a kind of ‘muscle memory’ that guided chakra flow, or was it willpower? Or simple control of chakra? But then, chakra control was in itself a kind of willpower that could be trained.

If chakra control was the answer to this stupid riddle, he was going to kick Sakumo-sensei in the shins. He’d probably do something stupid like shield his skin with doton chakra and leave Aozen with a stubbed toe. Bastard.

He didn’t believe that it was necessary for someone to learn a hundred jutsus from a given element before they could do them without hand seals. But there still remained the question of why someone hadn’t already done it. Maybe a question better left unanswered… As far as he was concerned, ‘not knowing any better’ was going to be his reasoning.

He sighed and headed inside. Kaa-san had the day off - she generally had more leave these days to take care of Shisui - and had slept in that morning, which was why he hadn’t been accosted on being awake so early.

Kaa-san’s signature enveloped the dining room, and beyond her, Shisui’s burgeoning sunrise ebbed in the bedroom. His mother was reading a book, looking content but the kind of tired that implied she’d take an early night tonight. He couldn’t blame her; Shisui was an exhausting child, though indelibly endearing.

“Ao-kun,” his mother spared him a soft but genuine smile upon his entrance.

“Kaa-san,” he offered her a bright smile in turn, and sat himself opposite her at the dining room table. “What are you reading?”

“The daimyō of Hi no Kuni has released an autobiography. I thought I could use a laugh.” The pronouncement caused Aozen to chuckle at the implication.

“I am glad the Uchiha are not that kind of nobility.”

“We used to be. In the Warring Clans era, the Uchiha had the ear of several of the daimyō, back before Hi no Kuni was actually unified under one of them. Or so Mikoto tells me.” Aozen’s brows raised.

“I hadn’t known that. I also didn’t know you were friends with Mikoto-hime.”

“Forgive me for not asking you first,” She responded dryly, “Does she meet your approval?”

Aozen made a show of considering it. “I suppose you cannot do much worse than the clan head’s wife.”

Kaa-san actually snorted, something she wouldn’t dare do outside of their home. “It would be more accurate to say that Fugaku is Mikoto’s husband, though don’t tell him I said that.”

Aozen laughed, catching the implication. That was saying something, since Fugaku had a rather demanding personality - though of course he also had a softer side.

“What have you been up to?” Kaa-san turned the subject back onto him.

“Homework from Sensei. I am meant to contemplate the nature of sealless jutsu. Specifically raiton, I think.”

Although he didn’t have any injuries, Kaa-san’s eyes flicked downward to examine his visible forearms for any burns. He had none, of course.

“He specifically said I wasn’t to experiment without someone else who knows raiton,” he hastened to explain, “I do not want to burn myself either.”

“Hm. I am surprised he didn’t simply show you a jutsu to copy. Most teachers would have.”

Aozen visibly hesitates - but then, Sensei had said that this was a family matter, hadn’t he? If not Kaa-san, then who?

“He also spoke to me about my… dislike of the Sharingan.” He decided to say. Deliberately, Kaa-san put her book down on the table.

“And what did he say?” She asked gently.

“…That it was a family matter, not for him to discuss with me.”

“That was wise of him.” Aozen got the sudden feeling that Kaa-san had already been aware of his Sensei’s talk with him. Like he had been steered towards having this conversation.

Shinobi - of course he couldn’t avoid facing his emotional trauma.

“Aozen, I know that you -“

“It just feels wrong , Kaa-san.” He blurted. “Like - like it’s a reminder of…”

“Of the pain.” Kaa-san finished softly. He nods. It was a simple, stupid sentiment, and he’d told himself such before. His mother sighs. She stands and takes a seat next to him.

“Kojuka - your father should never have been a shinobi. He loved his plants, his baking, he loved staying at home. But he loved the clan, too. Seeing Fugaku get pushed into field work, seeing others do the same - he wanted to prove himself to the Clan. When you were born… Amaterasu, he hated going away.”

“But he saw how talented you are. Even if he hadn’t wanted to send you to the Academy, he knew you’d be such a strong member of the Clan.”

Aozen was resolutely holding back his emotions, but he’d never known his father hadn’t wanted him in the Academy. Maybe the vague memory of some half-heard argument.

“He wouldn’t have wanted you to go through this pain for his sake. But he knew how hard this world is. I think,” she said carefully, eyes boring into his, “that if he could have given you anything to make sure you made it in this world, he would have. I think he would have been proud that you loved him enough to develop the Sharingan.” She reached forward and smoothed down his hair, letting her hand rest on his cheek.

He had never thought of it that way.

“I think,” she continued, “that the Sharingan has always been an artifact of love, not pain. But I think that sometimes, they’re the same thing. And that’s okay.”

He was silent for several moments before responding, “ I think that I’m tired.” Aozen sighed,, sagging. Her words had resonated with him, and in some ways, he thinks she may have just spoken a truth he hadn’t wanted to admit to knowing. Facing it, combined with his lack of sleep that morning, made him feel even more fatigued than a normal day of training.

Kaa-san smiled wanly. “I bet you are, love. Run off to bed.” She leaned forward to kiss his head. As she did, Aozen wrapped his arms around her in a hug which she easily reciprocated.

“Thank you,” he murmured into her shoulder. “Love you.”

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

He was dreaming again.

He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. It was a fact, like noticing that the day is sunny, or that the streets are crowded. He could do nothing about it but live through it; so, he did.

He was not in Sakumo-sensei’s house this time. Instead, he was walking through the streets of Uchiha-ku. The sun had nearly set, casting the sky in a dark orange light; the clouds which dotted the sky further served to darken the land below, projecting harsh shadows from the houses and porch awnings of the Uchiha district’s main street.

It was silent – but it was never ordinarily silent in the Uchiha district, not even at night. The Clan had a fondness for cats, and there were dozens of strays which lingered about. Uchiha Policemen and civilians alike patrolled the main street during the day, often chatting, but they were not here. There were no lights in the windows of the houses, indicating others who had not yet gone to bed.

He steps forward, each footfall echoing strangely despite the open space. There is a sense of unease which lingers in the air and sets the hairs on the back of his neck standing. He thinks he should know what has happened, but each time he tries to grasp the information it slips away.

He hesitates, then activates his Sharingan. He can feel the pull of his chakra, the strain around his eyes, but nothing about what he’s seeing changes. He walks to a nearby house.

This house belongs to Fujio and Yui, he knows. They’re a newlywed couple: Fujio works in the crime lab at the Police Station, while Yui works as admin in the office of the Hokage. Neither of them have activated their Sharingan; neither of them have seen combat.

There is blood leaking through the seam at the bottom of the doorway. His heart rate quickens. He opens the door in a rush, hoping that perhaps he might be able to -

He has seen Fujio and Yui only on spare occasions on the street, and never with his Sharingan. Even so, he knows it is them who lay dead on the floor, that it is their blood which seeps into and stains the tatami mats, and that it is their lifeless eyes which seek to pin him in place.

He slams the door back shut and stumbles back, falling on the stairs which lead back down to the street.

He picks himself up and sprints for another house: Old Man Kenta, who’d gone blind from overusing his Sharingan but was still proficient enough with Fuuton to sense the air displaced from a thrown senbon.

This door he opens in a rush too, hurrying inside. Kenta is sitting seiza, his back to the entryway, but there is clearly the handle of a kunai sticking out of his back, a thin trail of blood covering his back.

He turns and trips again but doesn’t fall, not bothering to close the door. He’s hyperventilating and panicking, but his Sharingan sees no illusion and he cannot think past the sight of blood and bodies.

He sprints down the main road, heading for the Clan Head’s home, because surely Fugaku would have survived, the most powerful Uchiha in the entire clan. He rips the door open and sprints inside to find the entry room empty.

He goes further; in the kitchen he sees Mikoto’s body, unmoving on the ground, and nearly throws up. He keeps running into the hallway.

There he finds Fugaku on the ground, multiple large gashes dotting his torso and staining the blue of haori dark. He is laying in front of an open door, half of his body intruding into another room.

His breathing and movement slows, though not of his own volition, as he slowly pads forward, eyes locked on Fugaku-oji’s body. He reaches the doorway, standing over him.

He looks into the room and sees his mother, and buried in her chest is his katana.

“No!” He cries out at last, but he cannot face the sight, and so he turns away to run. Meeting him is the same man who stood in his last nightmare, in the same blue kimono and sandogasa. Hooded beneath the tip of the hat, dark eyes peer out at him, inscrutable.

His confusion and grief turn quickly to anger, and consequently turn quickly upon the only living person he’d yet seen. He lashes out for the man’s solar plexus, but his blow is sloppy, and the man deflects it seemingly without care. Subsequent blows are blocked and deflected just as easily, but the man does not fight back. Aozen thinks he might be crying.

“Who are you!?” He shouts, still attempting futilely to fight back. “What have you done!?”

The man grabs his wrist before Aozen can jab at his throat, and then his other hand darts out to grab Aozen by the throat, lifting him off the ground without effort. He tilts his head and the sandogasa up, revealing his dark eyes, which bore directly into Aozen’s.

“Nevermind that,” he says in his calm tenor, gaze appraising. “I got what I wanted.”

Aozen wakes, breathless, gasping for air. His hand instinctively reaches up for his neck, but there is nothing there, not even the soreness which should have been. His room is dark, but it’s cast in a dim scarlet light, and he can see past the darkness without difficulty.

He doesn’t dare to move for what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, Sharingan darting around the room and memorizing details as he tries to assure himself of normalcy. He stubbornly avoids looking at his katana.

Eventually, something drips off his chin and he notices that his face is wet. He reaches up to wipe his face of what he assumes are tears, but his hand comes away smeared with dark liquid, which his Sharingan quickly identifies as - blood.

He stares at it for several moments, before he hurriedly throws aside his covers and shuffles into the bathroom. He doesn’t bother turning on the light, for his Sharingan doesn’t need it, and he is greeted in the mirror by the dull red glow of his eyes, three tomoe spinning so slowly they look still. Twin trails of blood leak from both eyes.

It’s several minutes of him staring at himself with a fully matured Sharingan, where yesterday it had only had two tomoe.

“I got what I wanted.”

The Sharingan memorizes visual input, not the other senses, but Uchiha have always had good memory regardless. He doesn’t think he’ll forget that voice anytime soon.

Was this what you wanted? he thought to himself. The Sharingan manifested and matured through strong emotions, and there were few emotions stronger than grief and pain. And now that he’d felt those feelings, once again, his Sharingan had changed.

He wondered if a normal seven-year-old would be able to feel like he did. What other seven-year-old could have imagined the empty - no, the dead streets of the Uchiha district with such clarity? Almost as if – as if from memory.

And his other nightmare, with Sensei… that too, was just a memory. A memory of a long time ago that didn’t quite belong to him. That was how nightmares worked, but in none of his memories was there a dark-eyed man giving him foreboding warnings and - and emotional trauma.

He used water to clean off his face, scrubbing resolutely until his skin felt raw, then he sat in the living room and focused on breathing exercises until it no longer felt like the nerves on his face were alight with electricity.

It takes all those minutes to remember how to control his chakra flow to shut his eyes off, and darkness fills his view now that he has no enhanced vision. In addition, the chakra used to maintain it leaves a notable gap in his reserves, and the fatigue settled on him like a physical weight.

There are several mysteries to be unraveled here, and though he is exhausted, he knows that he will not sleep for fear of more nightmares. Thus, he turns his thoughts towards his problems.

Despite this resolution, he is not keen to revisit his dreams, even indirectly, and so he focuses on the Sharingan.

He has been told numerous times - by Kaa-san, mostly, but also by Fugaku, - that the Sharingan is a gift; that it is earned, and that though the circ*mstances surrounding it are less than positive, the Sharingan itself is not an evil thing.

Basic psychology would also dictate that the Sharingan would inherently be associated with the negative stimuli that preceded it. Thus, the Sharingan is tainted.

Naturally, it wasn’t so simple. He could reason, logically, that the Sharingan wasn’t evil. In fact, he knew it to be true. The benefits it provided were considerable and would doubtless help him in the course of his shinobi career and his other, broader goals.

However, to him, the Sharingan also came with the expectation of loss and pain. Each time he used it he could not help but anticipate more pain in the back of his mind. He trained with Fugaku, but at least there he felt somewhat… safe. It was isolated and disconnected from everything else.

But everywhere else, and every other time, he returned to this debate he kept having with himself, and he had yet to come to an answer. So, he tried to think through it, and examined himself more closely.

His mother had said that the Sharingan was an artifact of love - and pain. Which he understood. Which he believed, truthfully. Pain was an inevitable part of love. They were causally connected, inseparable.

That was Madara’s whole shtick, wasn’t it? That suffering was inevitable, that hatred was an inexorable consequence of love, and that it would undoubtedly overshadow the latter. A dangerous trap to fall into, but he didn’t think he was going to. He was a long way off from the kind of mental trauma Madara suffered.

What was stopping him? Really, what was stopping him? He had a dōjutsu that was as revered as it was feared, yet he was stubbornly refusing to use it, as much as was possible. He was entirely physically capable. Emotional blockage? He’d had plenty of encouragement –

The answer hits him in a flash. Greed. He makes a noise of realization into the empty air.

He’s afraid of greed, and arrogance. He despises them, and doesn’t want to be labeled arrogant unjustly. It’s why he used to flinch at every use of the word ‘prodigy’, and why he never talked himself up, or sought fights. He’s never had anything to prove, and so he’s never had any reason to be arrogant.

And now, it’s why he doesn’t want to use the Sharingan. He’s afraid of being greedy. Of falling into the trap of power; because with the Sharingan comes a myriad of abilities, and then there’s the knowledge that there could be more. That there could be the Mangekyō. The false connection that the death of loved ones grants power, and that those deaths can be justified by it. That power can be the end, rather than the means.

He doesn’t want that –

Does he?

Oh, the thought of power is appealing… but is it what he wants? He enjoys training for the purpose of mastering something, of having the skill to strike the bullseye at fifty yards, of being able to use his sword to snuff out a candle’s flame. Of understanding and performing a Katon jutsu, and knowing that he's good, really good at something.

But those could easily be childhood dreams personified. Who doesn’t want to be an amazing ninja? Wield a sword, run at the speed of sound, and now it’s his reality. Of course, he’s also being trained as a child soldier, and he’s aware, if not intimately so, that this is no childhood dream.

Perhaps he’s approaching the question incorrectly. He recalls a conversation he’d had with Sensei about ninshū: “Ask instead: how do you heal greed? Greed isn’t something that can be fought… it’s a struggle which begins with the self.”

He isn’t necessarily being greedy. He’s just afraid of it, which is its own barrier - one he’s also not sure how to overcome, but he’ll count finding the root of the problem as a success. Sakumo-sensei would probably know more, or so he hoped.

Reluctantly, he turned his thoughts back towards his nightmare, still aware of sleep’s elusiveness.

The question of the day was this: Who was the strange man that had appeared in his nightmares two days in a row? He didn’t look like anyone Aozen had ever seen, in dress or looks. Moreover, he didn’t actually know it was possible for someone else to appear in his dreams as a fully sapient entity.

If that was even what happened. Maybe it was some manifestation of his own spirit, restless as it was. It took a strange form, if so.

He was foolish to think that he would be immune to the whims of the Plot. Of course, he could also be going insane.

He looked around his home, as though there might be some literal writing on the wall or a hallucination that might jump out with a sign that said, “You guessed it, you’re insane!”

Alas, nothing appeared.

“Probably not insane,” he muttered to himself. The jury was still out.

The man had apparently wanted something out of him - his Sharingan’s maturation, ostensibly. For what purpose, he couldn’t even begin to postulate. Aozen hadn’t even wanted the Sharingan, but now there was some specter in his dreams that not only didn’t seem to care about that, but actively inflicted emotional trauma on him.

“...might be insane,” he mumbled, crossing his arms.

He didn’t think he could confront this specter while awake; he wouldn’t even know where to begin. He can meditate, but talking to your inner spirit seems a bit beyond his reach. This, at least, he would probably keep from Sensei. Talking about a weird shinobi in a sandogasa that showed him scary things in his dreams was a one-way ticket to the Yamanaka.

He sighed and stood, and padded over to his mother’s door, doing his best to remain silent. Despite himself, his heart picked up the pace as he approached her door. Quietly, he opened it.

His Kaa-san was asleep. He could see from the entryway the gentle rise and fall of her chest, her black hair splayed out on her pillow. The cool blue light of the early morning was beginning to shine through her window, and with it he could spot nothing out of the ordinary in her room. This close, he could sense her chakra, dormant though it was. Close to her was the much smaller form of Shisui, curled into the blankets and nestled into Kaa-san’s warmth.

He activated his Sharingan with as little chakra as he could, transitioning the room into crimson clarity. This was something he wanted to memorize: his mother and his cousin, safe and sound. His eyes could grant him that, at least.

≡ ☲ ≡

He hurries to training after a quick breakfast, not bothering to hold much conversation with Kaa-san or the bleary Shisui. Instead, he takes the long way around, walking most of the way to make up for the fact that he left early.

Today was not a physical training day, so instead of reserving a training ground they would only do warmups and sit around in, Sensei had them meet in the Hatake compound.

There was a moment of struggle upon entering the boundaries of the compound, where he saw the empty houses of the Hatake clan and remembered the similarly empty streets of the Uchiha clan. He solved this problem by shunshin-ing straight to Sakumo’s front door.

Yet another problem arose. Doubt began to creep in as he reached for the grip of the sliding door. How could he know what he would find, when he opened it? What would he do if, unbeknownst to him, history had already taken its course? He was not a part of the village gossip; he would not know if rumors had begun. His Sensei could hide things from him if he wanted to –

A chakra flare from inside was undoubtedly Sakumo-sensei; it was his flavor of sharp, like mountain air, and it was enough to knock him out of his thoughts. He grimaced, then held his breath as he opened the door.

The entryway is as he remembered it, and he can sense Sensei’s chakra just around the corner. Still, he has to be sure, and so he pads forward on silent feet to see -

Sensei has preemptively fixed him with a curious look as he rounds the doorway, a single brow raised asking a silent question. Aozen releases his held breath in as smooth an exhale as he can make it.

“Sensei,” he greets, inclining his head.

“Student,” Sakumo responds, completing their ritual. “Are you well?”

It’s nine in the morning, and Aozen has been awake for four hours already. He’d gotten five hours of sleep, which wasn’t terrible, but his body needed considerably more on a reliable schedule to grow properly; chakra could only do so much.

“I didn’t get much sleep,” he elects to admit, knowing that a direct lie would be too obvious.

“Your chakra levels are lower than normal,” Sensei observes, “and you seemed uneasy at the door.”

Aozen visibly hesitates. “I was using my Sharingan.” He says, ignoring the second part of the question.

The angle of Sakumo’s face turned a little sharper in disapproval. “I have told you before that you shouldn’t train outside of our sessions, unless it’s with Fugaku.”

Aozen opened his mouth to respond, hesitated, and then closed it. He tried to come up with a suitable response, but everything he thought of would have been a lie. So, he takes a deep breath, thinks to himself, f*ck it, and activates his Sharingan.

Sensei’s chakra looks like wind and water, despite the fact that he was earth natured. It flows steadily and uninterrupted throughout his limbs, and at his center is a vast reservoir that speaks of his chakra capacity. It’s at least as big as Fugaku-oji’s, though the Uchiha Clan Head burns brighter. It’s the first time Aozen has really looked at him with the Sharingan.

Sakumo notices the difference immediately. His eyes narrowed, and his chakra flow seems to… dilate? Like a blood vessel, Aozen notes.

“Your Sharingan is fully matured,” he says.

“Yes,” Aozen responds.

“How?”

Aozen bites the inside of his cheek, a tic he thinks he’s picked up from Kakashi. “I am uncertain.” It is true.

“When did this occur?” Sakumo continues calmly.

“This morning. I woke up, and my eyes were - changed.” He’d been about to say ‘bleeding’.

Sakumo was sitting in his armchair, some paperwork set at the table beside him. He leaned forward, and gestured to the couch. “Well, don’t be afraid to have a seat. You don’t have to keep them active if you don’t want to.”

Part of Aozen did want to keep them active, strangely enough, but he also knew to test his chakra reserves while still tired was unwise, so he let the chakra dissipate and his vision fade to normal. He sat.

“Do you think the Sharingan is – arrogant?” Aozen asks suddenly, forestalling whatever Sensei had been about to say. He grimaces, knowing he’d worded it wrong.

“That depends on what you mean,” Sakumo responds evenly. “The Sharingan itself is simply a dōjutsu. That can be as good or bad as you want to make it out to be. Do you mean to ask – is it arrogant to have the Sharingan?”

Aozen nods, thankful for Sensei’s quick comprehension.

“Not inherently,” Sakumo speaks slowly, each word measured. “It is a kekkai genkai. You are born with the potential for it, and moreover, it comes at a cost many would be unwilling to pay.” A pause. “Arrogance, Aozen, is manufactured. It is created when people take or are taught the wrong lessons from their experiences.”

Aozen considers that for a few moments, digesting the information. Nerves still stubbornly refused to calm, and there was a strange shifting in his gut that he’d call nausea if it were any more severe.

“So…” he eventually says, “It’s not about the Sharingan - but about what I do with it?” He ventured, looking over at the Hatake.

“Perhaps,” Sakumo ventured. “The Sharingan does not make you anything, not on its own. It can lead to arrogance, if it’s misused. But it doesn’t make you invincible nor does it grant you instant comprehension. And,” he hesitated, gaze softening, “It doesn’t make you a bad person, to use it in the first place.”

Right. Aozen knew that. Didn’t he? He fiddled with the edge of his gi.

“I had a friend once,” Sakumo-sensei continues. “He told me something: Everything that happens in your life leaves a permanent scar. You aren’t supposed to get over it. To get over something – to erase the mark it left on you – erases a part of who you are.”

Something in him eases at the words. It’s a harsh lesson, but it’s what he’s been working on all this time, without realizing it.

He’d been looking at it in black and white. He was either betraying his father’s memory, or he was bearing his love for him. He was either indulging in arrogance, or he was just using a tool that was available to him. But he can coexist; love, after all, was pain, and pain was love. He could be both. That’d been what his mother was telling him.

“I see,” Aozen murmurs. The Sharingan was a curse and a blessing. “I can have it both ways,” he says aloud.

Sensei gives a wan smile. “It is a wide world out there, my young student, full of both pain and joy. The former keeps you on the path of growth, while the latter makes the journey worthwhile.”

Aozen digests this as best he can before he swivels to look at him, feeling lighter. “You read all of these quotes in books,” he accuses. “You don’t have enough time to think up all of these yourself.”

“You don’t think your sensei is wise? I’m wounded,” he says, holding a hand to his chest. “You’ve wounded me.”

Aozen considers the best response to the situation, and elects to stick out his tongue. Sakumo laughs, and he feels a smile split his own face despite himself.

“Well, don’t think you can get out of training just because of a little fatigue. You’ll be more tired than this in the field.” Sensei speaks up a few moments later.

“Everyone always says things will be worse in the field. Fugaku-oji always tells me that the enemy shinobi will hit harder.”

“They will,” Sakumo agrees sagely.

Aozen harrumphs, disgruntled. “Is there anything that will be better in the field?”

This question seems to stump his sensei for a few moments, as Sakumo leans back in his chair with a considerate look on his face.

“It’s less boring,” Sakumo eventually decides.

“Is that supposed to motivate me?” Aozen responds.

Sakumo raises a brow. “I see you woke up this morning with a more mature understanding of snark.”

Aozen huffed, crossing his arms.

“Anyway,” Sensei continued magnanimously, “I believe I gave you an assignment. Have you made any headway into it?” Aozen is grateful to move on to more mundane matters, even with the emotional epiphany he’d just had.

“No,” Aozen admits. “A lot of thinking, but no real progress.” The statement brings with it a small flush of shame. He feels as though he should have something.

“Tell me those thoughts,” Sakumo intones.

“I came up with more questions. What is the difference between elemental jutsu and non-elemental jutsu, like the Gōkakyū versus the Shunshin? I determined that sealless jutsu were possible, but there was a reason they weren’t done that I couldn’t determine right away, beyond the fact that it was more dangerous.”

“Hm,” Sakumo intoned. “The theoretical answer to your first question is the concept of nature transformation.” Aozen felt, in a single moment, like he should be hitting himself in the head. He had managed to forget the elementary principle that they were taught in the Academy. “I sense that you are aware of it.” Aozen gave him a disgruntled look.

Sensei smiles. “Chakra exists first as energy. Technically, it has the potential to become anything, but for most everyone save the Rikudō Sennin, there are the five elements. There is also yin and yang chakra, but these are a topic for later discussion.”

“Hand-seals provide a reliable path for nature transformation. Otherwise, it… would require just our own willpower?” Aozen’s statement turned into a question.

“More or less,” Sakumo affirms with a nod. “It is much easier to memorize how chakra moves in its pure form; your understanding of the shunshin and kawarimi is an example. With elemental ninjutsu, this understanding typically comes with the learning of many ninjutsu. For experts of a particular element, the jutsu becomes less important than the initial transformation. They know their element, and all that it is capable of.” A pause.

“For most shinobi, functionality comes before all else,” he continues. “Understanding one’s element is not as important as understanding how to use a jutsu of that element on a battlefield. Further knowledge is a luxury many don’t have the time to afford. However, I am of the opinion that such knowledge and understanding will be more conducive to development as a quality shinobi. I am interested in seeing if my opinion is true.”

Aozen blinked, brows furrowing slightly. “You are using me as an experiment?”

“It’s a relatively benign experiment,” Sakumo says blithely.

“You – wait, what is the experiment? I understand my element before the jutsu?” He frowns.

“In part,” Sensei crosses one leg over the other and leans back, the picture of ease. “Chakra is more than what shinobi give it credit for; that is, more than a crude tool. The Rikudō Sennin understood this more than any other. I don’t presume to be on the Sage’s level, but there is a reason he tried to spread his teachings. Regrettably, we are some ways off from the Sage’s true ideals, but we may yet find use in the modern world for them.”

Aozen pondered. “You think that philosophical understanding can aid in the - er… development of elemental ninjutsu without seals?”

Sakumo nods. “Chakra is composed of both spiritual and physical energy, as you know. We have discussed already how both might be grown: all of your physical training serves to improve the latter, whilst your other lessons on the subtler shinobi arts, in their own way, serve the former. The more you have of both, the more chakra you have; thus, it is imperative to not neglect one over the other.”

“It is my belief,” he continues, “that most shinobi bar genjutsu specialists tend to do this. It is understandable, and usually born of necessity, rather than intentional ignorance. But it exists all the same. I think that improving the development of one’s spiritual chakra is important, and I believe that understanding an element as it truly is, not just as it may be used, is necessary.”

Aozen considers this; it’s a lot to take in. He can see where his Sensei is coming from, and he can see the point he’s making, but that does not necessarily make the leap from philosophical understanding to reality any easier.

“This seems like a lot to ask,” he finally decides to say, taking a look at his sensei.

“Perhaps it is,” Sakumo concedes, “but I will never ask of you anything I do not believe you are willing and able to give. Such is my duty as a teacher.”

Slowly, Aozen nods. “Alright. Where do we begin?”

Sakumo-sensei smiles. “With a foundation. Prodigy or no, I do not expect you to begin inventing Raiton jutsu without any prior basis.” In a puff of smoke, a scroll appears in Sensei’s hand as Aozen perks up, intrigued. He takes the proffered scroll and opens it.

“Raiton: Kaminari Tenohira¹,” he reads. Lightning Palm. A quick skim tells him that it shrouds the hand in lightning, allowing them to enhance their taijutsu or otherwise damage the enemy via contact. He is intrigued, despite himself. The scroll details it as a C-rank jutsu, like the Gōkakyū.

“Indeed. What do you think?” Sakumo asks. There is more to that question than meets the ears, so there must be more to the jutsu. A foundation, Sensei said.

“It is a jutsu for the most basic form of Raiton: chakra without complex form, to the hands, the easiest limb to channel to.” He says, and Sakumo nods. It sounds a lot like a predecessor to the Chidori. Is this what Kakashi’s coming up with, even now?

“Every shinobi has an affinity: one of the five elemental releases which their spirit is most in-tune to. Jutsu of these elements come most easily for the shinobi in question. It is in their nature; in this way, nature transformation is unnecessary for that element.”

Aozen blinks his surprise. That was something that hadn’t quite been explained in the Academy. “You want me to reverse engineer this.” It was not a question.

Light in Sakumo-sensei’s dark eyes dance with his delight, and his crow’s feet intensify with his smile. “I expect you to reverse engineer this.” Ah. Right, the second part of his assignment.

“...well, I have to learn it first.” He mumbles.

“I expect you to do that too,” Sensei responds.

“The, er, potential for injury seems high.” He seems to recall some mention of ‘nerve damage’.

“As with the initial assignment, I expect you to channel chakra only in the presence of a Chunin or higher-ranked ninja.” Sensei warns. Aozen nods slowly, reading and re-reading through the scroll.

The Sharingan, a voice suggests inside his head, unbidden. He frowns; not because he doesn’t understand, but because he does. His Sharingan had matured fully, granting access to the third tomoe, and with it, insight into chakra and jutsu. He could ‘learn a jutsu by looking at it’, or so the legends went. The truth was more complex, but it was not something he had yet experienced.

“Aozen?” Sensei says. He realizes that he’d descended into silence for a bit too long.

“Can you perform the jutsu, Sensei?” he asks before he can think too hard about it, looking up.

Sakumo-sensei cants his head. “Now?” Aozen nods. “Why?” He is not opposed, as far as Aozen can tell, he’s just curious.

“I wish to test my eyes,” Aozen responds, sounding as though he was exploring the words as he said them; uncertain yet confident at the same time.

Sensei lofts a brow. “Do you believe you are ready for that? Your chakra has not fully recovered.”

“This won’t exhaust me,” Aozen returns. This he is surer of. But now that he’s gotten over that initial block, he feels like he needs to use it – to prove it to himself.

Sakumo-sensei considers, gaze sharp and focusing on him with such an intensity that he feels as if he’s being looked through, rather than at. He realizes then that he doesn’t know what he’ll do if Sensei says no; he feels like he’s jumped onto a precipice without considering how he’ll get down. His sudden burst of confidence now felt tenuous, fragile, which in turn made him feel a little ridiculous. But he still couldn’t shake that anxiety.

“Alright,” Sensei said simply, prompting Aozen to release the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. “But let us move outside. A living room is not the place for Raiton chakra. Or any other chakra, for that matter.” Sensei stands.

“Yes, Sensei,” Aozen returns obediently, standing in turn.

Wordlessly, Sakumo-sensei leads him outside to the small ring they’ve used many times for spars, and they both take up positions across from each other. He’s given another appraising glance before Sakumo inclines his head, a wordless beckoning to continue.

He takes a deep breath.

Growth, he reminded himself, this is growth. There was something uncomfortable stewing in his stomach, but he’d dealt with anxiety before. The past week and then over seven years ago, but it still counts.

He directed his chakra to his eyes, steeling himself against the sudden drain. It felt more like a flexing of a muscle than anything. The world shifted like he was suddenly looking through a telescope before refocusing, and if he wasn’t even marginally used to it yet, he would have stumbled. As it was, there was some furious blinking as he adjusted - ‘getting your bearings’, as Fugaku-oji called it.

The world really was beautiful. Konoha was almost always well-lit. Storms and heavy cloud cover were rare, contributing to the higher average temperatures because the sunlight was always shining down on the city. Most of the country, too.

Everything, which was already vivid, was amplified in color and detail, though with the dullest red film over everything. There were bright blue or white accents on everything, indicative of the chakra which he could now see. It was everywhere: in the trees, all along the ground, even thin wisps in the air. Nothing was brighter than Sensei, however, whose chakra core was dense and bright enough to surprise him if he wasn’t ready for it.

Sensei waited patiently for several moments, watching placidly though attentively. “Are you ready?” He asked at last.

Aozen cleared his throat. “Aa,” he said, bobbing his head. “Whenever you are, sensei.”

Sakumo merely nods, then flashes through six hand-seals - not slowly, but not quickly, either. His eyes have no issue memorizing the sequence at any rate, and he feels something itching in the back of his mind. His fingers twitch.

Sakumo pauses, nods, and then runs through the seals again. This time, however, Aozen can see the chakra flow stemming from his core flex and bulge. Like earlier, the tenketsu and the vessels dilate, and as it reaches his shoulders and down his arms, the - texture changes. It’s like watching a piece of fabric change from silk to velvet before his eyes, but it’s from the steadfast flow of Doton chakra to the more volatile and powerful Raiton.

And then it’s free, extending from and wreathing both of Sakumo’s hands. Sparks and smaller streaks of lightning branch seemingly at random, stretching out several inches beyond and harmlessly into the air - though it would doubtless be quite painful a conductor, like a human body, found its way near.

Then the chakra flow abated, and the Raiton chakra receded, giving way to Sakumo-sensei’s natural flux. Sensei looked up at Aozen thereafter. Expectantly, Aozen thought.

It seemed, then, as though he was acting solely on instinct. It was simple to channel the chakra from his core, because it was already as it was meant to be for the jutsu, without nature transformation. The hand-seals, too, were easy, like he’d always known them – only…

Not right, he had time to think. Raiton was energy at its most powerful; it wanted to be free. If you tried to clamp down on it, it would bite back just as hard. Six hand seals felt congested, so he didn’t use six: he used three.

The swell of chakra made him momentarily feel larger than he was, hairs standing on end. He felt then saw it channel into a single hand, then it felt like it burst free.

Then he cried out at the flash of pain, reflexively shutting his eyes at the burning sensation on his hand. The chakra abruptly cut off as his concentration failed him, and he clutched the wrist of the hand as though he might keep the pain in one location.

Sakumo-sensei was there in an instant, a steadying hand on his shoulder. Aozen grit his teeth against the insistent pain of whatever had just happened with his chakra, but within a few moments a cool flush blanketed his arm.

He opened his eyes, Sharingan fading, to find Sensei holding a hand covered in pale green light over his own hand. The pain dwindled into a dull throb, then further into a strange tenseness. After several seconds, Sensei let go.

“And that,” he said, “is why Raiton is notoriously difficult to learn.”

“I – uh…” Aozen started, “Sorry.” He felt embarrassment color his cheeks and something like guilt settle uncomfortably in his stomach.

“You have little to apologize for,” Sensei responds. “You do, however, have much to improve on. Consider this a lesson well-learned.”

Aozen nodded solemnly: he doubted he’d forget it. His first time with his elemental nature and he burned himself.

“We, uh, will not mention this to Kakashi, right?” That would, quite possibly, be the worst outcome. He would rather have left his hand burned.

Sensei barks out a laugh. “No,” he says, recovering, “I suppose we won’t. This time. Let’s go inside. Medical ninjutsu are not my specialty, and that hand needs to be bandaged.”

≡ ☲ ≡

Even though he had injured his main hand, he was still made to undertake a D-rank weeding a garden with one hand. ‘To help his ambidexterity’, Sensei said. One day, Aozen is going to learn how to cast genjutsu with his Sharingan and he’s going to make Sensei do something embarrassing - like cut his ponytail off. As it is, he'll probably have the bandages on his hand for the next day or two. Maybe he can hide it from Kaa-san.

He did however leave training much closer to being unburdened of the troubles of that morning, though he was a bit more tired than he thought he’d be. He shunshin’d home to avoid obstacles like potential social interaction or weird looks from passers-by.

He arrived to an empty house, which was not terribly irregular. The Uchiha were a large clan, but Konoha was a large city, so Kaa-san got called in for additional half-shifts every so often. He takes off his shoes but keeps his training fatigues and sword strapped on. Walking into the kitchen, he finds a note on the counter:

Called in, will be back late. Left Shisui-kun with Fuyumi-obaa-sama two houses down. Pick him up when you get home.

Love, Kaa-san.

He knew the house she was talking about, even if he’d never actually been there. Fuyumi was one of the ‘obaa-san’s next door’, the equivalent of the neighborhood grandma. She was getting up there in years, if he recalled correctly, approaching Mikoni-obaa-sama’s venerable state.

He puts his shoes back on ( Not like I wanted to sit down, or anything , he complains to himself) and heads down. He doesn’t flare his chakra as he’s not sure if Fuyumi was ever a shinobi, and instead knocks on the door frame.

“Coming!” He hears someone say in a voice considerably more youthful than he was expecting. Did he have the wrong house? It takes several moments before he can hear bounding footsteps which are much too quick to belong to someone of Fuyumi’s age and far too collected to belong to Shisui, even if the little three-year-old was doing his best to sprint everywhere.

The front door slides open, revealing a child taller than him in a navy blue and orange jacket. Unruly spiky hair juts out from his head, but most striking are the orange-tinted goggles which do nothing to hide eyes that managed to be bright despite being the traditional dark brown of their clan.

Uchiha Obito smiles brightly, looking down at him.

“Ohaiyo! I don’t think we’ve met before.” Obito proclaims, “I’m Obito! Was there, uh, something you needed?” His cheery introduction shifts into mild confusion at the drop of a hat.

Aozen feels like his Sharingan is about to activate out of stress. He clamps down on his chakra and takes a few seconds too long to respond, judging by the cant of Obito’s head and the puzzled glint in his eyes.

“Aa,” he manages at last, “I am Aozen. I…” he clears his throat. “My mother and I are watching over Shisui-kun, and she says she had to leave him here when she went to work.”

Obito’s expression falls into something more surly. “Oh. Yeah, Shisui’s here. Obaa-sama’s been having me watch him.” He looked off past Aozen, like gazing into memory.

When he didn’t continue, Aozen hesitantly asked, “... is everything well?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah!” Is this what talking to Naruto was like? His emotions shifted so quickly Aozen felt like he might get whiplash. “Just, yannow, he’s, uh, super - energetic!”

“Ah,” Aozen says, a noise of understanding. “He has been pulling your hair out, hasn’t he?”

Obito sags. “Yeah! Does he do that to you, too?”

Aozen grimaces. “He likes to ride on my back, but he grips onto my hair instead of my shoulders.”

Obito, surprisingly, laughs. “How d’you carry him, though? You’re pretty short - hey, is that a hitai-ate? Are you a shinobi? But you’re so small!”

Aozen blinks. Those were technically insults, but he thinks that Obito just says what he thinks without stopping to consider how it sounds. It also took him a surprisingly long amount of time to notice something that was literally on his forehead.

“Yes,” he nods. “I am a genin.”

“Woah! That’s kinda cool.” He said, though his enthusiasm was flagging. “I’m still just in the Academy, yannow. I think I’m gonna graduate this year, though! At least, that’s what Rin says.” Ah, there she was.

He is, Aozen admits, endearing. He can see why Kakashi didn’t like him though; the Hatake has no patience for small-talk. “That is wonderful.” He says, smiling a little.

Obito reaches up to scratch his head. “Hey, you kinda talk funny. Like an adult.”

Aozen opens his mouth, says nothing, then closes it. “Thank you?” He says, voice turning up like it was a question.

Obito laughs. “Man, you’re nothing like this other kid who was in my class. He’s small too, but he was a total di -” he interrupts himself with a sudden look of panic, glancing over his shoulder, “I, I mean, he was super rude all the time. Acted like he was better than us, and stuff.”

Now it is Aozen’s turn to laugh. “Kakashi can be like that.”

He is rewarded with Obito’s look of shock. “What?! You know him? How?”

“He is a friend of mine,” Aozen answers.

“Huh? You mean he knows how to make friends?” He sounded genuinely befuddled. “Are you gonna be rude like him?”

“I… do not plan on it, no.”

“Ah. Okay, cool. Hey, what happened to your hand?" He seems to have caught on to the bandages on Aozen's right hand, but before he can answer, he is interrupted.

“OBITO!” A surprisingly loud, wizened voice came from further inside. Obito jumps. “Who’s at the door?”

“Uh, Aozen-san from next door, Obaa-sama!” Obito looks between him and the interior of the home.

“Send him in!” The voice - Fuyumi-obaa-sama, he suspects - answers.

“Oh, yeah, I probably should have done that, sorry,” Obito says sheepishly, stepping aside so that Aozen can enter.

“Aozen-nii!” is the calling card of Shisui’s rampant approach. He rushes around a corner and Aozen hurries to move forward and intercept him - less because he’s excited to see Shisui again and more so because he knows that although Shisui can run, he cannot yet jump very well. Moreover, Shisui is not aware of this fact, and will still attempt to jump but will only end up falling and hurting himself.

Picking up Shisui is not unlike the weight training Sakumo-sensei occasionally employs, so he’s easily able to heft the young boy up.

“Hi, Shisui-chan.” Being called ‘brother’ isn’t that bad, but no matter how cute he is (and he is, truthfully, very cute) Aozen still feels a little weird doing the same.

(no, he’s not in denial - honest.

it’s complicated. you wouldn’t understand.)

“Did you behave for Obaa-sama and Obito-san?” Aozen continues.

“Yeah!” Shisui cheerfully answers. Aozen turns to look at Obito, only to find the older kid giving Shisui the stink-eye. Shisui is either oblivious or impervious to Obito’s… sense of rivalry? He hasn’t figured Obito out yet, so he’s not sure. “We had lots of tea.”

It is about that time when an older woman who Aozen can only presume is Fuyumi shuffles around the corner. Her hair is more gray now than black, but her eyes are sharp, and there is still an ease of her movement. Most Uchiha age gracefully, he supposes.

“Fuyumi-obaa-sama,” Aozen offers, bowing his head.

“Obaa-saa!” Shisui says, waving. Aozen’s pretty sure that Shisui can say complete words, but chooses not to.

“Ah,” Fuyumi says, examining him. “You must be Yuhoki-chan’s boy.”

“Yes, Fuyumi-obaa-sama.” He says obediently.

Fuyumi cackles. “So respectful! You should learn from him, Obito-kun.”

“... !” came the sound of Obito taking emotional damage. “He’s said two things, Obaa-sama!”

“It’s in his bearing, Obito-kun. You see how he bows his head? Manners ,” she says sagely.

“ Obaa-sama …” Obito says, clearly embarrassed. There is a blush on his cheeks. Aozen uses Shisui as a barrier to hide the apologetic look he gives to Obito from Fuyumi.

“Shisui-chan is a bright little one,” Fuyumi continues, heedless of Obito’s protests. “We were happy to look after him, Aozen-kun. Do give Yuhoki-chan my regards.”

“Of course, Fuyumi-obaa-sama.” said Aozen, in the absence of anything else to say.

“Obito-kun, walk him out.” Fuyumi said, turning to walk back into the house.

“Obaa-sama, the door is literally right here…” Obito said, exasperated.

“Don’t back-chat me, Obito,” Fuyumi throws over her shoulder. Aozen is familiar with the tone Obaa-san’s use when berating the younger generation - mostly from when he was practicing the Shunshin and landed in people’s backyards, or scared people by appearing in front of them.

“Yes, Obaa-sama,” Obito sighs. He turns without another word to open the front door and step outside. Aozen follows, shifting his hold on Shisui so that the boy isn’t tempted to mess with the hilt of his sword.

“So, uh, yeah.” Obito says once they’re outside.

Aozen isn’t sure what he means by that, so he responds, “It was nice meeting you, Obito-san.”

“Yeah!” He brightens.

“Nice meeting you,” Shisui parrots, waving at him.

“Er,” Obito wilts a bit, “yeah, you too, Shisui-chan.” He reaches up to scratch his hair, no doubt remembering the strength of the young Uchiha’s grip.

It is a far different situation, but Aozen is reminded of the first time he met Kakashi: accidentally offending him, beating him in a spar, then inviting him to train. He’d done it because he felt obligated to, because Hatake Kakashi was a part of The Story and that was what he thought he was here to do.

Instead of The Story, he’d just found a friend. He looks at Obito and sees the heart the boy wears so plainly, despite the fact that the Uchiha as a rule hide everything behind a veil of indifferent superiority. Shisui had it too, that spark of joy that informed everything he did.

In The Story, that had been ripped away from both of them.

So, he found himself asking, “Do you want to train sometime?” Obito looks surprised and doesn’t say anything, so he continues hurriedly, “Only, I have been through the Academy, so I may be able to help -”

“Yeah!” Obito interrupts, more enthusiastically than anything else. “Rin’s helping me with all that boring book stuff, but you’re a genin, so I bet you know cool jutsu and stuff!” A beaming grin split Obito’s face.

Aozen doesn’t want to disappoint him by the fact that he really only knows a few basic jutsu, but he finds himself smiling despite that.

“Of course. I have training or D-ranks most days, but I’ll stop by sometime.”

“Awesome! You teach me cool jutsu, and pretty soon I’ll be Hokage!” Obito shouts, heedless of passers-by. A glance tells him the other Uchiha on the street seem used to his antics - and how has Aozen never heard Obito when he lives so close?

Aozen can’t help but laugh at the simple ease with which Obito says and seems to believe the statement.

“See you, Obito-san.”

“Seeya Aozen!” Obito cheerfully responds, heading back inside his house.

Aozen turns his attention to Shisui. “And what about you , huh? What do you want to do?”

“Cool jutsu!” Shisui proclaims forcefully, gripping onto Aozen’s gi. He holds in a wince.

"Maybe later," he says, hoping that Shisui would forget such a promise. "How about dango?" Bribery was an excellent tactic for small children. Kaa-san said so.

Shisui considers this trade offer with a good deal of solemnity for a three year old. “O.K.” He eventually decides, face contorted into an expression of great focus. Aozen resists the urge to sigh as his plans to sit down are once again diverted. He did this to himself, he supposes.

“Alright, Shisui-chan, hold on tight.” He instructs. Shisui giggles in anticipation before Aozen shunshins away towards a nearby market to spend more of his hard-earned money on sweets.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

╠╬╣

“Well, don’t look at me . You’re the tracker, I just see things.” Aozen groused, hunched down behind a tree.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that Aozen-chan,” complained Yuki, crouched next to him. “Boss said I have to show you the ropes, but it takes two to tango, dig?” Aozen isn’t even remotely sure how those idioms had translated into Japanese properly, and the fact that a ninken knew them caught him so off-guard that he forgot to respond.

“So,” Yuki continues, “what do those eyes of yours see?” The not-so-subtle reference to his Sharingan did not go unnoticed, though it did go unappreciated.

Sakumo-sensei had thought it a brilliant idea to employ his pack of ninken into training. This included (but was by no means limited to) sparring against them, sparring with them against Sensei, sparring against both them and Sensei (not fun), being chased at breakneck speeds by them through the forest (very not fun), and other forms of various physical exercise and mental trauma.

In fairness, today’s exercise promised to be more fun than the rest. He was being given a chance at revenge on Team Kensei for their interruptions of his D-ranks. They had apparently been assigned a mission to find a lost cat amidst one of the many forested areas within Konoha’s walls. He had even been given some aid against them, so that he wouldn’t be outnumbered.

Unfortunately, that aid came in the form of an Akita Inu ninken who was snippish in a particularly mischievous way and was entirely unafraid to poke at his insecurities, in such a way that made it difficult to actually be mad at him.

Additionally, Aozen hadn’t been sleeping well in fear of additional nightmares, so presently his eyes were wanting to see a nice quiet spot in the shade to nap.

So, he answered dryly, “Dirt.”

Yuki responded, equally dry, “Wow, the Uchiha pedigree continues to astound me.”

Aozen sighed. He knew he couldn’t remain stubborn forever. Yuki knew that Sakumo would be disappointed if he failed because he refused to try, and there was little more dangerous than a disappointed Hatake Sakumo.

So, he peered down closely at the ground, drawing upon his past lessons on tracking - some of which had been performed on the very ninken now perched beside him.

“The ground has been disturbed recently,” he observes. “Someone was dragging their feet, or kicking up the leaves.”

“Right,” Yuki agreed breezily, “and what else?”

“They kept moving,” he edged forward, “and… stopped. No, they split.” The tracks grew thinner, but were easier to notice. He spotted two trails, marked by the deeper indentations of the dirt and the widening of their gait: they had begun running, digging their heels into the soil for their first few steps.

There was a third one, probably, but knowing Kakashi, he either took to the trees or knew how not to leave tracks. Stupid geniuses.

“Right-on,” Yuki affirmed. “Which one do you follow?”

Aozen paused. Then he pointed, “This one.”

Yuki looked down at the designated trail, then back to Aozen. “Why is that?”

“Because I am right-handed, and this is the rightmost trail,” pronounced Aozen in a brilliant display of logic.

Yuki snorts. “Not even close. Your sensei is a Hatake, and I know the big man taught you how to track by scent.”

Aozen considered this, knowing that Yuki might bite him if he snarked further. Resisting the urge to sigh, he knelt down and took a breath as he focused on the chakra flow to his nose in much the same fashion as he would to activate his Sharingan, simply with a different organ.

The trick with enhancing one’s senses with chakra wasn’t the enhancement itself - although there was difficulty involved, with increased chakra flow also directing more blood to the area, and potentially even resulting in burst blood vessels.

Rather, the real skill was in parsing the information your senses received. Anyone could get overwhelmed by strong scents, or sounds, or bright light. Clans like the Hatake or the Inuzuka were especially adapted to understanding and detecting scents; the Uchiha and Hyuuga’s dōjutsu carried biological alterations such as additional cones and rods in the eyes themselves to perceive more colors and light. He doesn’t know of any bloodlines that deal with hearing, actually, but they probably exist.

This was where his sensei’s training had come in. Bracing himself, he inhaled deeply and smoothly, focusing intently.

“Incense,” he says aloud. It’s faint, but incense is difficult to get rid of, which is something he’d need to make note of later. “Cherry,” he continues. Sakumo-sensei’s favorite, meaning that scent trail likely belonged to Kakashi.

“Good,” Yuki says, “what else?”

It took him a few seconds to respond. “Herbs, I think. Or… flowers.” A complex scent with a lot of layers. It could be something as simple as perfume, or something like poison ivy. Or it was a multitude of scents layered on top of each other.

“Which is it?” Yuki queried.

“Both?” It came out as more of a question. “Both,” he affirmed. Moving forward, he continued to inhale, trying to discern where the trails split.

And split they did. The further he moved from his starting point, the more distinct the scents became; one settled into something approaching pleasant, a light and airy scent which led him to think his initial thought of perfume might be correct. The other was considerably more acrid, and actually caused him to curl his nose once it was no longer diluted by the first scent.

“Perfume and bitter herbs,” Aozen announced. “The Shiranui clan is renowned for their knowledge of poisons and herbs, which means the one heading northward belongs to Shiranui Mino. The northeastern trail belongs to Yamanaka Ikoni. She is the least inclined to subtlety, and the most unlikely to have considered hiding her tracks and scent, given past experience.”

“Also the easiest target,” Yuki reasoned.

Divide and conquer was one of the most ancient tactics in warfare, and one he’d been thus far unsuccessful in applying against Team Kensei. It seems all he’d needed was to wait for them to divide themselves. Kakashi was, as ever, the largest threat. Mino’s shurikenjutsu was deadly and would no doubt get better with time, but in a forest like this it was easy to find cover. Ikoni was supposed to be a genjutsu specialist, but she hadn't seemed to embrace it very much in their past interactions except for a few short showings.

Despite his recent steps towards acclimating to his Sharingan outside of training, he didn’t use it. He followed the trail the old-fashioned way, not that it was particularly difficult. He didn’t have the advantage Sensei had, with his sense of smell, but plenty of trackers excelled without enhanced senses like the Hatake.

“...Tadeo!” came a shrill female voice from somewhere up ahead. It was followed by several quieter murmurs he couldn’t make it. He leapt up to the trees, moving branch-to-branch in an effort to stay quiet. Yuki held back.

“...stupid cat…” Ah, that was Ikoni. Tadeo must have been the cat; the irony of a cat that ran away being named ‘loyal’ was not lost on him. “...stupid teammates. That Hatake has no clue what he’s talking about…” All was not well in paradise, it seemed.

Ikoni huffed, looking around. Even without her words it was clear she was frustrated, arms crossed and posture hunched. She made an easy, unsuspecting target.

He leapt, angling to land feet-first on top of her back. She shrieked as she was shoved to the ground, but the sound was cut off upon impact as the breath was driven from her lungs. He moved his legs out to either side of her, so that she couldn’t move and imbalance him, whilst also drawing a kunai and holding it next to her face. Her eyes were wide with an emotion it took him a second to place - terror.

“I am not going to hurt you,” he said hurriedly. He didn’t like the look of fear in her eyes, gazing up at him. “But if you scream, I will knock you out.” There were many ways to render people unconscious or incapacitated, and he had been taught several of them. Unfortunately, most of them were painful or damaging to one’s long-term health, so it was a bit of an empty threat, but Ikoni didn’t know that.

“F-fine,” said Ikoni, recovering quickly. Fear turned to anger, but she didn’t say anything else, looking up at him over her shoulder.

“Where are your teammates?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she responded immediately. He narrowed his eyes. “Kakashi kept trying to use some summons to track the cat, and I tried to tell him that a dog would just make the cat run away, but he wouldn’t listen.” He knew Kakashi had summons! Oh, he’d make him regret it. “I have no idea where they’ve gone.”

Without the Sharingan, he wasn’t certain if she was lying. He didn’t actually know what to look for with the Sharingan either, but presumably it’d help.

“My mission is to disable your team and usurp your mission. If I succeed, the payment and completion rights go to me,” he stated neutrally. He’d get another D-rank, more money (that he admittedly didn’t really need), and bragging rights over Team Kensei.

“Are you trying to gloat? You’ve already beaten me,” she said bitterly.

“No,” he said, “I’m making you an offer. Help me ambush the other two, and I’ll split the payment with you, and convince Keisuke-san to add it to your mission record.”

She recoiled. “What? Betraying your team is like, rule number one of things you don’t do!” She seemed affronted by the idea. At least she had some courage.

“If you were in the field,” he agreed. “But this is only training. Don’t you want to get back at Kakashi? I will even let you be the one to tie him up. Imagine his face.” he enticed, and was rewarded by a visible look of contemplation, no doubt thinking about what he said. Kakashi would probably never see it coming.

“...alright,” she decided. “But - but you have to teach me a genjutsu you know.” Despite being pinned to the ground, she managed to seem smug - the cat that caught the canary.

Aozen canted his head. “You are not negotiating from a powerful position,” he notes. Though her limbs were free, he was still crouched above her with his kunai hovering above her head.

She frowned. “What?” He resisted the urge to sigh. Kakashi would’ve known what he meant.

“You have no leverage over me. I’m already offering you the chance at revenge and extra money.”

“Kakashi has his tracking ninken. It’ll smell you before you get close. You need the element of surprise.” He frowned. Unlikely, but possible. Stealth wasn’t his forte. Surprise was what he’d been banking on, as well. “Okay - I really just wanna use a genjutsu on Kakashi.” She admits, taking his frown for doubt.

“You really do not like him, do you?” He says. She scowls.

“He’s so tiny but he acts like he knows so much more than us, especially when he’s trying to ‘teach’. I just want to take him down a notch.” The more he spoke to her, the more he realized that Ikoni was a very vindictive person - though righteously so, in this case.

“Valid,” he concedes. Kakashi had gotten a bit better, but humility was a hard lesson to learn. Or so it seemed. “Fine. Get up.” He moved back quickly, sheathing the kunai into his weapons holster and keeping a watchful eye on her movements. He wouldn’t put it past her to try something.

She stood up and dusted herself off, then turned around to look at him expectantly. “Well?” she said.

“This is called Kokuangyo no jutsu¹. It will make the target think they’re surrounded in darkness, giving you an opening to attack,” he explained, then paused. “Have you ever used a genjutsu before?”

She scoffed. “Of course I have. Plus, my clan’s jutsu are all Yin-release. I know how it works.”

He raised a brow at her arrogance and her divulgence, but acquiesced. “It will only last a second or two on your first few tries. Don’t try to use it on me, I will see through it.” It was a favorite of Sakumo-sensei’s, also for ambushes. Apparently he’d learned it from Kiri; they would supplement the genjutsu with their Mist techniques, attacking unseen. “Here are the hand-seals.”

Hand-seals for genjutsu seemed counterintuitive compared to what he’d learned of genjutsu beforehand, but both Fugaku-oji and Sensei had explained that was a result of his Uchiha sensibilities. The Sharingan only required eyesight to cast genjutsu, so it came more naturally to him.

He repeated them several times. To her credit, Ikoni seemed very focused on his hands, repeating the sequence herself. It took her a few tries to get them right. Her chakra seemed to twitch as she did; no doubt, she was eager to use the jutsu.

“Right,” he said, stepping back. “Go in this direction, it is where Kakashi was last headed. I will follow from a distance. Surprise him with that jutsu, I’ll disable him -”

“- and I’ll tie him up,” she said, smiling viciously.

“...yes,” he agreed, hiding his mild unease at her eagerness to tie someone up.

Without another word, he shunshin’d atop a nearby tree branch, balancing on its thin length with the help of chakra. Below, Ikoni rolled her shoulders, then took off with renewed enthusiasm in the direction he’d bid. Ahead of him, perched on a wider branch, was Yuki. Aozen flickered over to him.

Yuki sniffed. “Smells like treachery,” he said.

Aozen rolled his eyes. “It’s training ,” he stressed.

“Sure,” said Yuki breezily, “but you can always trust a two-timer to two-time, dig?” He narrowed his eyes. Was Yuki commenting on Ikoni’s moral integrity?

“She is twelve, not a two-timer,” he argued.

“Uh-huh,” responded the ninken ambiguously. “She’s also getting ahead of you.” Aozen shook his head and shunshin’d to catch up, keeping amongst the trees and a few dozen metres back.

He sensed Kakashi long before he saw him, which was surprising. Maybe proximity had familiarized him with his signature - the reverse could be true. Kakashi was abysmal at sensing, but now wasn’t the time to risk it. He stopped, watching Ikoni raise her arm and begin to shout after Kakashi. After a moment’s hesitation, he activated his Sharingan.

It took him a moment to adjust to the sudden clarity, though he was getting better. The fully-matured eyes seemed different to their previous form somehow, though he couldn’t quite pin it down. Fugaku-oji would have an answer, except for the fact that Aozen had not yet told him anything.

“Yuki,” he says quietly, knowing the ninken is listening, “prepare for a dual-takedown.” They had trained for this before.

“Sure thing,” affirms Yuki from somewhere behind him. The dog hops down and away, moving to approach Kakashi’s position from the other direction.

Kakashi is a whipcord of chakra. Though he usually appears calm and collected, he carries his tension inside of him, not unlike Aozen himself. With the Sharingan, it is easy to see the finest of physical details, minutiae of movement, but he has found it more interesting to observe the microcosms of chakra. He can also see the most precise facets of a person’s chakra system like divots on the surface of a lake, and now knows enough about them to note the approximate location of tenketsu and chakra gates, though not with anywhere near the same accuracy as the Byakugan.

There is a small chakra signature next to him, almost tiny except for the relative density of its chakra, as well as its strange texture. The summons Ikoni mentioned, then - maybe it was Pakkun?

He let chakra circulate in his limbs in preparation for shunshin, knowing he’d have to be quick as soon as Ikoni activated the genjutsu - assuming it even worked on her first attempt. There was rope on his belt so he could tie the kid up, knowing he’d never surrender like Ikoni had.

There were voices in the distance, but without chakra to his ears, he couldn’t understand it. He did hear, however, when Ikoni’s voice pitched up to shout, “Kokuangyo no jutsu!¹” just as he saw her chakra languidly reach across the space towards Kakashi to latch onto him.

He leaps then. His Sharingan makes shunshin even easier, allowing him to see in exquisite detail his surroundings even as he moves at inhuman speeds. He barrels into Kakashi with as much force, knocking the boy into the ground and moving to pin his arms behind his back.

Interestingly, he can see Kakashi’s chakra scatter and dissipate as he activates an instinctive kawarimi. Aozen is left holding a log on the ground, turning to find where his opponent disappeared.

Luckily, Yuki beat him to it. The ninken was waiting nearby, providing ample opportunity to pounce and hinder the genin long enough for Aozen to recover and reposition.

Kakashi clearly hadn’t expected to be attacked by one of his father’s ninken, and as his eyes met Aozen’s, he could see the surprise clearly. Doubly so, as it was the Sharingan which met his gaze, which Kakashi had only encountered once.

Aozen mercilessly grappled the boy into the tree behind him, knocking his head on it and dazing him. Yuki let his arm go from between his teeth, freeing Aozen to whip him around and yank his arms behind his back to begin tying him up with blunted ninja wire. Yuki pulled back.

“Hey, you said I would get to tie him up!” came Ikoni’s indignant cry behind him. Aozen let the chakra to his eyes fade.

“Too slow,” he said.

“What?” said Kakashi. “We’re supposed to be on the same team , Ikoni.” he ground out, trying to look over his shoulder. Aozen could tell he was angry, but he seemed too surprised to try and escape his newfound bonds.

“It’s just training,” defended Ikoni, parroting Aozen’s earlier words. He withheld a wince. “Shinobi are agents of deception, anyways.” She continued, with the air of a child quoting an adult.

He wished that he and Kakashi were on a team, where they could work together instead of being rivals all the time. He didn’t actually like competing against his friends - but he’d have to relinquish Sakumo as his sensei, which he didn’t want to do either. Stupid conflict of interest.

“Sorry, ‘Kashi,” Aozen said placidly as he tightened a knot. Kakashi grunted, clearly annoyed. He took another small bundle of ninja wire to toss it to Ikoni, saying, “Get his legs.”

In hindsight, he should have foreseen that Kakashi wouldn’t capitulate so easily. Just as Ikoni got the gleam in her eye that probably indicated tunnel vision and stepped forward with the ninja wire in hand, Kakashi jumped up and lashed out with both of his legs to kick Ikoni square in the chest.

She grunted, “Ooft!” and fell backwards onto the ground, dazed. The kick had the effect of shoving Kakashi backwards onto Aozen, resulting in him awkwardly wrapping his arms around Kakashi’s torso as they fell onto the ground.

The air was knocked out of him by Kakashi landing on his chest. Kakashi rolled over and immediately got up to run. Aozen grunted and tried to do the same, but suddenly there was a very tiny but angry pug in his face. He heard scrambling.
“Hey! You! Back off my human, punk! Yeah, you! I’ll bite the hell out of you!” shouted the pug in a high-pitched voice, punctuating every other word with a yip.

“Pakkun,” he muttered instinctually, frankly in awe.

“I - what? Yeah, that’s me! Fear me!” Pakkun, Kakashi’s first summon said.

“You - no,” he said, shaking his head and getting up, “I don’t have time for this.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” muttered Ikoni some distance away, “thanks for asking.” She was getting up a bit more slowly. He couldn’t blame her, Kakashi’s kicks hurt.

“Good,” he said, standing up to look around. He spotted Kakashi in the distance, already having made good time, whilst Yuki was sitting comfortably nearby, looking as casual as ever.

“Why did you not chase him?” he questioned irritably.

“I didn’t get any orders,” answers Yuki, the little sh*t. The ninken’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, given the appearance of innocence only a dog could fully convey.

Aozen didn’t have the time to glower at him, because Kakashi was getting away. He shunshin’d to try and catch up but nearly tripped on an errant tree root, cursed, and continued on.

Abruptly, his instincts screamed at him to duck, so he did, in time for Kakashi to sail around the trunk of the tree he’d been hiding around and above his head in his attempt to kick him in the face. Aozen rolled, coming up to face Kakashi, who admittedly landed rather gracefully even without his hands.

“Are you really going to fight me without your arms?” Aozen said, poised into a combat stance.

Kakashi narrowed his eyes. “Maybe,” he said.

It became a stand-off. Kakashi was sorely hindered without his hands, because he couldn’t form jutsu nor could he fully engage in taijutsu. Aozen would still be hard-pressed to actually knock him unconscious without excessive blunt force. He still had a bit of ninja wire, though…

Almost silently, a black, white, and orange spotted cat rushed through the space between the two of them. Kakashi and Aozen stared at the cat as it passed them. Then they stared at each other.

Mino, ran into view. “Get that cat!” he shouted, clothes in a disarray and scratches visible on his arms and face. He skidded to a stop. “Wait - Aozen?” He seemed to take in their stances and the fact that Kakashi clearly had his arms tied behind his back.

Kakashi sprung forward for Aozen, intending to dropkick him in the chest. Aozen shunted himself to the side, drawing a blunted kunai at the same time and lobbing it at Mino with a vague sense of accuracy.

Kakashi sailed past him, Mino hastily fell backward to avoid the kunai (which to him probably appeared real), and Aozen rushed for the cat with a flash of orange being his only sign to follow. He scrambles, his path forward being intercepted by an angry, tiny pug which forces him to jump lest he crush the tiny ninken underfoot.

The cat - Tadeo - is climbing up a tree. Aozen starts to follow, but Mino has managed to catch up to him. He throws something small at him, and the Uchiha rounds the tree to avoid it. It slices through the outer skin of his arm, a glancing blow, and he’s ready to ignore it before he abruptly realizes his arm is numb.

Poison? he thinks, panicked. He can beat Mino, but not if he’s paralyzed. The game just became a bit more dangerous. His right arm hangs limp at his side, useless at just the barest touch of whatever Mino threw.

He leaps up the tree, using it to block Mino’s line of sight and hoping to get away before Kakashi can follow-up.

He finds himself twenty feet in the air and face-to-face with a calico cat with hatred in its eyes. He leans back but it’s not enough distance to stop the thing clawing him directly in the face. He cries out and then falls backward, his chakra-grip on the tree failing –

– and sails down directly onto Kakashi, who’d been climbing the tree in his attempt to catch up to him. Hands still bound, the Hatake can do little but brace as Aozen’s bulk crashes into him, sending the both of them to the ground.

Aozen, mercifully, has his fall cushioned by Kakashi. Kakashi, of course, has no such boon. They both groan in unison.

Aozen recovers first, looking up to see Mino vindictively grabbing something from one of his leg pouches, and hurriedly rolls over off of Kakashi. There is a slight whistle of air and another sudden groan from Kakashi.

“ sh*t ,” he hears Mino curse. Looking over, Aozen sees a small needle embedded into Kakashi’s abdomen. The boy goes limp.

“Whose side are you on?” shouts Ikoni as she careens feet-first into Mino - which doesn’t really make much sense, but go off. The boy ooft ’s, falling onto the ground.

“What are you on about?” Mino wheezes once he’s able to breathe, incredulous. Ikoni has a kunai out and pointed at his face, pinning him in place. “Whose side are you on?”

“The winning side,” she proclaims, breathless and grinning. Aozen stands while he has a chance, dusting himself off. Their agreement still held, then.

Mino frowns, “That’s not allowed,” he says, confused.

Before Aozen can respond, Ikoni immediately retorts, “All’s fair in love and war.” Which still doesn’t make any sense, but go off.

He looks down at Kakashi, who still has not moved. He is, however, glaring daggers at Aozen, completely paralyzed. Poison is terrifying stuff. He looks back up at Tadeo, who has not moved from his position twenty feet up on a tree.

“What now?” Ikoni says.

They still had to get the cat to complete the mission. The cat was not very amiable to this proposition, judging by the stinging cut on his face and the similar marks on Mino - who was looking very disgruntled from his position on the ground. If Ikoni wasn’t careful, he was going to attack.

“Mino,” he begins, stepping over Kakashi, “do you have any more of those - paralytics?” he asks, with a slight pause as he remembers the word.

Mino eyes the both of them, shifty. “What’s to stop me from giving you poison?” he asks.

Aozen blinks. “If you wish to be the one who tells the client their cat was poisoned, then I will not stop you.”

Mino grimaces. Ikoni seems to find this concept hilarious. Aozen is somewhat gratified to have made a joke - although it wasn’t really a joke. If the cat gets poisoned, he’s out.

Aozen places his left hand just above the hilt of his sword, and inclines his head to Mino. Reluctantly, Mino lowers his hand towards his weapons pouch and Aozen watches as closely as he can without activating his dōjutsu.

Slowly, surely, Mino reaches into the pouch on his hip. Aozen does not know enough about him to trust him, so when Mino suddenly snaps his arm outward towards him, he is gratified to have already taken a step to the side. The thrown senbon - or maybe it’s a needle - sails past him. Ikoni unceremoniously punches Mino in the face.

Aozen follows the path of the needle to find that it has found Kakashi - who had been, before that moment, apparently been doing his utmost to get up despite the previous paralytic he’d taken - had taken another needle, and slumped to the ground with a grunt, now on his stomach.

Aozen’s self control found itself facing the greatest test yet, because witnessing Kakashi get hit not once, but twice by friendly fire was probably the funniest thing he’d ever seen in his life.

Ikoni had tackled Mino and was in the process of wrestling him into compliance. Despite her wish to learn genjutsu, she was actually physically the largest of the entire team, Aozen included. He gathered that she had it well in hand. Kakashi was unmoving.

Which left the cat. Aozen looks up the tree, considers his options, and sighs.

Fugaku-oji-sama had forbidden him from using the Sharingan for genjutsu, ostensibly until it was fully matured. There were probably great reasons for this, but as Aozen was slowly getting over the self-imposed taboo about his eyes, he was feeling a larger and larger inclination to actually use them.

Even if he didn’t want to admit it.

So, he pads up the tree, focusing the chakra to his feet in order to walk directly adjacent to its surface. Tadeo the cat is on the same branch it was earlier, casually cleaning its paws, probably of all the blood it’d gotten whilst scratching up hapless genin.

He activates his Sharingan, breathing through the shift in chakra flow. He crouches low, careful, and looks at the cat. It barely has a chakra structure to speak of compared to anything else he’d taken the time to examine - the ninken, for example. It looks more like a weak, simplistic structure of chakra veins, if that. He wondered what a sensor would see.

Aozen didn’t actually know a lot of genjutsu, despite what Ikoni might think: he knows a few basic applications that Fugaku-oji or Sakumo-sensei had shown him. The Sharingan didn’t come with a ‘library’ of applicable genjutsu - or if it did, he certainly didn’t know about it.

The scrolls about genjutsu theory Fugaku-oji had given him were mostly written by Uchiha, which meant that they had great insight into Sharingan-based illusions and how they were usually applied. By and large, the Sharingan was guided by intent and willpower, not dissimilar to most elemental ninjutsu.

So, he focused on the cat and let his chakra move forth like he did for any other jutsu, but in as small amounts as he could; genjutsu was about control, not volume. More chakra would increase the power of an illusion, but it could also destabilize it, making you lose control.

He held the concept of calm in his mind: quiet nights on the couch, or standing on the rooftops to look over Konoha. A lack of impulse or movement. He nudged his chakra towards the cat, watching it spindle delicately through the air with his Sharingan.

“Calm,” he said aloud, slowly moving forward. If he got clawed again, he was probably just going to forfeit the mission. Tadeo paused with one paw raised to its mouth, peering down at him from its perch. It did not move, even as he got closer.

“Calm,” he repeated, keeping the word and feeling in the forefront of his mind. Tadeo still didn’t move. His chakra had formed a very thin, cotton-like blanket around the cat’s form, and he could see the small interaction of Tadeo’s miniscule amount of chakra and his own.

“Good cat,” Aozen continued. He was next to the cat, the point at which he had been attacked before. Slowly, surely, he reached forward to take hold.

Don’tattackmedon’tattackmedon’tattackme , he repeated in his mind. Tadeo does not resist when he scoops it up in a single movement, bringing him closer to his chest. He breathes a sigh of relief and lets his Sharingan fade.

Tadeo, once in his arms, mercifully seems to have foregone any thoughts of rebellion. He shifts his hold on the cat to cradle the thing as he turns to walk back down to the ground. His arm is still numb from earlier so he can’t move it very well.

Ikoni is proudly sitting on top of Mino, who has his arms pinned beneath her. They look over as he comes back down.

“Woah, you actually got it? Cool,” Ikoni says. Mino just sighs, breath slightly labored. Aozen thinks that Ikoni would be a better taijutsu specialist than genjutsu, but that’s a job for her sensei to figure out.

Speaking of their sensei, Kensei appears in a rush of leaves without Arai by his side. His arms are crossed, and he seems to have an air of exasperation about him as he takes in the scene - though with his quick reaction time, he has little doubt that the man was observing the entire time.

“Kids these days,” Kensei mutters. “Alright, let’s wrap things up. Mino - does Kakashi need the hospital?”

“No,” Mino mumbles from his position underneath Ikoni. “He’ll wake up in an hour or two.”

“Good,” Kensei sighs. “Ikoni, you can stand up now. Nice genjutsu and takedown, and yeah, I’m aware this is training, but in the future, don’t turn against your own teammates.”

“But -” Ikoni began.

“No,” Kensei interrupts. “We’ll go through a debrief after all of us are awake. Aozen, kid -” he seems to hesitate for a moment as Aozen looks up at him expectantly. “Good job. The mission’s yours to turn in - and write the report.”

Aozen doesn’t sigh, because he expected it, but it’s a near thing. He inclines his head.

“Let this be a lesson,” Kensei proclaims, “that warfare is based on deception. You always have to be vigilant, even when you think those beside you are allies.” It’s a very pessimistic thought, but Aozen supposes he just proved it.

“Do I get -” Ikoni starts again. She’s stood up by now, and Mino is slowly coming to a stand.

“I will write your name on the report,” Aozen interrupts, trying to appease her before she can get started. She harrumphs and crosses her arms. She seemed very reward-focused, but he was sure that whatever he could figure out, Kensei-sensei could as well. Hopefully.

He hesitates, before adding, “Sorry, Mino-san. Give Kakashi my regards.” He shunshins away with the cat in hand. Yuki could find his own way.

╠╬╣

“Distracted, student?” The poke in the side of the head catches him by surprise, to his embarrassment. He can feel his cheekbones flush at being caught off-guard. He looks down from the open sky which had captivated his attention and prevented him from noticing his Sensei’s silent approach to their training ground.

“Sorry, Sensei,” he murmurs, bowing his head in apology.

“Distracted,” Sakumo-sensei affirms to himself. “By what?” This he directs to Aozen.

“I think it’s going to storm soon,” Aozen hesitates. It is early morning, and despite the fact that he slept for nearly ten hours, he still feels restless. There is an insistent hum in his bones that won’t go away.

Sensei wordlessly casts a doubtful glance to the sky. A vibrant swathe of orange and blue heralds the rising sun, without a cloud in sight. To say it would rain, let alone storm, is a bold claim. Not to mention winter storms in Hi no Kuni were uncommon.

He isn’t even sure what compelled him to say it, just that it felt like the truth once he did. “Not today,” he adds, a bit lamely, “Just… soon.”

“Hm,” Sakumo-sensei hums noncommittally. “That’s an interesting sense of intuition you have. We’ll just have to see, I suppose.” He acknowledged Aozen’s bizarre proclamation without batting an eye. “For now, it is time to begin training. You’ve completed your warm-ups?”

“Yes, Sensei.” He says obediently. A full round of stretches, exercises, and laps around the training ground, all the while passively channeling chakra through his body to open his tenketsu. This was the beginning of his morning exercises, and on an ordinary day they’d be followed by ken- and taijutsu katas succeeded by whatever training Sakumo-sensei had dreamed up for that day.

This, however, was no ordinary day. They often sparred each other, especially with the addition of Sakumo’s ninken adding a team dynamic and giving him a higher chance of victory against Sakumo - although it would be more accurate to say that it gave Sakumo something of a challenge, since his chance of victory was still nonexistent.

Weekly, they had ‘duels’, as Sensei would refer to them. They were a little like progress tests, wherein Aozen would be expected to use everything he’d learned that week and do his best to pummel Sensei into the ground. Sensei, meanwhile, would look amused and untouchable while he countered anything and everything Aozen threw at him with an implacable expression, and then beat the sh*t out of him.

It was more fun than it sounded like.

“Then shall we begin?” said Sakumo politely. That was all the warning before his Sensei’s chakra flared and the earth below him rose to grasp his feet and drag him down.

He didn’t even use hand-seals , Aozen had time to think, mostly frustrated with the fact.

He burst into an explosive shunshin that expelled the dirt around his feet, aiming for the nearby copse of trees.

A battle on open ground was not in the least favorable for him, and as he knew from experience would consist of Aozen trying and failing to be fast enough to pierce Sakumo-sensei’s omnipresent defenses. At least in the trees, he might be able to use the environment to his advantage.

He did not feel Sensei’s spring-storm signature following behind him, which didn’t necessarily indicate anything. He plants his feet on the bark of an oak tree to halt his forward momentum and enable him to turn, drawing his sword and swiping the air to catch any would-be knives in the back.

There was none. More accurately: there was no thing . Nothing but the silence of the trees, the gentle swaying of wood and wind. This, of course, was immediate grounds for suspicion.

Sensei had beaten him to it; rather than Aozen being able to navigate the terrain to avoid confrontation, Sensei had utilized the breaking of sight-lines in order to seize the opportunity for first strike. It was now Aozen’s job to defend an attack from an unknown direction.

Defense is merely the planning of an attack. He wasn’t as good at traps as Kakashi, and never would be - he didn’t like them as much - but no friend of his, or student of Hatake Sakumo, for that matter, wouldn’t be at least passable at them. The best traps took time to prepare, but sometimes simpler was better.

A quick loop of ninja wire was tied through a kunai hilt then thrown around a nearby tree. He’d seen once in a ninja wire manual about the ‘spiderweb’ techniques Suna ninja developed during the most recent war, and had taken it to heart. It was an excellent way to control the avenue of an opponent’s approach if he couldn’t outright trap someone in it.

This followed two more times, and that was as many loops as he could make before he felt something behind him. He whipped around, intending to see the potential threat before he reacted, but then something happened.

He couldn’t pinpoint a stimulus for the intense dread that suddenly overwhelmed him and latched onto his bones. He outright gasped as his heart skipped a beat and his stomach dropped. He was fairly sure his chakra stuttered in time with his breath; he couldn’t have shunshin’d away if he tried.

He reached for the hilt of his sword, managing to get it part way out of the sheath in his blind panic. He was looking around but unable to focus on a single thing, too intent on the fact that this sheer terror was coming from every direction and so was the potential threat.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, it vanished.

“Good,” came Sakumo’s voice. “You didn’t freeze.” And then he was in front of him, arms crossed. Aozen’s sword made it another few inches out of its saya.

“W-what was that?” Aozen managed, calming his breathing down but failing to quiet his heart rate.

“ That was killing intent. It’s how enemy shinobi will come at you.”

Aozen swallows. “What am I meant to do about it?” Rational thought was making a return, so he deliberately pulled his blade the rest of the way out of its sheath while there seemed to be a lull in their duel.

“Breathe,” came Sensei’s response. “Focus on your breathing, and maintain the calm of a warrior. A shinobi’s first and most important weapon is himself: lose control, and you lose the chance of victory.”

Right. Killing intent was just another weapon he’d have to face. A… particularly terrifying weapon.

“Again,” said Sakumo-sensei. Aozen was compelled to object, but then it hit him again, this time like a wall from his sensei’s direction. It felt like another anxiety attack; nerves alight in his face, his breath coming shorter, sweat beading down his palms. He stared at Sakumo-sensei, wide-eyed.

“Breathe, Aozen,” continued Sensei, unaffected. “The battlefield will not wait, but neither will this. Just breathe.”

Breathe? Aozen thought. I can hardly see straight, let alone breathe. But he tried, because he owed his sensei that much. It started with just a single breath, lengthening it out into a deep inhale, followed naturally by an exhale. His heart was a drum, beating an ominous rhythm in his chest and ears.

This continued for several seconds. He reaffirmed his grip on his sword. Swallowed. This is no different to fighting with injuries . The same wariness, the same thrum of blood flowing in his veins, mostly from sheer panic.

“Ready?” said Sakumo-sensei, still standing several meters away.

Fight-or-flight response, that’s what they called it. Uchiha have always been natural warriors, but Aozen has always been very good at running.And flips.

So he jumps up and behind with a bit of chakra to his legs, and when Sakumo follows he runs into the wire-trap he’d set up moments before he arrived. He’s seen it already, and so the only pause he takes is to slice the wire straight through with his own sword, but it’s an extra split-second he might not have had otherwise.

He can already tell the panic is making him sloppier, and the aura of killing intent from Sensei hadn’t abated in the slightest as far as he could tell. He can hear the Hatake behind him and feel the biting wind of his chakra at this close proximity.

His body is mostly working on instinct. He ducks, and hears the tree behind him get shredded by a blade. With his free hand he takes shuriken from his weapons pouch and throws them behind him in an arc, then shunts himself to the side to abruptly change his movement pattern.

There’s a brief shriek of metal on metal, and the spot where Aozen had just been was occupied by his same shuriken , because Sensei had just deflected them back at him .

“You are more than a creature of instinct, Aozen,” Sensei said behind him. The fact that he was speaking calmly made it even more terrifying. “Breathe, student.”

Easy for him to say when he wasn’t being pursued by an S-class nin. He threw himself into another shunshin, hopefully gaining several meters; at the end of the movement, he planted his feet and turned.

He wasn’t a creature of instinct, maybe, but instinct was all he could rely on. So he turned and exhaled chakra in time with his breath, and as he did his chakra unfurled around him. He swiped his blade horizontally, a simple move intended to ward off immediate reprisal.

But when he moved, his chakra moved with him, and sapphire lightning manifested along the length of his sword. The motion of his blade sent it flying back like a projectile towards Sakumo, who’d been pursuing him but was now forced to defend himself as a scything arc of lightning sought to bisect him.

Sensei swiped his own blade and his chakra swept through like wind - no, not like wind, because it was wind, a powerful blast of Fuuton that disrupted the flow of Aozen’s Raiton and scattered it on either side of him. They fell silent.

Aozen’s breathing had slowed, but it suddenly became the only sound in the training ground. Sakumo stood in a neutral stance, blade held in a low guard.

“Well,” began Sakumo-sensei, as a smile spread across his face, “that’s something, I suppose. Now, let’s see if you can do it again.”

Aozen’s earlier dread and terror mingled with his surprise and joy at finally successfully utilizing his Raiton nature until it canceled out into sheer annoyance at his Sensei’s antics. He threw a kunai at his Sensei’s feet to disrupt his stance and then blitzed forward, executing a flèche² towards Sakumo’s thigh.

Sakumo parried as swiftly and calmly as he always did, leaving Aozen overextended. He reaches forward and plants his boot in the Uchiha’s chest, knocking some of his breath away. He extends his legs as he flips backward, snap-kicking his foot upward and catching Sakumo in the chin as he moves forward, probably to kick him some more.

He knows he won’t be able to properly recover in time so when he lands he runs some more, casting himself through an irregular pattern through the trees.

He tries to run himself through what he felt when he cast the jutsu - if it can be called that, without any handseals - while he runs. He hadn’t really been thinking much of anything at all, which may have been the point. He’s always considered the problem academically, which means a considerable amount of thinking, but maybe in the process he’s muddled up what it was meant to be.

He shouldn’t be trying to transform his chakra into Raiton, because it already is Raiton; that’s what Raiton nature means. There’s a process when it comes to Katon jutsu because it’s not inherent for him, but he’s taken that as the norm because it’s what he learned first.

The ground below him abruptly becomes less solid. Looking down, he realizes that what once was solid earth has now become mud, and his sandals are not adhering to its surface, so he leaps up to a nearby tree, latching onto the side with chakra.

Sakumo is not so far away, his hands buried into the earth, no doubt so that he could cast the mud jutsu he’d just used. Aozen throws some shuriken, more as a distraction than anything, and Sensei, lightning-fast, lifts himself from the ground and throws shuriken of his own, deflecting Aozen’s away.

He expels chakra from his feet to launch himself forward, and tries to reach for the same place he’d been at before - wait, no, that isn’t right either. He hadn’t done anything before, he’d just let it out. Lightning flows, like water.

He’s rocketing towards Sakumo-sensei and he swings his blade, hoping for the same kind of Raiton-scythe he’d manufactured before.

The result is, unfortunately, a bit underwhelming. Rather than the impressive burst of lightning he’d produced before, this is more like a few strands of Raiton chakra which stretch out across his blade towards Sakumo, but threaten to do little more than give him a shock.

Sakumo meets Aozen’s blade on his, deflecting him off to the side. He rolls with the impact, coming back up with his katana at the ready, already backpedaling.

“The possibility of victory lies in the attack,” Sakumo states neutrally.

“The possibility of invincibility, in the defense,” Aozen counters.

“You are doing neither,” Sakumo states, raising a brow. Aozen doesn’t wilt, but it’s a near thing. “You are merely reacting without a true plan.”

That was an issue, Aozen admitted to himself. But how does one attack a shinobi like Hatake Sakumo and expect to get anywhere? He doesn’t yet have the tools.

“Indecision is your worst enemy,” he continues. “Because you fear failure. But this is no true obstacle. Not failure, but low aim, is the crime. In great attempts, it is glorious even to fail.”

Sometimes, Aozen wonders if there is an end to Sensei’s wisdom. What kind of life the man has lived, and the strength to make it through with such lessons intact.

“That sounds like endorsem*nt to do gloriously stupid things,” Aozen deadpans, refusing to show an ounce of his actual respect for his sensei.

“And fail gloriously,” Sakumo nods, smiling. “So long as you stay alive, that is. And out of trouble.”

“Hm. That limits the scope of my operation.” He has no operation. He is actually a very well behaved child, if a smart-assed one.

“I suspect you have more to worry about, o student mine,” says Sakumo, and attacks.

╠╬╣

It ended as it always did, with Aozen on his back, heaving for breath, and Sakumo-sensei standing nearby, arms crossed, outlining his critique.

“...you use shuriken and kunai as if they’re disposable. I assure you they are not,” Sensei was saying, sounding more severe than normal. This was only one thing in a long line of things Aozen had to improve, because of course there was always more to improve.

“They, as with any tool in your arsenal, can be the difference between life and death. I would advise you to consider how you can elicit a positive effect with fewer tools. To aid you in this endeavor, your next assignment will be scouring this training ground for the myriad weapons you threw without care. I expect you to recover all of them.”

Aozen groaned. Half was physical pain, and the rest was emotional.

"Afterward, however..." Sakumo's tone abated, and Aozen opened one eye to see Sakumo giving him an appraising look. "I think it's time for your first C-rank."

Aozen stared, then slowly began to grin.

Finally.

╠╬╣

It stormed, as Aozen said it would, a day later. It was a bleak-looking day, with none of the sunshine Konoha and Hi no Kuni at large was known for. The rain was insistent, steady without drowning the inhabitants of the city with its abundance, but nonetheless, most citizens chose to stay inside.

Those Chuunin and rare Jōnin on wall duty were mourning their loss of warmth, as temperatures plummeted from comfortable winter cools to more miserable, frigid cold. They stood guard nonetheless, though they’d surely be complaining for days to come. ANBU doubtless had to do the same, though with far less complaints, he imagined.

He stared outside at the rain for almost an hour when the storm began, captivated. He’d wait for those flashes of cobalt from the sky with anxious anticipation - without fail, he always took a nervous inhale before one flashed, only to exhale upon the strike of thunder.

His mother went to bed, but he remained by the back porch until he couldn’t take it anymore and slipped outside, welcoming the feel of the rain on the skin. It wasn’t that cold, really. He shunshin’d away, examining the curious feeling of moving so fast through so much rain - like prickles on his skin, more uncomfortable than he expected.

He flared his chakra to the unfortunate Uchiha pair who stood guard outside Uchiha-ku’s gates. One of them he recognised as Futoshi, technically a distant cousin, but he didn’t know the other one. They flared their chakra in acknowledgement, and he moved on.

He didn’t really know where he was headed until he got there, and - surprise, surprise, it was the Forest of Death. Maybe there was some spiritual tug towards the Forest as a place of Plot; more likely, it was simply the closest landmark to Uchiha-ku, and contained what he was searching for: a vantage point.

Genin as an unspoken rule weren’t allowed into the Forest of Death. Chuunin could get in by permit, and Jōnin could and often did go as they pleased to train within. Rumors had it - that is to say, Kakashi thought - that ANBU trained there as well, which wouldn’t be terribly surprising.

Aozen didn’t really go ‘into’ the Forest, though. He stayed at the highest levels, not daring to delve into the forest floor. If Sakumo didn’t think he should be training there, as hard as his training regimes already were, Aozen would stay well enough away.

Climbing trees was fun anyway, even in the midst of the rain. He scaled one, then jumped to another, taller one, then repeated the process until he was at the highest one he could find.

Some, namely his mother and probably his Sensei, would call what he was doing particularly stupid. Aozen didn’t particularly care, since neither were here. He wanted to be closer to the sky, to the storm.

He reached the top of the Hashirama tree, using chakra to adhere to the thin point and looked up into the sky. By that point, it was night, and the sky was dark. The moon was hidden behind a dense layer of clouds, from which the rain poured like the earth was dying of thirst.

Each time lightning struck, it illuminated what felt like the entire world. And each time he felt its light brush his skin, he felt like it was so close that he could touch it; like he could reach out, and if he just closed his hand, he too could have the power to illuminate the world wrapped between his fingers.

They say that rain was the heavens crying. What was lightning, then? The heavens’ sneeze? That wasn’t particularly poetic.

No , he thought as he activated his Sharingan in time to see the crystalline structure of pure nature chakra split the sky, but it is beautiful.

╠╬╣

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

⦽

There was no small amount of excitement that had settled into Aozen’s chest in anticipation of his first mission. It felt a bit like a field trip, except with a tinge of solemnity at the fact that the outside world was dangerous in a way Konoha wasn’t. He’d not had a normal life yet, and there was little reason to think his first proper mission would be the exception. If anything, the opposite was more likely.

On the other hand, this was a C-rank and as such carried minimal risk of combat. It was, he’d learned, one of the primary factors that went into classifying missions. D-ranks were inside the village and carried negligible risk, and thus ideal for a genin team’s first assignment. Any mission outside of the village walls was at minimum a C-rank, but depending on the possibility of hostile contact, could be ranked higher.

C-ranks had little-to-no expectations of combat. Things like courier missions, low-profile escorts, and resupply trips. B-ranks carried a higher risk of combat, or an expectation of combat with a low threat assessment. Tracking down bandits, missing persons, high-profile escorts. A-ranks came with the expectation of combat or similar difficulties with a high threat assessment: typically, any mission that came in contact with foreign shinobi such as missing-nin.

Any mission’s rank could be subverted if a client wished to pay more. A noble client who pays for a jōnin-led squad would have the mission classified as A-rank. A variety of extraneous factors could alter a mission’s rank. It was a strange system based on the judgement of Konoha leadership, something that likely contributed to the perpetual world-weary look on the mission desk chunin’s face.

S-ranks were top-secret, assigned solely at the Hokage’s discretion, and usually given to ANBU. They likely also involved going into foreign countries, but in general the information even about their classification was scarce.

In quieter, bored moments, he’d half-joked with himself about his entire reincarnation being an S-ranked mission. It seemed more official that way, more approachable and less impossible.

He’d made frustratingly little progress, largely skating by on the fact that his very presence had already altered things but unsure how much that had helped.

It was easy to set these thoughts to the side when his mother endlessly fussed about him, trying to prepare him for his first excursion but making him feel rather more like she wanted him swaddled.

He understood her worry, of course, but that only made it slightly less grating as she triple-checked the field pack he’d already filled to Sakumo-sensei’s specifications.

“Okaa-san,” he said, exasperated. She didn’t respond, of course, briskly walking to her room to ‘retrieve something, I’ll be only a moment’. He sighed. “Mother,” he repeated as she returned, carrying a bundle of blue cloth in one hand.

“It’s going to be cold, so you’ll need a coat suitable for the field,” she announced as she thrust it into his hands.

He resisted it on principle. “I know how to circulate chakra, and it won’t be that cold,” he said, attempting to wave away her offering to no avail.

“Aozen,” she began sternly, “it’s going to be cold, and Hatake-sama won’t want to hear you complain about it the entire way. If you take it now, I will not say ‘I told you so’.”

“I do not complain,” he said primly. At this, she merely raised a brow.

In reality, it was quite cold out. The recent storm had mixed with the cold current to bring frigid air throughout the village, though not quite enough to freeze or snow.

“...fine,” he acquiesced, taking the damnable coat.

It was, he would admit, quite comfortable to wear, though he would almost certainly outgrow it within a few months. It was the kind of coat that he slid on over his head, rather than simply throwing his arms through the sleeves. Uchiha blue, which was no surprise. He’d have to tie an obi to loop his katana through, though.

Shisui seemed to be growing faster and faster in recent weeks. His mother - Aozen’s aunt - hadn’t been discharged from the hospital yet, and so Kaa-san had spoken with Shisui about where she actually was. He’d adjusted to the news with the ease of a child who didn’t fully comprehend what they’d been told, but he seemed to understand that his mother wasn’t coming home for the foreseeable future.

Aozen thought he remembered the Story. He didn’t think that his aunt, Shisui’s mom, would be coming home at all.

That morning, despite the early hour, he’d been more than happy to occupy himself with ‘helping’ Aozen by bringing ‘important supplies’ at random intervals. So far he’d received a fork, a kunai (blunted, thankfully), a piece of onigiri, and a stray cat held in the three-year-old’s death grip.

He’d taken the kunai, eaten the onigiri, and returned the fork and cat to their rightful spots: the kitchen and outside, respectively.

Sakumo-sensei, in typical Sakumo-sensei fashion, hadn’t actually told him what his mission was. He was only told to meet him at the Hatake grounds in the early morning after next, giving him a day off to prepare and rest from training.

So it was that he found himself slightly apprehensively approaching his sensei’s home, outfitted entirely for the field, weapons pouch filled, and Uchiha blade at his side. When Sakumo opened the door, it was to reveal himself entirely unarmed and wearing neutral clothing - not even his Jōnin vest.

He didn’t scowl, but it was a near thing. “I am overdressed,” he groused.

“On the contrary,” Sakumo said, stepping aside to allow him in, “I wanted to see how you’d prepare with no direction. We’ll consider what is about to follow your briefing.” Aozen took off his shoes and continued to the sitting room, shouldering his pack to the ground and adjusting the blade at his side as he took a seat.

“What did you bring?” Sakumo asked, taking a seat in his typical armchair. A smattering of scrolls and papers occupied the table nearest to him.

“Some of everything,” Aozen admits. “I do not have access to sealing scrolls, so it made it somewhat - annoying. Tools, a first-aid kit, rations.”

Sensei nods. “Sealing scrolls for personal use are expensive, and are typically only used for mission-related purposes. We will be using one on our own mission today, but more on that later.”

“Speaking of,” Aozen said, trying to interject before Sensei moved on, “exactly what is our mission?”

Sensei hesitated for a moment, as though he wouldn’t answer, before he obliged, “We will be running a resupply mission. What do you know of safehouses?”

He canted his head. “I know of them, but not about them. We will be resupplying a Konoha safehouse?”

Sensei nods. “At the tail end of the First Shinobi War and in the successive peacetime, Sarutobi-sensei issued the construction of several safehouses throughout Hi no Kuni for use by Konoha shinobi. It is the responsibility of senior shinobi - in this case, me - to educate the novices in a few of their locations.” There had to be dozens, if not hundreds, of safehouses located in the Land of Fire. Besides Suna, which was mostly desert, and Iwa, which was largely mountainous, Hi no Kuni was the largest country on the continent. Memorizing all of them seemed unlikely. A map, maybe, kept under S-rank security.

Aozen considered this. “You have S-rank clearance, right? Could you not get a map?”

Sensei offers a sly smile. “Very few people have blanket S-rank clearance,” an evasion! “it is usually situational. And besides, a map of secret safehouses defeats the purpose, don’t you think?” Maps may still exist, he ponders, but it does seem like a risky thing to let remain, even under high security.

Aozen ‘hm’s. “If I were the lead on a mission somewhere, and I didn’t know of any safehouses in the area of operation, how would I go about finding one?”

“An excellent question. If you had a senior shinobi you trusted, such as another commanding officer, you could ask them. Otherwise, you would query the office of the Hokage for mission-related intelligence.”

How strange - to specify ‘trust’. Outgoing friendliness like that which characterized Sakumo-sensei was rare among veteran shinobi, and had the stigma of being naïve. Aozen wondered how much of it was a front. How much of it was masking the paranoia of an S-rank shinobi.

Did Sakumo-sensei trust the system? Did he know how easy it would be - to be betrayed? Aozen didn’t know whether he hoped Sakumo was blissfully ignorant, or all too aware of the harsh truth.

“Are sealing scrolls reusable?” He asks instead.

“To a degree. To my understanding, there are a few factors which go into a seal’s strength and durability: what the seal is written upon, the strength of chakra, and the skill of the practitioner among them. While it’s generally alright to use a sealing scroll for a length of time, persistent use can render the seal unstable, and eventually you may not be able to retrieve from the seal what you put into it.”

That was fascinating. Was it forever irretrievable? Could another seal be written to reach into the same space as another? Where did a seal even reach into, anyway?

“Any other questions?” Sensei interrupts his thoughts.

“How long will we be gone?”

“Three days maximum. Likely only two days; one day there and one day back. The restocking itself does not take very long.”

Aozen considers. A very short outing, and one that he’d probably overpacked for, in truth. This seemed like the kind of mission where it would be prudent to pack light in order to get it done quickly. He’d packed for a week-long trip, so he could definitely leave behind a lot of his rations, tools, and camping supplies.

“We’ll be staying in the safehouse overnight?” He queries, just to be sure.

“We will,” Sensei confirms.

Aozen bobs his head. “No further questions, Sensei.”

“Very good,” Sensei says. “Now for a more serious note. Do you remember what you called me during our first meeting?”

He blinks at the non sequitur, taking a moment to recall. “The White Fang?” That was Sensei’s moniker, wasn’t it?

“That’s right. The White Fang is listed alongside my entry in the bingo book - which I believe you know of. Alongside that nickname, I’ve acquired sizable bounties from several of the other countries. Can you guess at what this means?”

“Shinobi and missing-nin will try to hunt you,” Aozen answers easily. “But - doesn’t your reputation… scare them away?” For lack of a better phrase.

Sakumo-sensei smiles, but there is a touch of weariness to it. “Would that it were true. What it really means is that the ones who may actually try to come for me will be more skilled and more numerous, except for the occasional opportunistic missing-nin. Currently, we are at peace, so shinobi from other nations are unlikely, but there are several missing-nin who would want nothing more than to claim the bounty on my head.”

Sensei marks a pause before continuing. “I am very glad that you are my student, Aozen. But given that you are in fact a student, my being your Sensei paints a target on your back. In addition to your status as an Uchiha with a Sharingan, it is imperative that you understand this fact. I am not saying this to scare you.”

“Only a known danger can be countered,” Aozen offers, a paraphrase of something Sakumo himself had taught him.

“Just so. Now, this isn’t to say our mission today will be dangerous. Just that it may come up in the future. If it ever does, you must listen to everything I say explicitly. If I am confronted by bounty hunters or other enemy shinobi, I may need to focus all my effort on defeating them. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you to run, then you run. There will be no arguments. Is that understood?”

Sakumo wasn’t saying these things to make him afraid, and Aozen wasn’t an ordinary child with a fear of the big wide world. Even so, his words were doing a pretty good job of striking the reality of that wider world home. There were threats beyond just the greater Plot, ones that were arguably even deadlier for all their unassuming nature.

“Yes, Sensei.” He bows his head obediently. “I understand.” There are plenty of people who would see a juvenile Uchiha with an active Sharingan as a very attractive prize. Others who would be content with using him against Sakumo-sensei. Neither seem like very alluring prospects.

“Do you remember what the Academy told you in your final year, Aozen? When they spoke of being captured by enemy shinobi?” Aozen didn’t remember much of the Academy because most of it was useless to him, but - oh. He did remember that.

“A shinobi’s first duty is to escape.” He recites, knowing that it is only half of the mantra.

“And when you cannot escape?” Sakumo presses, tone grave. Not if. When.

“A shinobi’s final duty is to die.”

⌽

There was just one more ritual to complete before leaving Konoha. The Uchiha as a rule were as pious a clan as shinobi in the modern age could manage, with a variety of holidays, shrines, and local traditions.

Though they had largely moved beyond the days of sacrificing animals for good harvest, the drawing of oracle lots, or honoring lucky days - although some of the obaa-san-next-doors still consulted the Rokuyō¹ on occasion - many older traditions and practices remained.

The Uchiha clan still had their own priests, a practice which was still upheld only by the Nara and, to a lesser degree, the Hyūga. These priests were responsible for the spiritual duties of the clan, and also kept histories of lineages, births, deaths, and special events. Nearly every home, including his, contained a kamidana², and they still observed annual festivals like the f*ckagawa Matsuri³.

It might have once been strange to someone from the Before - or at least, someone from the Western world - but he had had several years to grow accustomed to it, and now he partook willingly and without a sense of irony.

The clan compound had three main shrines dedicated to the Three Precious Children: Amaterasu, Susano’o, and Tsukuyomi. Amaterasu was the beloved of the clan, chief goddess above all and giver of life and flame. Susano’o was the Uchiha’s patron, inspiring their might and strength and gifting them their skill in war. Tsukuyomi, the youngest sister and the pacifist, was sometimes ill-regarded compared to the other two, but she remained the goddess of the moon and illusion; the light which revealed falsehood.

Praying at a shrine before missions was a common Uchiha practice. To forego it, especially before his very first mission, was to invite misfortune.

It was the shrine to Tsukuyomi which he approached. Perhaps others preferred the blessing of might Susano’o may grant, or the courage which Amaterasu may bestow, but Aozen knew that his father had held the Lady of the Moon in special regard, and so he afforded her special consideration.

He bowed once at the torii gates before continuing. He stopped at the boundary of the shrine, bowed twice, clapped twice, then bowed once more⁴. In respect for the nature of the place, he knelt to remove and place his katana just outside the door, before standing and entering.

The shrine always seemed otherworldly, removed from the concerns of everywhere else. It was always quiet, always clean, and always filled with the scent of incense. He did not know the priests who kept it so, but they were not present.

He had bought ginger-lily incense specifically for this occasion because it had been his father’s favorite. He moves to the main body of the shrine and uses the available flame to light the tip of the stick, and sets it in a holder.

Kneeling, he touches his forehead to the mat before sitting upright. Tsukuyomi-sama, he prays silently, grant me your blessing and insight on the mission to come.

Otō-sama, he begins, but immediately halts. He had never referred to his father by the more formal honorific, and calling him chichiue⁵ had never entered his mind. It wasn’t uncommon among many of the noble clans, but his household had always been a more comfortable place.

Tou-san, he amends, please watch over me. I will make you proud. A simple prayer. His throat was tight; he didn’t think he could manage more.

He touched his forehead to the ground once more, rose, then headed for the entrance. He must have been distracted, for he did not notice the sound of bounding footsteps until he had already opened the door, and by then it was too late.

He collided with someone bigger than him, but not the size of an adult. The shock of it was enough to knock him down and keep him there for a full second before he rolled back to his feet.

“Oh, sh - uh, shoot! Kami, sorry! Are you okay?” It was a voice he recognized, as well as the outstretched hand. Uchiha Obito stood with a violent blush, though whether that was because of embarrassment or physical exertion - he’d been running rather fast - Aozen couldn’t say.

“Violence is forbidden inside the shrine,” he said, almost as a reflex. That was a lesson that had been very firmly implanted in his mind from a young age. Roughness, loudness, and violence all disrupted the purity of the shrine.

Obito cringed. “You sound like Obaa-sama… sorry I ran into you, Aozen-kun!” It was Aozen’s turn to cringe as Obito’s voice crescendoed. “I mean…” The boy cast furtive glances around the shrine as though Tsukuyomi-sama herself would cuff him upside the head for his mistake, “uh, sorry.”

“It’s… fine. You surprised me, is all. Why are you in such a hurry?” Aozen should be in a hurry as well. Sensei had told him to meet him at the northern gate by eight o’clock.

“Well, I - I, uh…” Obito reached up to scratch the back of his neck, bashful. “I come here to pray sometimes. I pray to all the kami, really, for good luck in classes and stuff! But - oh, kami, I’m almost late for school.” A-ha. Academy classes began at eight as well. The school was closer than the northern gate, but Obito would have to run the entire way, while Aozen could merely shunshin. “What are you here for?”

This was actually a rude question, but despite himself he felt a sharp flash of affection for the effervescent Uchiha Obito, who he suspected had a natural way of either endearing himself to most people, or infuriating them. Perhaps both.

“I am about to leave on my first mission outside the village. I was praying to Tsukuyomi-sama for insight.”

“What?” Obito shrieked, and now Aozen winced as well, beginning to think Obito was not incorrect in his fear of Tsukuyomi-sama smiting them. “You’re already going on a mission? But… you’re so small.”

Aozen couldn’t help but laugh a little at this. He was actually only a few inches shorter than Obito despite being almost half as young, though he could tell even now that Obito would grow up to be much stockier than he.

“I am a genin,” he said simply. “It is only a resupply mission.” He pushed past Obito to the outside of the shrine.

“‘Only’ a mission,” parroted Obito, “I never get to go anywhere. I bet you know all kinds of cool jutsu,” he formed a tiger seal, prompting a spike of alarm, but did not channel chakra so nothing came of it.

“And you’ll get to beat up bad guys,” here he adopted a rough approximation of the Academy’s taijutsu style. He wasn’t very good at it, but surprisingly, Aozen recognized why immediately. The Academy form was good for training, because it fit everyone, but because it fit everyone, it didn’t fit anyone exceptionally well. Obito’s arms were long, and he had a great deal of energy. These were both qualities the Uchiha style was meant to take advantage of - so why did Obito not know it? All Uchiha were expected to learn it from the time they first entered the Academy. A question for later.

“I do not think it will be so exciting as you make it sound,” he said, reaching down to pick up his katana.

“Don’t be a pesmi - a pesism - don’t be such a downer!” He kept talking, heedless of his verbal stumbles. “Wait - you have a sword?” Obito’s hands came up to hover around his torso, no doubt itching to handle the weapon.

Aozen put it through the loop of his obi. Maybe Obito would be good at taijutsu, but Aozen doubted very much he had the patience of a swordsman. Sometimes, he wasn’t sure he had the patience of a swordsman. “It was my graduation gift.” He hesitated - hadn’t Obito mentioned he might be graduating soon? “Maybe you will get something similar when you graduate.”

“Ah,” Obito seemed to deflate, making a poor attempt at hiding it. “Maybe, yeah.” He clearly didn’t believe it. It made Aozen want to ask more, but glancing up at the sun, he knew he didn’t have the time.

“You should not be late to school. It will make the instructors angry.” Aozen had never been late to the Academy a day in his life, but he suspected that was probably true. “We can train when I get back?”

At this, Obito donned a blinding smile. “Yeah!” He was being too loud again, but Aozen once again couldn’t help but find it endearing. “You bet! See you later, Aozen-kun!” Okay, the ‘kun’ was a little annoying. Obito turned to trot inside the shrine.

“See you, Obito-san.” He closed the door and then disappeared into shunshin.

⌽

Stepping through the gates of Konohagakure was a surprisingly anticlimactic experience. He observed as Sensei checked in with the chunin at the gate’s checkpoint, which consisted of some paperwork for the records detailing their departure. The mission details wouldn’t be included, of course, for security purposes.

They passed civilians and some other shinobi leaving and entering, including what looked like merchant caravans with shinobi guards. Aozen didn’t make especial note of any of them, but he discovered that was a mistake when, a few minutes after they’d begun walking down the road, Sakumo-sensei spoke.

“How many civilians have we seen since reaching the gate?” he says in the easy tone of conversation.

Aozen takes a few moments to reply. “Um… eight?”

“Count them for me.”

“Three civilians were waiting to receive a shinobi at the gate. The caravan coming through contained five more.”

“There were six in the caravan,” Sensei corrected. “What of the civilians we passed several minutes ago, outside the city?”

He can feel his cheeks redden. “I had forgotten about them,” he admits.

Sensei doesn’t need to say that it was a foolish mistake to make. That much was already clear. “What about shinobi?”

“Five.” When the silence becomes expectant, Aozen continues, “The chuunin manning the desk, the shinobi who entered after we left, and the three shinobi attached to the caravan. Oh - there was a pair standing off the road not long after.”

“What were their specializations?”

This question forces a longer pause, before he is forced to admit: “I do not know.”

“Why?”

“Because… they were Konoha shinobi.” In truth, he wasn’t entirely sure how one went about determining another shinobi’s specialization at a glance.

“What if they were not? What if they were the advance force of an enemy attack? Or, what if other hostile shinobi attacked? Would you not want to know who you were fighting alongside, and their capabilities?”

It didn’t sound like the healthiest attitude to cultivate, being paranoid about everyone around you. But then - shinobi. Aozen considered, then nodded.

“I see. I’m sorry, sensei. How do I determine a specialization?” Sakumo did not appreciate self-pity. A better way to show his contrition would be to seek to amend his mistake or error as soon as possible.

“It’s a matter of insight,” he said, which unintentionally drew Aozen’s mind to his prayer. “Close-quarters specialists are often larger. Their hands have visible calluses, or are wrapped. Their legs, too. Your sword clearly marks you as a budding kenjutsu specialist. These are the easiest to spot.”

“What about ninjutsu specialists? Or genjutsu practitioners?” he asked.

“Slightly trickier. Oftentimes, the lack of signs can give you clues. Shinobi who prefer close quarters prepare themselves differently than others…”

He went on to explain the finer points of shinobi body language that might indicate a specialization. He spoke of signs of danger, too, and when Aozen asked if the Hatake could smell aggression from other shinobi, Sakumo laughed and said if his sense of smell was actually that good, he’d probably be wearing a mask like Kakashi to protect his nose.

This small lesson continued long enough that Aozen was beginning to feel like he should have brought his notes. The entire time they had been walking at an even pace, and passed several other civilians. No shinobi, though. Aozen wondered aloud if they were going to walk the entire way, glancing at a passing caravan, and when he turned back, Sakumo was gone.

No, not just gone - escaping! Without so much as a hitch in his chakra, his teacher had disappeared into the trees, forcing Aozen to follow or be helplessly lost. Sensei wasn’t being merciful today, though, having put on enough speed to put Aozen to shame in order to gain some sizable distance.

He was searching frantically, finding only small signs to follow: a displaced piece of bark from where he’d hopped branches; half a shoe print in the mud; the rare sight of silver hair in the distance.

He was so focused on not falling behind he didn’t realize how obvious the signs were (a shinobi like Hatake Sakumo wouldn’t be followed if he didn’t wish it), nor did he stop to think where he was being led. It was only once he heard the snap of a branch and felt the wire tighten around his ankle that he realized he should probably have given it a moment.

The force of the snare yanked him up, tossing about his equilibrium and giving him the impression of an errant flake inside a snowglobe. The world shifted upside down, whilst his head dangled only a few scant inches above the ground. The surprise was there, followed shortly by the fear. All it would take was a single kunai and his life was summarily ended

He heard footsteps coming from his blindspot. The length of the trap meant that he could touch the ground above his head, and he did so, using all his strength to push off it upward, granting himself slack on the line around his ankle. He curled up, reaching for the wire and trying to yank his foot away at the same time, and he managed to free it.

This meant there was nothing holding him up. When he impacted the ground, it was with a grunt. Staring up at the space he’d just occupied, he saw a blade flash through the air, and a bolt of alarm shot through him that could only be produced by a brush with death.

Or something like it. Sakumo-sensei was the one holding the blade, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get hurt. Sensei was a kind man, and he would never permanently injure him, but he would not be gentle either. That he was using a bare blade was just a testament to his confidence in Aozen’s abilities. Probably.

He rolled backward, finding his footing. Sensei was following up with another horizontal slash, and Aozen’s response was automatic. Left hand found the body of the saya, thumb pushing upward with just enough force to break the seal, while his right comfortably gripped the top of the hilt closest to the blade, drawing the katana in a single, smooth motion.⁶

A clash rang out amidst the Hashirama trees as their blades collided, Aozen’s iai⁶ carrying enough power to rebound Sakumo’s attack. They broke apart, both rechambering their blades into their respective guards, staring at each other.

Sensei’s eyes shone bright, and a smile tugged at his features. Later Aozen would look fondly on the moment, but then and there his heart pounded and his face was blank. His Sensei inclined his head and they blurred into action.

⌽

Sensei seemed different outside Konoha. He had always been the kind of man to smile indulgently at most given remarks, the humor in any situation within easy reach for him. But these smiles were always small, even grandfatherly; the kind that deepened the lines in his jowls and chin, but not the kind that split his face into a grin.

Aozen had never realized that his smiles took on these particular qualities. He’d laughed before, of course, but it was a startling realization to learn, upon one of his Sensei’s jovial laughs, that the man actually had fangs. His canines - go figure - were slightly lengthened and much sharper than an ordinary person’s.

The Hatake formed pacts now with dogs, but once upon a younger moon, it had been their forebears who became bonded with wolves. The tale of such a covenant was written into their DNA, and now they were peeking out at Aozen across a campfire, revealed at last to belong to a man who had hidden depths yet unplumbed.

Yes, his Sensei was different somehow. More alive, maybe. More animated, certainly. There was a light in his eyes and an ease in his movement that wasn’t there before. Always graceful, always a swordsman, but inside the walls of Konoha there had been a certain straightness in his spine, a kind of tension in the line of his shoulders that would have remained invisible, if not for the sudden absence of it.

He was reminded starkly of that terrible image from his dream, where indeed all the tension was gone from the man’s frame: all the strength, all the life, and all the blood that had spilled out onto the floor. The nausea it inspired settled like curdled milk next to the joy Sakumo’s ease of being had shortly cultivated.

He must have sensed it, because he looked up from where he was roasting a squirrel on a stick - that Aozen had caught himself - and eyed his student. “Something wrong?”

“No,” says Aozen. A bit too quickly, because Sakumo’s gaze narrows just slightly. Aozen rushed for something to fill the expectant gap. “Sensei, if you… say you were on a mission. If you had to choose between completing the mission, and saving your teammates, what would you choose?”

His eyebrows raise. He heaves a sigh and shifts on the log he’d appropriated as a seat. “You know, when I was seven years old, I was more interested in getting cool stories from my elders, not moral quandaries.”

It would have been easy to dismiss the question, but the image of Sakumo was still fresh on his mind and weighed heavily, so he just waited for his sensei to continue.

He did eventually, though he too didn’t seem eager to answer the question. “The world isn’t black and white. Choosing between the mission and your comrades shouldn’t happen. The Hokage should never put you in a position where death is preferable to the incompletion of an objective.”

“Should,” says Aozen.

Sakumo nods slowly. “Should,” he agrees, a little sad. “Our world is made of sacrifices. Of lives, of parts of ourselves. But if there is one thing I could tell you, Aozen, it is this: Konoha is not the Land of Fire. It's not the missions it takes, the income it generates. It’s not the office of the Hokage, or anything else like that. People are the lifeblood of Konoha. We fight to preserve life. Sometimes that means making sacrifices, but…” he pauses, then shakes his head. “To answer your question, I would save my teammates.” He says it just like that, with as much confidence as he’s ever done anything.

Aozen should be reassured. Of course his sensei would make the moral choice - the correct choice. He had already known what his answer would be, because he had already seen the consequences of that answer, which was supposed to be so just and right. The betrayal it had been met with. It was a betrayal, of course, because Sakumo-sensei had never seen it coming. He had a softer heart than the world deserved, and he’d died because of it.

And Aozen discovers at that moment that he is a coward, because when he should be telling Sakumo everything he knows about the terrible fate he may suffer, when he should be doing his best to save him, like he’d promised he would, he says nothing. The furrow in his brow deepens, he forgets about the half-eaten squirrel he’d been pining after for most of the day, and he stays silent.

And then Sakumo, because he is a good man who sees only a troubled child with a gifted mind, sets his own food aside and stands. “It seems you’re still disquieted. Let’s revisit your katas, shall we?”

Aozen obliges, and in the end it’s a good choice. Training with his sword quiets his mind, and Sakumo is so relentless and precise with everything he teaches that Aozen has no room for complex moral issues; just the soreness in his muscles and the rapid onset of fatigue from exertion.

He falls asleep to the sound of the fire and insects of the night. When he opens his eyes again, he is elsewhere, in a leafy glade in the daytime, already standing. This is the first indication that something is wrong.

It is not like the other nights, where he does not take the time to question whether it’s real, and is thrown headlong into the burgeoning nightmare. No, he knows he’s dreaming this time, but this doesn’t help. If anything, the expectation makes it worse.

The meadow was suspiciously peaceful. To his chagrin he finds that he is unarmed, but he adopts a ready stance all the same, gaze darting about. Between one second and the next, the dreaded figure of his dream visitor appears, the man in the sandogasa.

Aozen’s fingers twitch towards a weapons pouch that isn’t there. The man observes him without moving.

“Coward,” he quotes, a harsh echo of Aozen’s waking thoughts from his earlier conversation with Sakumo. “If there is one compliment I can give you, I suppose it’s that you’re an accurate judge of character.”

Aozen is entirely unused to this feeling of powerlessness. They are just dreams, sure, but the emotions he feels scar themselves indelibly on his mind all the same. He knows he cannot fight the man, so he is forced to stand and listen, all the while he nearly vibrates with a mixture of anger and fear.

“Oh,great," he can't resist saying, "is this what we’re going to do?” he bites out. “What is next? Maybe you will show me my own death this time?”

he man walks now, leisurely circling Aozen. “A soldier’s final duty is to die,” he quotes again. “Is that what you’re doing? Saving up all the little deaths for others to give? Hatake Sakumo first. Who is next? Hatake Kakashi? Uchiha Fugaku? Will it be easier if you don’t know their names or their faces?”

Aozen stepped back despite himself. It’s just a dream, he reminds himself, but his heart beats all too thunderously in his chest, berating that naïveté by its nature. “What do you mean?”

“You wrote it in your journal, did you not?” Just as seamlessly as the man had appeared, the scene around them changes in a moment and they are in Aozen’s bedroom. It is empty but for the two of them, and resting like a tombstone on his desk is the aforementioned journal. “All that you know. All the knowledge you can use. And what have you done with it?”

The man wasn’t waiting for an answer, continuing on, “Passed a few tests, impressed a few elders. My, how gifted a child. How precocious. And all the while, the deaths of everyone around you weigh on you like a sin already bought and paid for. And you do… nothing.”

“What - what the hell are you doing? What is this? Who are you?” Aozen stood stock still, unable to run, hardly able to move. A blink and they were back in the glade.

“Me? I’m disappointed, mostly. I have already aided you more than you deserve. I had expected you to do something with it.”

“Aided me? You've done nothing but cost me sleep and - and emotional wellbeing.” He splutters, knowing it's a weak retort.

The man rolls his eyes in such a deliberate motion that even with the sandogasa obscuring parts of his face, it’s obvious. “‘Emotional wellbeing’ - grow a spine, boy. Those ‘emotions’ you hold so dearly are only strings by which others manipulate you. I tugged on your heartstrings, you cried, and those Sharingan eyes of yours grew. I suppose your father died all on his own, though, so there is that.”

His thoughts come to a halt as rage bursts through the gloom. He’s moving before he can think about it, covering the distance between them. He snarls, “Don’t talk about my father!” even as he swings a wild fist, any grace he’d had in his skills gone.

The man sidesteps his blows with all the ease he’d ever shown, a sneer on his face. Aozen tries again, his leg snapping out for the man’s knee, but his enemy just raises his leg and tanks the hit, disrupting Aozen’s momentum. The man then raises that same leg higher and kicks him full-on in the sternum with enough force to send him sprawling.

“This, Uchiha Aozen, is an opportunity for you to learn. For all that you look and act the child, we both know you are not. What a strange world you came from,” he adds, almost offhandedly. “You should start making decisions, before they're all made for you.” There is distance between them, but the man looms all the same.

Aozen catches his breath enough to spit at his feet and say, “Like all the ones you’ve made for me?”

The man’s answering smile is sharp, predatory. “Yes. Now, wake up, boy. ”

⏂