Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On the outer edge of the Hidden Leaf’s forest, wrapped in a dense morning fog, stood a crooked little house, pieced together from mismatched timber and worn planks. The land once belonged to the Midori clan, once the strongest in all the nation, before they were completely annihilated during the First Shinobi War. What remained of them was fading into the forest: a half-collapsed shrine and a torii gate overlooking a muddy lake. And yet, nestled in the clearing, there was a garden, with neat rows of vegetables growing in the only sunny patch of the gloomy forest.

This was where Rieko had chosen to disappear.

Most days passed in silence. She tended to her garden with steady, calloused hands, digging up roots, swatting at insects, and fighting off the local wildlife. The worst offenders? Groundhogs. Relentless, fluffy monsters that tore through her crops the moment they woke from hibernation.

She crouched low, pressing her thumb into the earth as she planted rows of potatoes, hopefully enough to last through the winter. Her movements were methodical, and she let herself hum as she worked, the sound barely rising above the rustle of leaves.

There was a subtle shift in the air, the kind most people wouldn’t even notice. But years of shinobi instinct had her muscles tensing before her mind had the time to catch up.

She remained poised, her ears catching the faint sound of footsteps. They were soft, but a true shinobi wouldn't make a noise. Unless, they wanted her to know they were here.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Slowly, her eyes swept the treeline, fingers curling around the handle of her shovel buried in the soil. 

A man stood at the edge of the clearing. His silhouette was unmistakable, even after all these years. He’d grown taller, but the silver hair gave him away instantly. 

“Sakumo,” she murmured under her breath.

He stepped out from the treeline, moving with the same quiet control he always had. The mist clung to his figure as he crossed the clearing, sandals pressing softly into damp earth. Tall and quiet as ever, her former student turned legend. The White Fang of Konoha.

A flicker of pride slipped through despite herself.

“Rieko-sensei,” he greeted, offering a respectful bow. The hilt of his tanto rested over one shoulder. The memory of when she had gifted the blade to him crossed her mind. “Forgive the unannounced visit.” 

Rieko didn’t move at first. Her mouth pressed into a thin line as she stayed crouched by the garden. Her eyes stayed on him, not hostile, but not welcoming either. She didn’t expect an attack, not from Sakumo, but she knew who he worked for. If the village decided to send a shinobi here with orders to kill her, they wouldn’t have a choice. That was the kind of loyalty Konoha demanded. 

“They sent you,” she said, arching a brow, “Must be something serious.” 

She tried to sound nonchalant, but her stiff posture betrayed her. Sakumo's expression softened momentarily, he looked almost sad.

Rieko had tried her hardest to burn every bridge linking her to Konoha. Thus, the only reason to send Sakumo here is if they wanted something from her.

“I carry a message,” he said, reaching into his vest. “From your sister.”

She looked caught off guard. “Yumiko?” she asked, the name catching slightly in her throat. 

He nodded, pulling out a folded letter and offering it to her.

“Why would you have a letter from her?” Rieko asked, a hint of dread creeping into her voice. “Did something—”

“She’s fine, don’t worry,” he cut in gently. “I had a mission that took me to the Fire Capital, and when I stopped by the teahouse, she asked me to deliver this to you personally.”

Yumiko was the only person Rieko remained in contact with since she left civilization. They exchanged letters only once or twice a year, just enough to let Yumiko know she was still alive. What could possibly drive her to send Sakumo all this way just to deliver a letter?

With a wary glare directed at him, as if preemptively blaming him for whatever she was about to read, Rieko took the parchment. She recognized the handwriting immediately.

Dear Rieko,

I know you won’t be pleased with my decision, but you also know I’ve done everything I can to raise her well. She deserves the freedom to follow her own path and her heart’s been set on the Academy for a long time now.

I’ve finally said yes, on one condition. She’ll stay with you until she becomes a genin and is placed with a Sensei. I’m asking you to take her in until then and to guide her. To teach her, like you once taught me.

Please don’t let the past bury you. You still have a life ahead of you, and s he deserves to know the woman I once called sister.

With love,

Yumiko 

The letter was trembling slightly in her grip as she finished reading. Rieko’s voice was tight when she finally spoke.

“Please tell me she’s still at the teahouse.”

Sakumo hesitated, just enough for her to already know the answer.

“She’s on her way,” he admitted. “Jiraiya and his student are escorting her. She arrives tomorrow.”

Rieko let out a low groan of frustration and tossed her shovel aside. The metal struck the ground with a dull thunk, sending a spray of dirt into the air.

Someone must have talked Yumiko into this, she tought. She never would’ve taken a gamble this reckless on her own... 

“There’s also a message from the Hokage,” Sakumo added, his voice unusually small, but familiar to Rieko. He used to sound like that whenever he got caught sneaking out of training to feed the local stray cats instead.

“Of course there is,” she scoffed.

“He hopes you’ll agree to a meeting. To discuss your niece’s arrival... and possible living arrangements,” he added, shifting his stance. 

She froze. So that was the plan.

It was finally coming into focus, the real reason behind the timing of Yumiko’s letter, the involvement of her niece, and now this summoning by none other than her old friend. He had finally found a way to get what he wanted, by pulling her in with her own blood.

She turned her back to Sakumo. She stared for a long moment toward the edge of the lake, where the red torii gate came into view through the mist. 

When she turned back to Sakumo there was fire in her eyes, and for a moment, he saw a ghost of the woman she used to be. His sensei, calm, unshaken, and stronger than most men he'd ever served beside. 

“I won’t let her walk this path,” she said. “I’ll take her back home myself.”

Sakumo didn’t protest. He watched her storm into the cabin.

Moments later, she emerged with a weathered pack slung over one shoulder, and her hand closing tightly around the handle of that same shovel.

“You know I can’t let you bring that into the Hokage’s office,” he said flatly, his eyes dropping to the "weapon" in her grip.

She scoffed, but let it fall with a solid thud at her feet.

“Fine. I’ll find something else to knock some sense into that thick skull of his,” she grumbled.

As Sakumo followed behind her, he was reminded of all the battles she’d led him through, the control she commanded with just one look, the way she never flinched or showed any weakness. Back then, she’d seemed unbreakable to him. A force of nature he could only hope to live up to. Even now, after her self-imposed exile, that fire was still there in her eyes. The same fierce will to protect, to fight for others no matter the cost.

But he couldn’t shake the question that had haunted him ever since the day she left. Was she really as strong as they all believed? Or was she, like him, just trying to hold it together. Doing what she thought was right, while quietly fearing she’d never be enough to live up to her own name. 

***

The gates of Konoha rose ahead, wide open and buzzing with life.

Heiwa’s jaw dropped slightly as they passed through. Her eyes darted across rows of colorful stalls, bustling crowds, and shinobi leaping overhead as they jumped from rooftop to rooftop. 

“Wow,” she breathed, turning in place to take it all in. “Is it always like this?”

Minato chuckled. “Pretty much. Konoha doesn’t really do quiet.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Jiraiya added, already eyeing a food stall. “You have to try the ramen. Best in the world, no contest.” He grinned.

Heiwa giggled, despite the tight knot twisting in her stomach. 

As the streets narrowed and the Hokage Tower came into view, the energy of the village faded behind them. Inside, warmth gave way to polished floors and shadowed corners where masked shinobi stood as still as statues. 

They stopped before a pair of imposing wooden doors.

Minato gave her an encouraging smile. Jiraiya just nodded, avoiding her eyes as he rubbed the back of his neck.

She eyed the door, then glanced back at her escorts hesitantly. “Does the Hokage really review every application to move to Konoha personally?” she asked. 

The Sensei and his student exchanged a look.

“You could say that,” Jiraiya replied vaguely, suddenly very interested in a nearby potted plant, while Minato shot him a disaproving look.

But then the doors swung open with a sharp creak, and a shadowed figure inside motioned for her to enter.

She focused on Minato’s reassuring smile one last time before swallowing hard and stepping through.

The office was circular, with large, open, glassless windows that let the breeze drift freely inside. A man dressed in white robes and a wide red hat sat behind a desk piled high with parchments. His expression was calm, kind even, but his eyes held a sharp and calculating edge.

Her palms were sweaty, and she tried to wipe them on her dress discreetly.

“Come in,” he said gently. “It’s been a long journey, I imagine.”

She perched nervously on the edge of the chair in front of the huge desk. The masked guards hadn’t moved, but she could feel their eyes on her. The Hokage carefully lit his pipe and drew a long breath.

“The immigration process is complicated,” he said, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. “Especially for someone hoping to become a shinobi. I'm sure you understand that we can’t let just anyone in. After all, Konoha has many enemies.”

She didn't react to the scent of smoke as it filled the air with its bitter taste. It was something all too common among the patrons of the teahouse, but her mom would never let her stay in the same room as them when they did. She tried to keep her face neutral, despite the smoke tickling her throat.

“Fortunately,” he added, drawing deeply from his pipe, “your aunt’s name still carries weight. With her vouching for you, things should move quickly.”

She nodded stiffly. If she even shows up...

Her mother had warned her that her aunt might not be completely thrilled with the arrangement. They hadn’t spoken face to face in over a decade, but her mother seemed dead set on having her live with her sister. It was the only way she would agree to let her come to Konoha at all.

Hiruzen leaned forward slightly, the shadows from his hat casting deep lines across his face. 

“That does raise one question,” he said, steepling his fingers with exaggerated patience. “What should we do if your aunt does not come?”

Before she had time to process his words, a gust of wind swept through the room, stirring the papers on his desk and sending one of them fluttering to the floor.

A shinobi had materialized beside the Hokage, stepping out of a swirl of leaves. He had long silver hair that gave him an almost wolf-like appearance. He whispered something into the Hokage’s ear. A small smile tugged at the man's lips from beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

The door suddenly burst open behind Heiwa with a bang, jolting her in her seat.

“Rieko,” the Hokage greeted, unfazed. “How nice of you to join us.”

“I see you started without me,” she said with thinly veiled hostility. “Or is it standard practice now to interrogate innocent kids you’ve roped into your war machine?”

Hiruzen’s smile didn’t falter. “Merely discussing terms of entry," he replied.  "A legal guardian usually helps expedite the process,” he said pointedly. 

Rieko’s eyes narrowed. “You had no right to involve her.”

Then, for the first time since coming into the room, she turned her attention to Heiwa.

Heiwa could see her face clearly now. Her aunt had the same dark, almond-shaped eyes as her mother, but unlike her, there was nothing soft in them.

Rieko seemed torn at the sight of her, then quickly turned back to the Hokage. “She waits outside.”

Heiwa didn’t move at first, still reeling from everything happening around her. It took a second for her to realize they were waiting on her. 

The grey-haired shinobi smiled at her and gave a subtle nod toward the door.

“Oh, right...” Heiwa stood up, looking at her aunt again, but her gaze was still fixed on the man before her, eyes burning with barely masked anger.

Heiwa turned around to leave, then froze.

Wait — am I even allowed to turn my back on the Hokage?

A spike of panic shot through her. She started backing away instead, taking one slow, awkward step... then another, her eyes glued to the floor, until her shoulder hit the doorframe with a dull thunk.

The silence that followed was was deafening.

She breathed fast, her face burning, and she bowed quickly. “Sorry!” she yelped, and all but scrambled out of the room.

Behind her, Jiraiya let out a quiet cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, just before the doors swung shut.

The hallway was quiet, with only muffled voices leaking from the room. Even so, she could still make out the sharp edge of her aunt’s voice rising now and then. 

Heiwa paced, fidgeted and desperately tried not to chew her nails.

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours, before the door finally creaked open.

Rieko stepped out, unreadable as ever.

“I’m glad we’ve reached an agreement,” Hiruzen called from inside. “I look forward to seeing you Monday.”

“I wake up late,” Rieko muttered. “Don’t expect me before noon.”

A chuckle followed. The Hokage stepped out behind her and turned to face Heiwa. Gone was the air of mystery and the intimidating stare. In its place was a soft expression, and a smile that, this time, truly reached his eyes.

“Noted. Welcome home, Miss Heiwa. I hope you’ll come to love this village as much as I do.”

Heiwa blinked, not quite believing what just happened.

She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. 

It wasn’t until the Hokage gave her a small, encouraging nod that she jolted into motion, hurrying after Rieko and catching up just as she reached the end of the corridor.

“Let’s go,” her aunt said, not looking back. “It reeks of bureaucracy in here, somehow it's even worse than that ridiculous pipe.”

Heiwa fell into step beside her, heart still racing.

She glanced sideways at the woman walking next to her. Her aunt looked ready to fight someone, and Heiwa silently vowed to never do anything that might land her on the receiving end of her aunt's displeasure.

Step one of her plan had worked, despite a few hiccups. She was in the village now, with a legal guardian whose mood seemed to range somewhere between pissed and extremely pissed. Heiwa was sure they would smooth things out in no time.

After all, nothing could completely ruin her mood today. She was finally on her way to becoming a ninja.

Chapter Text

The midday sun cast a warm glow over Konoha as Rieko and Heiwa made their way through a quiet residential area. This part of the village was calmer than the market district, while still being relatively close to the city center. It was filled with traditional-looking wooden houses and cherry blossom trees framing the streets on either side.

Heiwa’s eyes darted from one home to the next. Each was at least twice the size of her mother's teahouse back home. In the capital, space had been much more limited, and properties tended to have very little outdoor area. Heiwa stared in awe at the beautiful the gardens adorning the fronts of each house.

“How about this one?” she asked tentatively, pointing to a house with a neatly trimmed garden and a quaint little porch.

Rieko shook her head, her sharp gaze taking in every detail. “Too close to the main road. Not enough windows. Keep walking.”

Heiwa gave a quick nod, following her aunt down the lane. She cast a side glance at her aunt. She still wasn’t sure how to act around Rieko. He aunt wasn’t exactly warm, but she hadn’t been unkind to her either.

After a few more minutes of walking, they stopped in front of a small house, tucked near the edge of the largest property on the street. The letterbox beside it neatly read: Hatake Estate.

Next to its pristine neighbor, complete with sculpted hedges, lacquered gates, and a stone path that practically sparkled, the one Rieko had her eye on was smothered in weeds and looked nearly abandoned.

“So, this is the one…?” Heiwa glanced up at Rieko, who studied the house for a moment before nodding. “It’s quiet. Private. The neighbors are decent. Let’s take a look inside.”

After making their way through the overgrown weeds (some of which were almost as tall as Heiwa herself), they pushed the door open. The inside smelled of old wood, but it was not damp. The interior was modest, with creaky wooden floors, a small kitchen, and two bedrooms, even though the walls looked like they had seen better decades. Still, Heiwa wasn’t about to complain; she was pretty sure her aunt would seize any opportunity to convince her to go back home. She had her own room and a roof that didn’t leak—yet. Maybe with a fresh coat of paint, it would start to feel just like home.

“This will do,” Rieko said finally, her tone firm and decisive. “Let’s finalize the arrangements.”

By late afternoon, they had the keys and were hauling in their meager belongings. On the way back, they’d stopped by the merchants to pick up some basic kitchen supplies, most of which Heiwa was now struggling to carry into the house.

Her arms wobbled under the weight, and she paused to adjust her grip.

“Need a hand with that?”

Turning, Heiwa saw a tall man approaching, his silver hair catching the light. She recognized him as the ninja who had appeared out of nowhere to whisper something in the Hokage’s ear. Beside him was a young boy with similar gray hair and a mask covering the lower half of his face.

“Sakumo,” Rieko said, appearing on the porch, and taking the box from Heiwa's arms. “What brings you here?”

“We live next door,” Sakumo deadpanned, gesturing toward the mailbox bearing their name, a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Saw you moving in. Thought we’d stop by.”

The boy hung back slightly, his sharp eyes scanning everything in silence. Heiwa, curious, offered him a smile. He was a bit smaller than her, but he couldn't have been much younger. He scrutinized his surroundings with surprising intensity.

“Hi, I’m Heiwa,” she said to him with a small smile.

His eyes flicked to her, "Kakashi," he said in a quiet voice, and she had to listen very closely to catch his name.

"Like a scarecrow, right?" she asked. She was fond of the meanings behind names. She’d often talked about them with the old ladies who visited the Ochaya, they could go on for hours about the various reasons that influenced the names they’d chosen for their children.

Kakashi shot her a displeased look. "What about you? Any reason behind your name?" he asked.

“My mom says it was given for good luck, since I was born during the war,” she replied.

Kakashi looked away, "Peace is a good name to have," he admitted. "Better than scarecrow." 

Heiwa furrowed her brows. She had always felt that her name fit her well. Kakashi on the other hand didn't seem very fond of his. She felt a little guilty for bringing it up now.

"Names have all sorts of meanings, you know. A scarecrow is meant to protect and ward off predators. People with that kind of name are said to have fierce loyalty." Her confidence faltered slightly under his scrutinizing gaze, and she hesitated. "At least that's what Lady Yulia would say..." she added sheepishly.

Kakashi shot her a questioning look, and she suddenly realized that maybe diving into full-blown name analysis on their first meeting wasn’t the best way to build a normal, friendly rapport. All of her friends had been old people, after all, so she wasn't sure how she should connect with kids her own age.

Rieko exchanged a few words with Sakumo. She looked at him with a slightly exasperated expression, but in the end she gestured toward the boxes in front of the house. “If you’re offering, we could use some help,” she admitted.

Sakumo flashed a wide smile. “Of course. Kakashi!” he called to his son, who wasted no time walking away from Heiwa. She felt herself die a little inside.

Kakashi made a show of being inconvenienced by his father’s request, but ended up lifting one of the heavier boxes with surprising ease.

Heiwa blinked, impressed. She followed him up the steps, watching as he navigated the porch like it was nothing.

“Thanks,” she said, setting her own, much lighter, box down next to his. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

Kakashi gave her a short nod. It seemed to be his preferred way of communicating, so she nodded back. He raised an eyebrow, but Heiwa was already lunging outside to grab the biggest box she could find. He rolled his eyes when—inevitably—it came time for him to help her balance it up the steps.

“I’m glad you decided to stay,” Sakumo said, his gaze drifting toward the children, a smile tugging on his lips. “She’ll need you here.”

“It’s only temporary,” Rieko replied, her voice tight.

Sakumo sighed. “Well, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I owe you as much, and neighbors should look out for each other.”

Rieko inclined her head. “Thank you. We’ll keep that in mind.”

Just as the sun was setting, the last of the boxes were finally moved inside. Sakumo had given the grass a quick shave with his blade, and despite Kakashi’s many attempts at convincing him to let him try, he completed the work on his own. Soon, they could finally see the house in all its shoddy glory. Heiwa stood on the porch, basking in the last rays of the sunset.

Sure, it wasn’t exactly what she’d imagined, but she was still glad to be here. Hopefully, her aunt would agree to tell her a bit about her own shinobi experience. There was only so much you could learn from books. Seeing real, living shinobi leaping from rooftop to rooftop had practically given her whiplash. She was worried she was already behind everyone. The other kids had all grown up in the village. They probably knew all about the customs and the ninja basics by now.

Her gaze drifted to Kakashi, who was leaning against the fence with his arms crossed.

Physically, he looked so much like his dad, at least from what she could actually see of his face. But his demeanor couldn’t have been more different. Where Sakumo was all wide smiles and easy charm, Kakashi was tight-lipped and quiet, with the air of someone who’d already decided most things weren’t worth his time.

She had a feeling he was hiding a sour expression behind that mask. He had been the only person she’d seen wearing one. From what she’d read on ninja attire, it wasn’t exactly standard issue unless you were part of some special unit.

Maybe he wore it to seem more mysterious.

If so… it was definitely working.

“Hey, maybe you can show me around the village sometime?” she asked casually, clasping her hands behind her back.

Kakashi didn't look at her. “Maybe,” he said.

Heiwa smirked. 

As Rieko called her inside, Heiwa waved goodbye to Kakashi before heading in.

She had a home now, a scary aunt, and mildly friendly neighbours.

What more could she possibly ask for?

Chapter Text

Heiwa adjusted the strap of her satchel as she trailed behind Rieko. Her bag was too big for her frame, and the worn leather strap kept slipping off her shoulder. Her mother had gifted it to her before she left for Konoha. It was the same bag she had used when she was a student years ago. She felt pride in being able to carry it herself now, though she hoped she would soon grow taller so it wouldn’t bump against her thighs as much.

Rieko walked briskly, barely checking to see if she could keep up. Heiwa noticed several parents walking along the street with their children in tow, probably heading to the same place they were going. The day she had waited so long for was finally here, the entrance exam for the Academy. She hadn’t slept at all last night, and the few bites of breakfast she’d managed to eat churned uneasily in her stomach.

They moved deeper into the inner city and the sound of voices grew louder as the gates of the Academy came into view ahead. Beyond them, the courtyard buzzed with energy despite the early hour. Children darted between their parents, shouting to friends and chasing each other through the crowd. Parents barked instructions over one another, trying to give last-minute advice.

She craned her neck, trying to take everything in. Back at the teahouse, everything had been quiet and orderly, cups stacked just so, tatami mats brushed clean, every motion practiced and precise. There, silence had been sacred. Here, it was nowhere to be found. If anything, it felt more like a summer festival than a school. Still, it sent a thrill through her chest, the energy in the air flooding her with nervous glee.

“So, this is where I’ll be studying?” she asked, glancing sideways at her aunt.

“If you pass the entrance exam,” Rieko replied flatly, eyeing the crowd. “I don’t remember it being more than a formality though,” she said distantly.

Heiwa gave a nervous nod and followed her toward the registration desk. Rieko came to an abrupt halt, and Heiwa nearly bumped into her. Looking up, she saw Rieko glaring at a familiar mop of silver hair.

“What’s your kid doing here, Sakumo? He’s barely out of diapers, and you’re already shoving him into assassin training?” 

Sakumo chuckled, unfazed. “Kakashi just turned nine, and he’s been begging to enroll since he was four. I figured he’d be safer with an instructor than training alone.”

“I don’t need a teacher,” Kakashi muttered through his mask. “I can already throw shuriken just fine.”

Sakumo laughed louder. “Yes, rubber ones, of course.”

Kakashi narrowed his eyes. “I found the real ones in your mission gear bag.”

Rieko’s brow arched. “Where’s your wife?”

Sakumo’s smile faltered.

“Oh, you’ve been gone a while…” he replied quietly.

“My mom left us,” Kakashi cut in, his tone casual, almost bored, but Heiwa heard the faint crack in it.

Rieko’s expression softened slightly. “A shame, to forsake such a good family.” She cleared her throat, then added “Her loss, really. Well, good luck then, Kakashi.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and strode toward the Academy entrance. Heiwa lingered a second longer.

“Uh… see you in there, I guess,” she said, glancing at Kakashi, but he still avoided her gaze. “Goodbye, Sakumo,” she added before hurrying to catch up.

As she reached her aunt, she heard her mutter under her breath, “What a despicable woman. Abandoning such a wonderful boy.”

Heiwa nodded slowly. “Yes, Kakashi seems… sweet?”  

"What?” Rieko was jolted out of her thoughts. She was actually speaking of Sakumo, her former student, who she still viewed as a boy despite him being a grown man with a child now... As for Kakashi, she admitted that he looked wiser than he let on, but sweet wasn’t exactly the first word that came to her mind to describe him. Rieko glanced at Heiwa.

“Little Kakashi is a menace," she admitted. "But he loves and admires his dad very much. Not sure if he'll behave when his dad's not around though, I pity whatever sensei draws the short straw with him.” 

Heiwa chuckled.

At the registration desk, Heiwa gave her name, and a stone-faced ninja handed her a paper number to pin to the back of her shirt, like she was preparing for a marathon. Rieko checked her watch. “I should get going, I suppose.” She gave Heiwa an awkward pat on her shoulder. “I’ll see you at home when you’re done.”

By the time Heiwa stepped through the Academy’s front doors, her stomach was churning. She tugged at a fraying thread on her sleeve and moved hesitantly through the crowd. A man in a green jumpsuit was a few feet in front of her, delivering what looked like an overly heartfelt speech to his son, clad in a matching green spandex suit. The two embraced with such dramatic sobbing, it looked like a farewell before war. Heiwa tried not to stare.

She didn’t see the boy standing in her path until she walked straight into him. Something clattered to the floor.

“Ow—sorry!” she gasped, quickly bending to retrieve the orange goggles that had tumbled from his head.

“Oh, no worries,” the boy said, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish grin. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Me neither,” she admitted. “I’m Heiwa.” She handed him back his goggles.

“Obito,” he replied, flashing a grin. His black hair stuck out in every direction, and his navy blue outfit was scuffed at the knees. His ankles were taped, and he wore those open-toed sandals every ninja seemed to own. She envied the kids who looked like they had been born into this world.

“You're here for the exam?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, her nerves rekindling.

“First try?” he asked, puffing out his chest a little.

“…Yes?”

He seemed elated by her response. “Well, you’re in luck, I’m practically an expert. Third time’s the charm, right?” 

Heiwa blinked. “Third?”

“Don’t worry,” he added quickly. “This time, I’ve got it. Want some tips?”

She hesitated. Was this a trick to sabotage his competition. Rieko had told her ninjas could be ruthless. Although he seemed innocent enough, she probably shouldn't let her guard down so early.

“That’s nice of you, but my aunt already told me everything I need to know.”

Well, sort of. Rieko just said it was probably a joke compared to how it was back in her day, but still Heiwa doubted Obito’s advice would be of much help, considering he’d already failed twice.

Before he could respond, a group of older kids swaggered up, their eyes locked on Obito. They were in matching high-collared shirts (she still couldn't wrap her head around the fashion here). She felt Obito tense next to her.

“Well, well,” drawled the tallest of the three, a lanky teen with smug smile. “If it isn’t Uchiha’s dead last.”

His dark eyes slid to Heiwa. “And who’s this? Your girlfriend?”

The others burst out laughing, slapping each other’s shoulders like it was the best joke they’d ever heard. Heiwa held her breath. Stay under the radar. Focus. Don’t make a scene.

Obito’s cheeks burned red beneath his goggles. “She’s not my girlfriend, we just met!”

“Yeah,” one of the others sneered, “who’d want to date a loser like you anyway?”

Heiwa’s chest tightened as their laughter erupted again. The teahouse had its share of difficult customers, but insults were always masked with politeness and tight smiles. But these boys didn’t even try to hide it. They were loud, entitled, and rude.

And she hated rude people.

Her hands clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. This was a completely different world from the Ochaya. There, she’d always known what was expected of her. But here? She didn’t know the rules, and she didn’t want to sabotage her chances of finally getting close to her dream. Still, she knew she’d regret being a coward, standing by while Obito was humiliated.

She looked the tallest of the trio dead in the eye.

“I’d rather be friends with him than hang out with idiots like you,” she snapped.

The bullies narrowed their eyes. She suddenly noticed they were each at least a head taller than her.

The leader stepped forward, fists clenched.

“You’ve got a big mouth. Maybe I’ll shut it for you.”

Before he could act on his threat, a teacher appeared and the group scattered quickly, cursing under their breath.

Heiwa let out a shaky breath of relief and turned to Obito. He was still fuming, but his attention wasn’t on the bullies anymore.

Kakashi stood a short distance away, arms folded, watching them with an unreadable expression.

“You told the teacher?” Obito hissed.

“You were disrupting the exam,” Kakashi replied, voice cool. “It doesn’t matter. Only real candidates should be here.”

“A menace,” Heiwa muttered under her breath, as they were herded toward the exam room for the first test. She was glad the exam could finally start before another fight could erupt. They entered a standard-looking classroom. Once everyone was seated, the written portion of the exam began.

It quickly turned grueling.

Heiwa's brows knitted together as she stared at the same question for the third time. The content was far more advanced than she'd expected. She'd been homeschooled by her mother and had passed all her regional exams with excellent marks, but these questions? They made no sense. She could multiply and divide, basic stuff like that, but why were there letters in her math questions?

Then came history, which was somehow even worse. She had no idea who had started the First Shinobi War or how many toads some legendary ninja could summon. Seriously? Why was that even on the test?

Minutes dragged by. Her hand cramped, and faint sniffles echoed around the room. She glanced sideways. Obito had already finished and was now balancing precariously on the back legs of his chair, arms folded behind his head like he hadn’t a care in the world. She suddenly regretted not taking him up on his offer earlier.

Obito's eyes flicked to the teacher. The moment the instructor turned his back, Obito moved. In one swift motion, he swapped their papers.

She froze.

A sharp scoff sounded behind her. Her breath caught.

Obito stiffened, turning his head just slightly to glance behind him. His eyes widened in alarm.

“Eyes on your paper, Uchiha,” the teacher barked from the front.

Obito snapped back around—and then, to her horror and utter disbelief, he began scribbling answers on her exam. Her face went hot and sweat beaded at her temples. A moment later, the paper was swapped back again.

She dared a glance at him. Obito was back to balancing on his chair like nothing had happened, looking far too casual for someone who had just committed academic treason.

She looked down. There were faint pencil marks guiding her toward the correct answers. With shaking hands, she began correcting her sheet, carefully erasing every sign of his help.

I’m a horrible person. A cheater. But if she said something now, he’d get in trouble too. Why had he helped her in the first place? They’d just met. He had no reason to risk his future for someone like her.

“Time’s up! Bring your papers and proceed to the next room!”

***

Next was a physical test. They had ten minutes to run as many laps as possible around the field.

Running? Okay, I can do this, she thought. Between helping with gardening, waiting tables, and playing tag in her village, where she proudly held the title of fastest runner. Heiwa felt a bit more confident here.

Unfortunately, the other kids were absolute monsters.

Obito had already passed her twice, and Kakashi? He left a full-on dust cloud every time he zoomed by, which had Heiwa coughing and blinking sand out of her eyes. At least she wasn’t the worst. The boy in the green jumpsuit she’d seen earlier was struggling at the back, swaying with every step and looking about five seconds away from fainting. When the timer finally ran out, Heiwa was drenched in sweat, lungs burning.

The examiners gathered everyone again for the final leg of the test.

“Good luck!” Obito said as they all dispersed in the courtyard, following the teachers’ directions. He held up a hand for a high five.

“Thank you for—” she began.

“Shhh,” he cut in with a grin, still holding up his palm.

She slapped it lightly—then immediately recoiled.

Ugh. What was that?? A sticky, unidentifiable substance clung to her skin.

She gave him a bewildered glare. He just grinned wider, flashing a toothy, too-innocent smile.

“What…?” she muttered in disbelief.

She wiped her palm on her shorts, but whatever it was didn’t budge. It was the kind of gunk that would take actual soap and scrubbing to get off.

She shot daggers at Obito’s back as she made her way to her place in the courtyard.

***

“Now,” the examiner said, holding up a leaf, “you must each concentrate and channel your chakra to make this leaf stick to your hand.”

What kind of nonsense is this? She stared around in disbelief, but the other kids were already dead serious, focused intently on the leaf in front of them. Heiwa had only read about chakra control in books. She’d never even attempted it. How am I supposed to do this now?

“Begin!”

Some students immediately pressed the leaves to their palms, closing their eyes with practiced calm. After a few minutes, some began flipping their hands to test whether the leaf would stick. If it stayed for two full seconds, they passed.

But no matter how hard she begged the leaf to stay, it slid off the moment she tilted her hand. This is impossible, she thought, watching leaf after leaf betray her.

Around her, the sounds of quiet celebration grew, murmurs of approval and the shuffle of students moving on.

Then… she remembered the mysterious goo still clinging to her palm.

He didn’t. He wouldn’t... would he?

“Pass! Uchiha Obito, congratulations!”

Her mouth dropped open as she watched him stroll toward the exit, flashing her a peace sign like he hadn’t just scammed his way into the Academy, on his third attempt, no less.

She stared down at her leaf. Her shirt was soaked with sweat.

What if I fail? Will Aunt Rieko send me back?

What would my mother say? She’d be relieved to see me, but I’d be proving her right. That I’m not cut out for this.

She clasped her hands around the leaf, eyes squeezed shut in fake concentration.

One eye cracked open, she spotted an evaluator walking her way.

“There!” she yelped, quickly turning her hand over and holding it steady just long enough to make it look like the leaf was sticking through the sheer force of her chakra prowess.

The evaluator squinted.

“Heiwa Senju, pass.”

Chapter Text

Rieko should’ve reached the Hokage Tower hours ago, but she lingered around the Academy grounds long after Heiwa had gone inside. She should’ve prepared the girl better, but a part of her had hoped Heiwa wouldn't make it. Not yet. She could try again next year, or the year after that. Sometimes kids as old as 13 made it in, although it was more an exception than the norm. The truth was, the younger they were, the easier it was to mold them. The village wanted shinobi who were skilled, obedient, and, when necessary, expendable.

The sun stood high overhead by the time she finally reached the foot of the Hokage Tower. The entrance exams would have already begun. She tried to ignore the guilty feeling seeping into her. The inside of the circular buiding was just like in her memories, despite it being years since she had last stepped foot in. Hiruzen had never let her forget her departure. He’d spent years trying to pull her back into the village. Now, at last, he had succeeded.

If she wanted Heiwa to have a real chance at growing here, she’d have to play along, at least for now. But she hadn’t realized how dire things had become. There was talk that the Village Hidden in the Mist had been sending assassins into neighbouring nations. Alliances were already forming around the continent, and Konoha was standing precariously at the edge of another war, when the scars from the last one hadn’t even finished healing.

She pushed the door open and stepped into Hiruzen’s office. She kept her guard up, he’d tricked her once, he could do it again. But really, it was her other former teammate she had to watch out for.

Rieko inclined her head. “Hokage-sama,” she said, voice clipped. Her gaze shifted to the man standing stiffly at the other side of the room. He hadn't changed. Same rigid posture, same sour expression, and still too much of a coward to meet her eyes.

“Rieko,” Hiruzen said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. “Thank you for coming despite your busy schedule,” he said with a hint of sarcasm “Please, sit.” She did, although her body remained tense.

The other man, Danzo Shimura, remained standing, hands clasped behind his back, his cold, calculating eyes now fixed to the back of her head.

“I know the circumstances are less than ideal,” Hiruzen began. “But I hope you understand how essential you still are to the village.”

“Skip the pleasantries, Hiruzen. We both know the only reason I’m here is because you used underhanded tactics to drag me back.”

Hiruzen had always been someone eager to do the right thing, at any cost. Even if it meant breaking promises, or killing someone innocent. As long as it was for the greater good, he would justify it, no matter how painful it was for him. After all, the Hokage couldn’t show any weakness, or let his emotions get in the way. The ninja way was the only way. You either conformed or died, that she knew all too well.

She drew a breath. “The village is in a fragile place right now. So, I’ll put our differences aside and do what I can. But this is the last time you threaten me or my family,” she said in a hard voice.

Hiruzen nodded. “Thank you, Rieko.” He leaned forward and clasped his hand on his desk. “I’ll get straight to the point. Rieko, your experience and insight are invaluable, and it’s time we brought fresh perspective to the council. Effective immediately, you’re appointed as a senior council member.”

Rieko arched an eyebrow, “Just like that?” she asked skeptically. “Appointing an old friend without discussion? I’m sure no one will cry favoritism.”

Hiruzen’s smile faltered slightly.

“If you find the arrangement disagreeable, you’re free to leave,” Danzo cut in.

Rieko’s eyes narrowed as she turned to him. “Oh, I’d hate to disappoint you, Danzo. I’m staying. Someone has to keep you in check.”

Danzo’s frown deepened, his grip tightening behind his back. “Your flippancy hasn’t changed. Just like when we were still young, always quick with a sharp tongue and little else.”

“And you’re still as self-righteous as ever,” she shot back.

“Enough,” Hiruzen snapped. “If Tobirama-sensei were here, he’d have thrown both of you into the river by now.”

The mention of their late sensei brought them back and succeeded in tempering their hostility, for now. Rieko folded her arms and leaned back slightly in her chair.

“Look, appointing me without considering others will cause problems. You need new blood. Preferably someone younger, and outside of your circle.”

She’d seen it clearly already despite only being back for a short time. Hiruzen surrounded himself with people who rarely challenged him. That was why things were crumbling. As for Danzo, he didn’t serve Konoha, only his own ambitions.

“I have two other people in mind,” Hiruzen said. “Koharu and Homura. They are both loyal citizens who’ve proven themselves.”

Rieko rolled her eyes. “Koharu and Homura? They'd have us govern like it's still the Warring States era. And they won’t be the ones to challenge any of your opinions, Hiruzen. If you don’t change the methods, the results will stay the same.”

Danzo put his hand on the desk, leaning forward so that he loomed over her. “This is a critical time for Konoha. We can’t just let anyone influence the inner workings of the village, it could lead us to our downfall.”

Rieko turned her gaze back on him in defiance. He quipped his lip, as if he was entertained somehow by their exchange. It didn’t matter to him whether she was right or wrong, he would never willingly let her gain back any political power in the village. He would rather oppose her at every turn.

“Do you have someone in mind, Rieko?” Hiruzen asked. 

Rieko turned her attention back to him, but she hesitated. She had been gone too long, had not followed the careers of the young promising shinobis of her time. She thought of Sakumo or Tsunade, but appointing a clan head would most likely stir accusations of favoritism.

“No,” she said at last, jaw clenched. “But anyone Danzo opposes to is probably the right choice,” she gritted.

Danzo’s scowl deepened further, and Hiruzen suppressed a sigh. “Please think about it, Rieko, I’ll take your suggestion into account. For now, let’s focus on the tasks at hand. Konoha needs us working together.”

Rieko inclined her head. As the meeting dragged on and ninjas came in to give their mission reports, she felt incredibly useless. She didn’t recognize most of the names of the newer jonins, and she didn’t know much about the current foreign politics. All she could do was try to get under Danzo’s skin as much as possible. His arrogance was suffocating, and the way Hiruzen indulged him was even worse.

What she had feared would happen was now plain to see, Danzo had finally gotten his hand on the reins. Hiruzen might still hold the title, but it was Danzo’s voice that shaped the village’s policies. What was most troubling was that no one in that room dared to call him out. No one but her.

***

As she descended the stone steps outside the tower, she heard footsteps behind her. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Rieko,” Danzo called.

She slowed but didn’t stop.

“What is it, Danzo? Come to offer me another opportunity to leave?” she drawled.

“I wanted to talk,” he said. “Somewhere private.”

She stopped and turned, squinting her eyes. “I don’t recall having anything to discuss with you.”

“It’s important,” he insisted.

She clenched her jaw, then exhaled and gestured to a quiet corner.

“Say what you need to say,” she muttered, crossing her arms.

His gaze hardened on her. “You think I’m happy to see you back?”

She gave a humorless laugh. “I’m sure you’re thrilled.”

“This isn’t a game,” he growled. “You abandoned your duties. Left without a word. And now you come back and undermine everything I have built while you were gone? Do you expect everyone to welcome you with open arms?”

“I didn’t come back looking for a welcome,” she said defensively, locking her eyes on him. “I came back because someone needs to fix this mess.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “You may still have Hiruzen's favor, but don’t think I’ll let you compromise everything I’ve worked for.”

She stepped in close, her voice low. “What you’ve worked for? Konoha isn’t yours, Danzo. It never was.”

His face darkened, and Rieko held his stare. After a moment, he stepped back.

“Stay out of my way, Rieko,” he warned. “You’ve been gone too long to understand what’s at stake.”

“Hiruzen might let you get away with everything, but I won’t,” she spat. She turned and walked away, leaving him cowering amongst shadows, fists clenched at his sides.

***

Heiwa’s steps were heavy, dragging, and her shoulders slumped. Kakashi had long since reached his own house, in a brisk walk ahead of her. He didn’t seem the least bit tired from the day, and she had no doubt he had passed with flying colours, without the need for any underhanded tricks. His house was quiet as she passed it. She wondered if Sakumo was there, waiting to congratulate his son on his success. Rieko, on the other hand, would probably be furious at her. She hadn’t gotten in because of her own abilities, and she certainly didn’t deserve to join the Academy. It was clear she wasn’t cut out for it.

She finally reached the end of her street and got up the steps to her small house. It was quiet inside when she pushed open the door, the warm scent of tea lingering in the air.

Rieko looked up from her seat by the low table, a book resting open in her lap. “You’re late,” she said, matter-of-fact. “I expected you back 20 minutes ago.”

Heiwa dropped her satchel wordlessly by the door and stepped into the room. She opened her mouth to speak but instead gave a strangled sound and buried her face in her hands. The tears came suddenly, despite her best efforts to keep them from spilling out.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out between sobs. “I’m really sorry, Aunt Rieko—I didn’t mean to mess it up—I tried, I really did—”

Rieko blinked, frozen. Of all the possible outcomes, this hadn't even made the list.

“What?” Rieko said, eyes wide.

Heiwa sniffled louder, her shoulders shaking. Having grown up outside the village, in a city filled with civilians, she wasn’t used to the grueling way the village treated its children. Life at the teahouse came with responsibilities, sure, but it also offered rewards and care. She’d never felt pressured or out of her depth; there was always someone ready to help if she needed it.

Rieko couldn’t understand. She’d never been afforded the luxury of giving in to her emotions. She kept everything bottled up, because she had to keep going, there was no other choice.

Rieko stood, looking at Heiwa helplessly. How was she supposed to find the right words to comfort her?
What would Yumiko say to her daughter? Her sister had always been softer, more grounded, than Rieko ever was. Maybe that’s why she’d chosen to leave so much earlier than Rieko had.

Rieko shifted a little closer to Heiwa. “Listen, it’s not a bad thing that you failed. On the contrary, it just means you’ll have more time to practice, and you can try again in a couple of years.”

If anything, Heiwa’s tears only grew more intense.

Rieko panicked. She inched closer and placed a hesitant hand on her niece’s shoulder, unsure if the gesture would help or make things worse.

“I—I didn’t fail,” Heiwa hiccuped between her sobs. “I cheated—kind of—and the leaf wouldn’t stick and I—Obito—he—” Her words crumbled again as she rubbed furiously at her face.

Rieko let out a slow breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “This village,” she muttered.

She looked at her niece and furrowed her brows. She had done this to her, by allowing her to take the test, despite knowing she wasn’t ready yet. She had set her niece up to fail. How could she have been this cruel?

Rieko put her arms around her niece, she felt so small in her arms. Her shoulders were still trembling, and she held her closer to her chest.

“You’re just a kid,” she said softly. “They shouldn’t be putting so much pressure on you.”

Heiwa hiccupped. “You’re not mad?”

“Oh, trust me I’m furious,” Rieko said, with a small smile. “But not at you. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Hiruzen tomorrow.” Heiwa blinked up at her, eyes red and puffy.

“You’re children,” Rieko said again, more to herself now. “The Academy is supposed to be a place to learn and grow, not something that puts you under so much stress.”

She took her hand and guided Heiwa to sit. She poured her a cup of tea and sat beside her with a sigh.

“You did your best,” Rieko said, “That’s enough for today.”

Heiwa just nodded and stared at her cup of tea. She wouldn’t be going back to the Ochaya just yet, she still had a chance to make her aunt proud. And for the first time, it seemed Rieko wanted her to be here too.

***

The morning after, barely past sunrise, Rieko barged into the Hokage's office without even bothering to knock. The guards let her in without a word, perks of being part of the inner circle now. Hiruzen looked up from the scroll he was reading and sighed. He had been expecting her.

“What were you thinking,” Rieko demanded without preamble. “Shes just a child. Reduced to tears over your stupid exam.” Hiruzen set his scroll aside and invited her to sit, but Rieko seemed too pumped to do anything but pace around his office in a fury.

“She passed, didn’t she?” he said, the faint curl of smoke rising as he drew on his pipe.

“At what cost,” Rieko snapped. “Have you seen what they’re putting these kids through? Half of them are still waiting for their baby teeth to fall, and you’re handing them chakra control exercises and combat tests like they’re getting ready for war.”

Danzo was standing near the window with his usual rigid stance. She hadn't even bothered acknowledging him.

“This is the shinobi life, Rieko," Danzo said, his tone clipped and cold. "If they’re not ready now, they never will be.”

“Oh, go chew on a rusty kunai,” she retorted, not deigning to glance at him. “I’m talking to the Hokage.”

She set her gaze on her old comrade, the one she used to train with, fight beside, and count on in life-or-death situations. “Hiruzen, I want you to set a minimum age limit for Academy applicants."

Hiruzen raised an eyebrow at her, surprised.

She added more forcefully, "Children need time to grow, not just train." She glanced at Danzo, her lips in a thin line, before turning back to Hiruzen. "And I want a mandatory three years of study before any child is even considered for active duty, including genin team assignments.”

Hiruzen sighed, rubbing his temples. “Rieko, you know this isn’t how it works. Changing the curriculum, the age limits—”

She cut him off, exasperated. “Yes, yes, you’ll have to convene the council, draft papers, prepare statements, do some more paperwork—” She waved a hand. “You’re the Hokage. If anyone can make this happen, it’s you.”

Danzo stepped toward Hiruzen. “She’s asking you to soften the village,” he said warningly. “We can’t afford to get weak, especially at a time like this,” he hissed.

She turned towards him sharply.

“You’re forgetting that what we’re mostly raising here is orphans,” Rieko shot back.

“Everything we fought for, all the people we lost," she closed her eyes. "It was all for them, is this how we reward them?” she added quietly.

Hiruzen wore a sorrowful expression. Danzo didn’t answer her.

“You know better than anyone how important the children of this village are to me, Rieko," Hiruzen said at last. "But this is a complicated matter, and we cannot change what was already approved during this year's entrance exams. It wouldn’t be fair to the kids who worked hard for this moment.”

Rieko folded her arms, having anticipated this.

“Fine. But no matter their potential, they should still be in school for at least three years, with no field assignments before that.”

There was a long pause while Hiruzen considered. Danzo was uncharacteristically silent, his grim expression fixed on Hiruzen.

Then, finally, Hiruzen gave a resigned nod.

“I’ll draft the new regulations. It’ll pass through council review by week’s end.”

Rieko’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

“However,” Hiruzen added, “this won’t affect current students. Those already admitted remain on course.”

“I suppose it would be hard to make the parents understand otherwise,” Rieko exhaled, still not entirely happy with the decision. Heiwa would still be enrolled in the Academy no matter what Rieko tried, but at least she wouldn’t be shipped off to conflict before she was ready.

As Hiruzen reached for the inkbrush and parchment, Danzo moved to the edge of the desk.

“Well,” he said smoothly, “I suppose you’ve gotten your way this time.”

Rieko narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like the way you just said that.”

Danzo offered a thin, unreadable smile.

“Well, it’s a good thing I took the initiative to meet with Fugaku Uchiha… He was eager to accept both his son’s and nephew’s invitation to join the Academy ahead of schedule.”

Hiruzen’s brush paused mid-stroke. Rieko’s expression darkened.

“You did what?” she hissed.

“Itachi and Shisui are prodigies. It would be a crime to keep them out when they’re clearly more than ready to enter.”

Rieko narrowed her eyes at him in warning.

“Leave them out of this, Danzo.”

Hiruzen finished signing the scroll and stamped it with the Hokage seal.

“It’s done. The new standards will soon be in place.” He glanced at his comrade. “You should have come to me first, Danzo. We could have discussed this.”

Danzo only smiled.

“I did what I had to do, for the good of the village.”

As the ink dried, Rieko turned for the door, her mind already racing.

He could still predict her moves so well, even after all these years. The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

Chapter Text

Despite what people might believe given her stoic personality, Rieko was terrible at managing a house. Dishes piled up every day, towels were left lying around until they started to smell, and her bedroom was almost impossible to walk into with all the clutter left on the floor. Heiwa had been raised in the complete opposite way. Her bed was neatly made every morning out of habit, and she was used to helping with small chores at the teahouse, like rinsing dishes or dusting shelves.

Heiwa was trying to adapt to this new way of living and didn’t want to bother her aunt too much. Rieko was always in a frenzy about something related to work. Heiwa didn’t envy her, working with the Hokage seemed like an exhausting job. She thought she’d much rather be out on a mission; the thrill of the action would be worth the risk any day.

Still, other than the cleanliness issue, everything seemed to be going well. The house was beginning to feel like home, with only a few minor repairs left—like the door that came off its hinges the moment Heiwa tried to open it.

Next, they both agreed the house needed a new coat of paint. Rieko and Heiwa argued a little over the colors. Heiwa wanted to try something new now that she lived in a house with wide windows and so much sunlight streaming in. The Ochaya had always been quiet and somewhat austere, with only a handful of narrow windows at the front and back of the house. Here, she could picture a rich green, or even a bold sunset orange, flooding the rooms with life. Rieko, with her usual practicality, suggested just painting everything with a neutral brown and calling it a day.

Sakumo and Kakashi came by to lend a hand with the painting. In the end, Rieko had agreed to let Heiwa handle the interior decor. Sakumo was impressed by his sensei’s new parental instincts, glad to see her beginning to indulge her niece a little.

Heiwa, meanwhile, was wide-eyed when Kakashi casually walked up the wall to reach the ceiling, leaving a trail of small footprints in the still-wet paint.

“Hey!” she gasped, dropping her brush. “You’re ruining it!”

Kakashi glanced down at her, unfazed. “I have to reach the ceiling if you want me to paint it.”

“That’s what ladders are for!” Heiwa retorted.

Kakashi shrugged. “Why bother, when I can just do this?” He strolled casually up the wall and onto the ceiling, hanging upside down with a stupid grin no doubt hidden behind his mask as he looked down at Heiwa.

Heiwa huffed, pointing in exasperation at the smeared wall. “Because now the ceiling has footprints, genius.”

Sakumo chuckled before plucking his son off the wall, ignoring Kakashi’s protests, and settling him on his shoulders instead. In the end, the ceiling was neatly painted, and Heiwa chose not to bother fixing the small trail of footprints left behind on the wall.

And that was how they ended up with bright green walls in the living and dining room. Even Rieko had to admit it didn’t look too bad, with the doors opening directly onto the porch and garden outside, the color seemed to spill into the greenery beyond. Most importantly, it seemed to make Heiwa happy. And for now, that was Rieko’s most important mission.

***

Rieko’s mind circled restlessly as she approached a part of the city she had avoided until now. The red-and-white fan loomed above the wide double doors of the Konoha Military Police headquarters. The building itself stretched broad across the street, though it rose only two stories high, its black-tiled roof catching the first slivers of morning light. She watched as police guards started coming out to start their morning patrol. They each wore a white arm band, marked with the red and white uchiwa fan, strapped tightly just above the left elbow.

Although impressive in size and entirely under Uchiha control, the police headquarters still felt like a sort of prison—one built by her own sensei all those years ago. Tobirama had always seen the clan as a potential threat, even after Madara’s death. Growing up, she had never understood her sensei’s mistrust. The Uchiha had fought beside them as loyally as any other clan. Still, Tobirama had always feared that one day they might undermine the Senju.

It hadn’t always been like this. The Uchiha once lived scattered across the village, but in her absence, they had drawn inward, settling in the shadow of the police headquarters and rarely mingling with other clans. Now, beyond the headquarters sprawled the immense Uchiha compound, a meticulously ordered district set apart from the rest of Konoha — a village within the village.

She had chosen to come early. Perhaps not the most courteous approach, but it meant most of the clan would still be asleep as she made her way through their streets. She had always felt a connection to the clan despite their painful history with the Senju. The way they seemed to be cursed by love and hate… It reminded her how easily she too had once succumbed to those same emotions.

The unease about just how deep the segregation had grown had been gnawing at her for a while. She had stayed away, convinced her presence would not be welcome. Still, even with little hope of swaying Fugaku, she had to try.

She climbed the steps slowly, thoughts turning over with each one. She had only met Fugaku once, when he was still a genin. Now, newly appointed clan head, he was no doubt eager to prove himself. To change his mind, she would have to frame it as a matter of the clan’s best interest: better to keep the younglings close than send them off to the Academy too soon.

She knocked, though she supposed it was pointless. Her arrival had no doubt already been reported by the Uchiha police posted all around the compound.

She was surprised when it wasn’t Fugaku who opened the door.

“Rieko-hime,” said a tall woman with short, dark hair, her bangs falling neatly across her brow. The title she used annoyed Rieko, but she let it slide.

“I apologize for the early hour,” Rieko said, voice clipped. “But I came to speak with the clan head about an important matter.”

The lady eyed her with a knowing look. “I’m afraid he is not home at the moment,” she replied.

Rieko tried not to let her annoyance show. It seemed like she wasn’t important enough to make Fugaku show up, instead he had tasked his wife with the disagreeable task of greeting her.

“A newly appointed clan head needs time to settle into his new responsibilities,” Rieko said tightly. “I’m sure he has many duties to attend to that take precedence.” Still, it seemed meeting with a council member wasn’t one of them, she muttered inwardly.

She settled her gaze back on the woman. Her delicate features didn’t quite match her poised stance. Her weight was shifted just so, ready to move at a moment’s notice — a clear sign of shinobi training. Yet the long dark kimono she wore was the kind meant for staying indoors, not for the battlefield.

“I don’t believe we have met before,” Rieko remarked.

“I am Mikoto, Fugaku’s wife.”

Her name did ring a bell. Uchiha Mikoto—yes, Rieko remembered her now. During an attack from Kirigakure, she had helped break several shinobi free from a powerful genjutsu. Her talent had saved countless lives, her skills widely respected across the village To see such a formidable kunoichi relegated to the role of housewife pained Rieko somehow.

“I wanted to speak with you about something concerning your son and nephew,” Rieko added.

Mikoto gave her a knowing glance, “Ah yes, the early admission to the academy.” She relaxed her stance a little. “Another council member already came to explain everything,” she said firmly, as though the matter were settled.

Rieko’s jaw tightened. “Then please let me trouble you with my version,” she insisted.

Mikoto gave her a tight smile, “In that case, I’d better make some tea. Please, come in.” She stepped aside, gesturing her inside.

The house was spotless—so much so that Rieko wondered if anyone truly lived there at all. It wasn’t large for the home of a clan head, but the walls were lined with many paintings.

“You must be a fan of art,” said Rieko absently as she let her gaze wander around the room.

Mikoto glanced up. “Yes. I took up painting during my pregnancy. It wasn’t easy at first, adjusting to a quieter life.”

Rieko stepped closer, studying the pieces. Most were familiar scenes from Konoha, though a few hinted at distant villages Mikoto must have visited during her career. Each was rendered with such delicate precision that not a single brushstroke seemed out of place.

Rieko took a seat at the table, listening to the faint hiss of water heating on the stove.

“I’ve only just come back, so I know I’ve missed a great deal. My goal is to have a positive influence on the village, and I’ve already had a hand in some of the new reforms.”

“So I’ve heard,” Mikoto replied evenly.

Rieko wasn’t one for circling around a point. “Look, I’m not sure the Academy is the right place for Itachi or Shisui right now. They’re still young, and it would not be far more valuable for them to keep honing their skills within their own clan before moving on to the team-based approach the Academy offers?”

Mikoto measured the tea with practiced ease, her back still to Rieko. “And yet your niece will be attending the Academy this year, won’t she? Wouldn’t you prefer to train her yourself if you felt it was the better path?”

Rieko’s brows drew together as Mikoto retrieved two cups from the cabinet and set them on the table between them.

“Maybe this is just a tactic,” Mikoto added, voice thoughtful. “A way for you to sideline our children while your niece thrives.”

Rieko let out a sharp breath. Diplomacy had never been her strength. She had usually left delicate missions to Hiruzen back in the day. In truth, she would have preferred dealing with Fugaku himself. At least he might have been the slightest bit intimidated by her. Mikoto, it seemed, was entirely immune.

“This isn’t about clan rivalries.” Rieko cut in. “I’m not here to advocate for only one child, but for all of them. The wars have already taken too much from all of us, we don’t need to keep fighting among ourselves too.”

Mikoto sat down in front of her, the water boiling away forgotten on the stove, her expression serious. “You must think we are being like this only for self-interest. Something people like to forget is that the Uchiha are the most populous clan in this village. And yet we are still kept apart from the village politics and treated like outsiders that can’t be trusted. ”

Mikoto closed her eyes for a second before continuing. “I know you believe you are doing the right thing, but trust me when I say I know what is best for the children under my care. They will still be under Uchiha protection even if they are trained under the village’s guidance.”

Rieko studied Mikoto, her dark eyes reflected something close to Rieko’s own emotions. “I see,” said Rieko.

Mikoto finally got up to turn off the heat and was about to pour water into the teapot when Rieko got up. “I don’t want to impose any longer than necessary. I should go.”

The empty teacups lay abandoned on the table as Mikoto walked her guest to the door.

“Rieko,” Mikoto called as they stepped outside. Rieko turned with a questioning look.

“I just wanted to say… I am glad you are back in the village.”

Rieko paused, searching her face for any trace of falsehood, but found none.

"I am glad we had the chance to speak, I can see the clan is in good hands. Tell your husband I send my regards."

Mikoto smiled. “Thank you, Rieko-sama.”

***

The wooden gate creaked faintly behind her as Rieko stepped out of the clan head’s house and back into the stillness of the Uchiha courtyard.

She stopped a couple feet away.

“So you were listening.”

Something shifted beneath the tree close to her, a small figure stepping into view.

Rieko crossed her arms, studying him. “Do you think you are ready?”

He gave a small nod. “Yes,” he said in the gentle, high-pitched voice of a child.

“Do you even understand this path you’re taking?” she pressed.

“I want to protect the village,” he replied evenly.

Her jaw tightened.

“Most of the kids don’t even make it past the entrance exam, and they’re years older than you.”

“I’m not most other kids.”

That drew a bitter chuckle from her. “No, I suppose not.”

He didn’t flinch under her gaze. There was no arrogance in him, no bravado. He looked like a child, yet nothing in his eyes reflected one.

“You remind me of someone,” she said at last. “He also wanted to protect the village, make his clan proud, and become Hokage someday. He was strong, fearless, willing to risk his life. But he died before his twelfth birthday. There was an explosion. Nothing left but ash. We couldn’t even recover his body.”

Itachi said nothing.

Rieko turned, taking a few steps before pausing again.

“If you’re going to wear that headband someday,” she said over her shoulder, “make sure you’re still a person under it.”

Chapter Text

Nothing feels quite as nerve-wracking and exhilarating as last-minute back-to-school shopping. It was the eve of the first day of school when Rieko suddenly remembered the Academy supply list she’d gotten in the mail a few days ago—and then promptly forgot about until now. In the late afternoon, she and Heiwa had made their way to the market square to get their hands on everything Heiwa needed for her first day at the Academy.

The Kunai Corner was their first stop. Heiwa had been amazed by their dedicated kids’ section. Although Rieko didn’t let her buy the pink shuriken, she relented on an iridescent kunai that caught Heiwa’s eye. Heiwa was finally able to get her hands on the ninja sandals she’d seen everyone in the village wear. Coincidentally, they were sold everywhere, from supermarkets to the odd barber shop.

There was still the issue that all of Heiwa’s kimonos dragged around her ankles—one kick and she’d be kissing dirt. Rieko quickly marched her to a chic little shop across the street. The lights were dim inside, and it smelled of old wood. Despite being quite small, the shop was stacked with rows upon rows of delicate kimonos and accessories like fans, hair clips, and dainty parasols. Some kimonos had a dramatic flair, such as the one with dark waves twirling across an indigo fabric. Many had floral patterns that reminded Heiwa of her mom’s clothes. She smiled, tentatively running her fingers over one adorned with pink carnations, her chest tightening as she could almost smell her mother’s perfume fluttering in the air. As she made her way towards the back, the designs became more daring. She found one that was particularly striking, with blood red clouds stitched upon a jet black fabric.

Rieko quickly skimmed the shop, the shopkeeper not offering to help, but simply following behind her until Rieko pointed to a cream-colored kimono dangling from the wall. The shopkeeper quickly perched atop her stool to retrieve it. Rieko inspected it a moment longer before handing it back and letting the shopkeeper usher Heiwa into the changing room.

Heiwa carefully adjusted the light linen fabric across her body. It was a lot shorter than she was used to, ending just above her knees. This was considered quite unusual in the Capital, but here it was the norm as it didn’t hinder movement as much. Still, to her, it looked way too fashionable for rolling around in the forest. Plus, the wide sleeves would probably snag on every branch in sight.

Her aunt was a walking contradiction—practical in every way except for her appearance. Rieko’s dark hair was always woven into a sleek braid that reached all the way down her back. Her crimson kimono hugged her figure, and her thin paper earrings swayed dramatically as she walked at her usual brisk pace. People turned to stare whenever they passed, and Heiwa had to fight the urge to vanish into the nearest alley.

She glanced at her reflection in the shop’s glass. She lacked her aunt’s grace and confidence, yet the white still lent her an air of elegance. It was something pure in an otherwise violent environment she was on the verge of entering. All she wanted was to belong, to fade into the crowd of other children instead of standing apart. It was a feeling Rieko would likely never understand.

When she stepped out of the changing room, her aunt was already speaking with the shopkeeper about adjusting the sleeves to end at her elbows. Heiwa felt resigned; she didn’t want to risk making Rieko angry or disappointed in her. Heiwa tried to point out that the color might get dirty quickly, but the shopkeeper assured them it wouldn’t be a problem, swearing by her special whitening detergent—two bottles of which Rieko promptly took.

Heiwa did get to choose the pants that would go underneath her new kimono. She was drawn to a deep cobalt blue that reminded her of the porcelain cups of the Ochaya. She also picked out a pouch belt, deep enough to hold both her weapons and plenty of snacks.

After finishing at the shop, Rieko insisted on taking everything home while Heiwa checked off the last item on the list: the papeterie. Heiwa wondered if her mom had told her aunt about her pen-collecting addiction… Otherwise, Rieko would’ve known better. You never left her unsupervised in a stationery shop.

After an hour, Heiwa finally made her way out of the shop carrying two full bags in her hands and a touch of guilt, although it was completely drowned out by her pure glee at the thought of all those pretty stickers she couldn’t wait to plaster everywhere.

“Oi! Heiwa!”

It took her a moment to realize someone had called her, still in a shopping-induced daze. She turned and spotted a familiar pair of orange goggles perched atop a boy’s forehead.

“Obito,” she murmured, half happy to see him, half still reeling at the memory of what had happened during the entrance exams.

“You look like you bought out the whole store,” he teased, eyeing the stack of bags in her arms. Heiwa hugged them closer to her chest.

“They had sales.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. There had been a promotion: a free keychain for every ten pens. Which meant she was now the owner of way too many keychains.

“Sales, huh?” Obito leaned down, squinting inside her bags. “And what are you going to need all those glitter pens for?”

“I can’t study my notes if they aren’t pretty,” she defended. “But that’s beside the point.”

She glanced around to make sure no Academy officials were nearby before stepping closer. Obito’s paper shopping bag protested as she squished it while leaning in. “I can’t believe you did that,” she whispered.

Obito tilted his head with an innocent expression. “What?” He wriggled his bag free from between them. “I needed some new pens too.” He lifted his money pouch and wiggled the small nine-tailed fox plushie dangling from it.

Heiwa’s lips thinned. It was the only one she hadn’t managed to get.

“You know what I’m talking about,” she muttered. But Obito only smiled wider, goggles sliding crookedly as he adjusted them. She sighed and let it go. Whatever had happened during the test... it was probably best left in the past. Even if it meant living with the fact that she had essentially cheated her way in.

For a while she’d let herself believe she was good enough. That all the years spent begging her mother to let her try had meant something. But now? It felt like a wake-up call. Maybe the Academy was not the place where she belonged after all.

Her gaze dropped as a sinking weight settled in her stomach.

“Do you think I even deserve to study at the Academy?” she asked quietly. “If it weren’t for your help, I never would’ve passed.”

Obito scoffed. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Heiwa looked at him again, her eyes wavering. He met them with a steady, almost stubborn, determination. Then, without asking, he plucked one of her bags from her hands. The sudden relief in her right arm startled her.

“Being a shinobi isn’t about being strong on your own,” he said firmly. He unclipped his keychain and pressed it into her palm. “It’s about being strong together.”

He rummaged through the bag he had just taken from her until he found the six-tailed slug she had gotten twice. He added it to his pouch with a grin.

“If you ask me, you’ve got everything it takes to be a strong ninja. And I’d be glad to have you on my team once I’m Hokage.”

Heiwa stared at him, bewildered. Once again, she was painfully aware of how kind Obito was, while she had been only worrying about herself. She stifled her tears, managing a genuine smile, her cheeks warm.

“Thank you, Obito. You didn’t have to.” She clipped the fox keychain onto her own pouch, the red metallic eyes of the fox blazing under the sun.

Tilting her head, she gave him a small, teasing smile. “And Hokage, huh? I didn’t know you were so ambitious.” 

Obito scratched the back of his head. “Well, why not? It’s a respected position, and this way I can protect the village. I’ll be the best Hokage Konoha’s ever seen, and I’ll make sure everyone helps each other out.”

It sounded nice. So nice she almost believed him. Realistically, though, she doubted either of them could ever become Hokage. To be Hokage, you had to look scary, smoke a pipe, and wear one of those weird hats.

“It’s a good thing I ran into you,” Obito exclaimed, “because it would’ve been a crime to not introduce you to one of Konoha’s most important traditions.”

Heiwa raised an eyebrow. “My aunt warned me not to let myself get roped into some—”

Obito waved his hand dismissively. “Pfft. If I listened to everything my grandma told me, I’d never leave the house! C’mon.”

He grabbed the other bag, leaving her empty handed, and before she could argue he was already skipping ahead. She sputtered and hurried after him.

“So, what’s this tradition, then?”

“Well, it’s simple. An Academy acceptance deserves a celebratory bowl of ramen!”

“Ramen? Really?” Not that Heiwa wasn’t a fan, but compared to the wild schemes she imagined Obito pulling, this was almost too normal. She jabbed a finger into his arm until he released the bag filled with precious notebooks back to her.

“Admit it,” she teased, “you just made that up.”

“Well…” He grinned. “Tradition has to start somewhere.”

The stand was warm and bustling, the air heavy with the savory smell of broth and grilled pork. They squeezed into the last two stools at the counter, elbows brushing as they ordered.

“We’re here for celebratory ramen!” Obito announced proudly.

The cook, apron tied tight and a headband marked with Ichiraku gleaming above his brows, smiled as he tossed vegetables into a wok. Heiwa’s eyes widened at the incredible smell.

“Wow. Sorry for doubting you, Obito,” she admitted. “This place really does look good.”

She was suddenly reminded of Jiraiya, the oddball ninja and his apprentice who had escorted her all the way to Konoha, and his claim that the village had the best ramen in the world. She hadn’t been entirely sure she could trust his advice. Not after they’d been kicked out of the onsen for the second time because of him. That had made for a very smelly rest of the journey.

“Wait till you taste it!” Obito grinned.

Their bowls arrived steaming. They said a quick itadakimasu and snapped their wooden chopsticks apart and dove in. The flavors mingled so perfectly on Heiwa’s tongue the rest of the world around her faded.

“I told him I’d handle it myself.” A strong voice made her snap back to reality. Both Obito and Heiwa paused mid-slurp. The voice came from a woman sitting a few stools over. She was hard to miss with her long fiery red hair. She was with another lady who had sleek, jet-black hair that was cut short.

“So I went straight to the old man and told him what I thought of the age policy,” the redhead continued. “He just smiled at me, like usual. But then, on my way out, I saw her walking into his office.”

There was a soft laugh. “Rieko-hime,” said the woman beside her. Heiwa perked up at the mention of her aunt.

“I didn’t even know she was back,” the redhead went on, lowering her voice. “And with a kid. What’s she doing dragging her niece into the village’s politics like that?”

Before Heiwa could even begin to feel slighted on account of her aunt, the woman’s voice boomed, “You two down there gonna keep eavesdropping, or are you joining the conversation already?” Obito nearly choked on his noodles.

“Wh-what?!” He coughed, sputtering, as Heiwa patted his back to make sure he wouldn’t drop face-first into his bowl. She turned to the two women with an apologetic smile. The one with sleek black hair and a neat tunic inclined her head politely.

“Please excuse my friend here. This is Kushina, and I’m Mikoto.” Kushina rolled her eyes, taking a big sip of her drink. Heiwa nodded, cheeks burning.

“Um… sorry. It’s just, I overheard you talking about my aunt…”

Kushina’s eyes widened as she turned back to Heiwa. “Wait, you’re the new Senju kiddo?”

“I’m Heiwa, and this is Obito,” she introduced quickly.

“Oh,” Mikoto said. Unlike Kushina she didn’t look surprised. Folding her hands in her lap, she added, “You’re Rieko-hime’s niece. It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

Heiwa blinked. “Rieko… hime?”

Obito leaned in. “You’ve never heard anyone call her that before?”

“No…” She frowned, glancing between them. “Is that like, a nickname?”

Mikoto’s smile deepened. “It’s more of a title, actually. Since she’s related to the First and Second Hokage, just as you are.”

Heiwa's breath hitched. She knew the First and Second Hokage were the founders of Konoha… but it seemed unbelievable that she was somehow related to them. That was basically like being Konoha royalty.

She thought back over the past week. It was true that people had been unusually polite since she arrived, but she’d just assumed that was normal village manners. Well… except for Kakashi. That gremlin had ruined her walls without a second thought.

Kushina chuckled and elbowed Mikoto lightly. “C’mon, no need to be all formal. Noble or not, she’s just a kid.”

Then, turning to Heiwa with a mischievous glint, she asked, “So, how did the Slug Princess and Little Viper react when they saw you?”

Heiwa blinked. “Slug… what?”

Kushina smirked. “You know. The tall, busty blonde on your mom’s side of the family.”

Heiwa’s eyes widened. “I thought it was just my aunt, I didn’t know I had more family in the village!”

A heavy silence settled and both women exchanged glances.

“What?” Heiwa fidgeted under their stares.

Mikoto cleared her throat delicately.

“So… your aunt never told you about the Senju Clan?”

Heiwa tilted her head. “Not really. I mean, I know they’re one of the clans, but my mom always said Konoha had lots of those.”

Obito winced like he’d bitten into a lemon. Mikoto looked pained. Kushina actually groaned and let her head drop on the counter with a bang.

“You’re joking, right?” Obito whispered in a high-pitched voice.

“I only just got here!” Heiwa protested. “How was I supposed to have time to catch up on all the different clans? There’s like almost 30 of them!”

Kushina slowly lifted her head, grinning like someone who’d just uncovered a very juicy secret. “Oh boy. You’re gonna love history class.”

***

The Hokage’s office was quiet, sunlight slanting through the windows and falling across the desk stacked with scrolls and papers. Hiruzen had been painstakingly working through them for the past five hours, with no end in sight.

Soft footsteps alerted him to a visitor. A moment later, Rieko darted inside, her familiar scowl in place.

“I went to visit the Uchiha,” she announced briskly.

Hiruzen didn’t look up right away. He set his pen down, secretly grateful for the excuse to take a break. Reaching for the teapot, he found the leftover tea lukewarm. He performed a warming jutsu before delicately pouring the now steaming liquid into two small cups. Rieko held her tongue, watching him work, and hoped his quiet mood meant he would listen this time now that they were alone.

“Fugaku wasn’t home,” Rieko continued impatiently. “So I spoke with Mikoto instead.”

Hiruzen set the teapot down gently. “And?”

“She said”—Rieko lifted her voice in a graceful imitation—“that despite Itachi’s age, he has enough determination and loyalty to match any older applicant.” She scoffed. “Honestly, does she think the Academy is a playground?”

Hiruzen hummed thoughtfully, folding his hands. “A mother knows when to protect her child… and when to push them to grow.”

Rieko’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying I’m wrong to want to protect the village’s children from their cruel fate for as long as possible?”

“Not at all,” Hiruzen replied with a placid smile. “I’m only pointing out that perhaps we should trust her judgment with her son, as you trust your own with your niece.”

“That’s not the same,” Rieko snapped. “Heiwa isn’t being paraded around as some symbol of clan supremacy. She’s not being molded into a legacy. She’s a child, and I want her to stay that way for as long as she can.”

“Are you sure this is still about Itachi and Shisui Uchiha?”

Hiruzen took a sip out of his cup. The tea had been sitting out too long and tasted bitter.

“I know it still bothers you, Hiruzen.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What does?”

“You think I’m only doing this to prove someone wrong.”

Hiruzen didn’t deny it.

“I’m trying to make things right,” she said, quieter now. “But I need time.”

She met his gaze, her familiar dark brown eyes boring into his. “I warned you about him,” she continued. “Why let Danzo bend the rules behind your back? You know of his ambition.”

“Because fighting every battle means losing the war,” Hiruzen replied evenly. “You win when it matters. And sometimes... you compromise.”

“You’re too forgiving,” she stepped back, her mouth twisted in displeasure. “One day it will be your downfall.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “But forgiveness builds trust. And trust, Rieko, is something this village is always short on.”

She studied him for a long moment. Her oldest friend. He had changed so much since accepting the position of Hokage. He had the look of a man who had accepted that things would never change.

“If Itachi cracks under the pressure,” she said, her face settling back into its familiar mask, “it’s on you.”

“He won’t,” Hiruzen replied without hesitation.

Rieko walked out of his office, her shoulders tight. She was tired of arguing with Hiruzen when it was clear he wasn’t willing to listen to her.

Fine, if Hiruzen had given up on this fight, she would have to play the game without him.

It was time to move another piece onto the board.

Chapter Text

Heiwa shut the door gently behind her. She was immediately greeted by the faint scent of incense still lingering in the air. After a short struggle with her laces, she finally managed to slip off her shoes (now she understood why everyone here wore sandals) and tucked her stuffed shopping bags into the entrance closet. Rieko would never think to open it, with all her own belongings scattered around the house, ready to be gathered haphazardly in a panicked hurry. The glow of the kitchen lanterns cast an orange hue over the green walls as Heiwa skirted silently past the empty table and made her way toward the living room. 

Rieko was seated at the kotatsu table, her legs disappearing beneath the warm blanket. Her brows were furrowed as she stared intently at a scroll. 

“You’re late,” Rieko said, not glancing up. 

“I stopped for ramen.” Heiwa tiptoed onto the rug and sat down across from her, happily tucking her legs beneath the warmth of the kotatsu. “Obito insisted, said it was tradition,” she added with a smile. 

That earned a small grunt of acknowledgment.

Heiwa bit the inside of her cheek. “I met your friends too.”

Rieko finally looked up, “I don’t have friends,” she retorted.

“I’m sure that’s not true. You don’t remember Kushina and Mikoto?” Heiwa asked with an innocent look.

Rieko stared back at her almost menacingly.

“I wasn’t sure about them at first, but they were really nice! Mikoto even offered to pay for our ramen. I made sure to refuse a few times before letting her treat us,” Heiwa added with a proud smile.

Rieko set her scroll down as Heiwa eagerly recounted the events of the ramen bar.

“They also told me more about the Senju Clan! I don’t know why Mom never mentioned that we’re related to the founders of the village!” she exclaimed.

“Kushina and her big mouth,” Rieko muttered under her breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me we had more family in the village?” Heiwa blurted out.

Rieko seemed to weigh her words for a moment. “I suppose I could have said something from the start. I just wanted you to get settled into the village first, before meeting the rest of the family,” she admitted, clearly less than enthused by the thought of a family reunion.

“But I don’t even know their names,” Heiwa pressed, a little hurt that her aunt had kept that from her for a whole week. She could have walked right past them on the street without even realizing! “Kushina mentioned something about a slug and a viper, do you know what she meant?”

Rieko tilted her head back against the couch, squeezing her eyes shut. “Stupid nicknames... Unfortunately, they tend to catch on quickly.” She glanced at her niece through half lids. “Beware of those.”

The corner of Heiwa’s mouth curved upward. “Do you have one?”

Rieko let out a dry laugh. “I made sure to squash it before it caught on, so no. Rieko-hime is plenty already.”

Heiwa hugged the pillow in her lap, twisting its fringe between her fingers. “So when can I meet them?”

Rieko’s expression soured. “I need to speak with them first, it’s been a while…”

Heiwa lowered her gaze to the rug, slightly disappointed. “So… how exactly are we related to the First and Second Hokage? My mom never really told me anything about it.”

Rieko’s expression softened a bit. “Your mom didn’t mean to hide it from you. I’m sure it just never came up at the right time. It’s not a particulary happy story.” 

Heiwa nodded as the soft breeze tousled her hair. Rieko turned her head to look through the open doors leading to the garden. The sun was nearly gone, leaving only a few streaks of pink across the sky. 

“Your grandmother, my mother, was their elder sister,” Rieko said, her voice breaking the silence.

Heiwa leaned forward, resting her forearms on the low table between them. “Wait… that means we’re directly related to the First and Second Hokage?”

“Yes, they are your grand-uncles. Unfortunately, my mother had a complicated relationship with her brothers,” she said carefully. “They were leaders, founders of the village. She was expected to smile, keep house, and raise children, while they got to carve their faces into stone.”

Heiwa sat still. She had seen the their faces carved high into the village mountain. They had seemed so otherworldly, like a godlike presence watching over Konoha.

“She resented them for it,” Rieko continued, her eyes drifting far away into nothing. “Said they cast her aside. So she raised her daughters to be stronger. She wanted us to surpass them and to prove we could lead too."

Rieko looked down at her lap. "Yumiko, your mom, she was younger than I was, but she realized the truth long before I did. She didn’t want to be a pawn in some decades-old family feud. So she left.”

“But why did you never visit us?” It was a question that had been on Heiwa's mind for a long time.

“I had to stay behind,” Rieko avoided her gaze. “I thought I could somehow fix everything, but I was wrong.”

“Did something happen that made you leave the village?”

“It’s late.” Heiwa could feel Rieko slowly closing off, her eyes refocusing on the room in front of her. “You should get some sleep.”

Heiwa opened her mouth but decided against speaking, afraid of pressing further. “Thank you for the story. Good night, Aunt Rieko.”

She stood slowly, casting one last glance toward her aunt before heading to her bedroom.

Alone in the living room, Rieko sat perfectly still, the scroll untouched in her hands, the words on the page left unread.

***

Hidden from the main street by leafy green trees, an old wooden estate stood at the center of the city. The house was built in a perfect square, encircling a luscious garden from all directions. Despite the property’s size, only three people currently lived inside its halls. From the quiet heart of the inner garden, you could look up and see Hashirama’s stern face carved in stone, forever watching his descendants.

This was where Tsugumi spent most of her time. She often trained from dawn until dusk along the dirt tracks near the small pond, hurling one shuriken after another, listening with satisfaction as they lodged deep into the wooden pillars of the house with sharp tacks. Occasionally, she also meditated atop the high rocks, always under the silent eyes of her grandfather.  

Sometimes, another figure appeared: the dark head of the only non-Senju to ever live inside the compound.

Shizune stood hesitantly on the porch, eyes scanning the garden, always wary of flying kunai.

“Tsugumi, food is ready,” she called.

Tsugumi opened one eye, irritated at being disturbed during her meditation.

“Leave it out here.”

Shizune hesitated, then relented.

“Alright… but please, come eat with us next time.”

Tsugumi shut her eyes again. Us. There was no “us” in this house. Her sister always ate alone in her room. Shizune sat on the tatami mats in the dining area, picking at the side dishes she had prepared, despite never being able to finish them all on her own.

Tsugumi might have felt guilty—if only she didn’t loathe Shizune’s presence so much. After all, Shizune was the one her sister had chosen to train: the last living reminder of her dead lover. Tsunade had decided to guide his last living relative instead of caring for her own sister.

Tsugumi inhaled deeply, trying to purge the bitterness clawing at her chest. She couldn’t let resentment consume her. If she wanted to surpass them all, she only needed focus—nothing else.

For as long as she remembered, she had been alone. Even before the war, her sister would spend most of her time with their brother. She was left on the sidelines as she watched them train together and come and go on their missions.

Their parents had died in the First War when she was just a baby. She had been a surprise child. Unplanned and unexpected. It always felt as though no one had known what to do with her.

Tsunade and Nawaki had been stuck with her then, but with all their duties, they had left her to the nursemaids much of the time.

“Tsugumi,” a voice croaked.

Her eyes snapped open. She couldn’t believe it at first. There stood Tsunade, her hair brushed for once, wrapped in her favorite green robes.

Tsugumi frowned.

“Where are you going?” she asked accusingly.

“I’m going to meet with Aunt Rieko.”

Her scowl deepened. “Why bother? It’s clear she doesn’t care about us.”

“Your cousin Heiwa will also start at the Academy tomorrow. I hope you can help her settle in.”

Tsugumi’s hands clenched into fists. “So now I’m supposed to babysit some weak little cousin? I have enough to manage on my own,” she spat.

Tsunade’s face tightened, her gaze sliding away.

“Tsugumi… I know it hasn’t been easy for you. I haven’t been there a lot to guide you. After Nawaki… and Dan—” her voice cracked.

Tsugumi leapt down from her rock. “You don’t have to worry about me,” She crossed her arms tighter. “I did what you asked. I waited until I was twelve to take the test. I will work hard at the Academy and I’ll become the greatest shinobi this village has ever seen.” 

Tsunade’s eyes softened, but she wasn’t looking at her little sister anymore; she was staring at a ghost. Was it Nawaki, at the age he had died? Or Dan, whose blood had stained her arms?  Everything had been taken from her. And yet Tsugumi remained. A child she could not allow to walk the same cursed path.

“Listen, Tsugumi,” Tsunade said quietly. “Being a ninja… it isn’t worth it.”

“Not that again,” she scoffed. “I’m a Senju. Of course I’ll become a shinobi. I’ll serve the clan and the village. Just like Grandpa, and Nawaki too.”

Tsunade’s voice broke into bitterness. “Do you really think Nawaki’s death was worth it? What did it change? The war went on. It will always go on. As long as shinobi exist, there will be only violence.”

Tears welled in her sister’s eyes, and Tsugumi recoiled in horror.

“How can you say that? You’re desecrating his memory!”

Tsunade’s head sank. Shizune rushed to her side, clutching her arm. Tsugumi gaze burned more.

“If you hate shinobi so much, why don’t you just leave the village,” she spat. “I don’t need you. I never have.”

Tsunade’s tears hit the dirt.

As she walked away, Tsugumi heard Shizune whisper, “She didn’t mean it.”

In the safety of her room, Tsugumi let her tears slash across her cheeks as she seethed. One day, she would prove them all wrong. She was not a mistake. She was not a burden to be brushed aside.

She was a Senju, and she would live up to that name.

Chapter Text

Heiwa came skidding barefoot across the wooden floor, jumping over a discarded umbrella in the genkan, before she swung the front door open.

“Hi!” She beamed at her neighbours.

“Good morning, Heiwa,” Sakumo greeted. Next to him, Kakashi stood silently, his expression as unbothered as ever. “Excited for the first day of classes?” Sakumo ventured.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be!?” Her voice came out in a shrill note, and Kakashi raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I remember how nervous I got on my first day,” Sakumo remarked, scratching his chin.

“Wait, really?” Heiwa whispered, her shoulders drooping slightly.

Sakumo crouched down in front of her, his reassuring smile alone succeeded in settling her nerves a little. “Don’t trust a ninja who’s never afraid of anything. That kind of fool doesn’t see danger until it’s too late.”

Heiwa’s mouth opened slightly before she nodded, her eyes wide as she stared at Sakumo.

Appearing from behind her, Rieko stepped in from the kitchen and set a pink lunch box next to Heiwa’s bag. “Right on time as always, Sakumo,” she greeted, then turned to her niece with an amused look. “Don’t forget that ninjas value their footwear,” she pointed out. Heiwa’s eyes dropped to her feet, and her cheeks flushed pink.

Rieko then fixed her piercing gaze on Kakashi. He couldn’t help but gulp.

“I trust that you’ll accompany Heiwa to school and walk her back home every day." Her voice carried an almost threatening edge.

Heiwa paused, her right leg still raised and her sandal dangling pitifully from her foot. “Hey! I don’t need him following me around,” she protested.

“Oh, trust me, this is just as much for Kakashi’s own good,” Sakumo added, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “This way, I can make sure he has to talk to someone at least once during the day.”

Kakashi rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, doing his best to ignore them. But when Rieko cleared her throat in a pointed warning, he let out a long (and unnecessary) sigh.

“I promise to look after her,” he said at last, his gaze locking with Rieko’s until a flicker of satisfaction passed through her eyes.

"Ugh, these just won’t stay on," Heiwa muttered in frustration.

“You need to adjust the straps,” Kakashi said deadpan as he stepped into the genkan. He bent down, and Heiwa stared, wide-eyed, as he deftly fixed her sandals with a few quick movements.

Soon enough, Kakashi was heading back outside, Heiwa jogging to catch up beside him. “See you tonight!” she called over her shoulder as they disappeared into the tall, swaying weeds of the front lawn.

Sakumo then turned to Rieko. Suddenly, he didn’t look so carefree anymore, and she noticed the shadows beneath his eyes betraying his exhaustion.

“Sensei, may I ask you for one last favor,” Sakumo said quietly.

“Please,” Rieko exhaled. “We both know I owe you plenty.”

The corner of his lip tilted up, but his expression turned serious once more. “Can you check on Kakashi while I’m gone?” he asked, glancing toward the street where he and Heiwa were still visible. “He can handle himself, but I don’t like the thought of him being alone for too long. I’m leaving on a mission soon, and this one might last a few weeks.” 

“He can stay with us,” she assured him. “Anytime you leave, just bring him here, I’ll watch over him.”

“Thank you, Sensei.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure how much Kakashi is going to like this…” he breathed.

She studied her former pupil for a moment longer, her chest tightening. “I know I’ve made mistakes in the past, but I’m starting to realize that coming back here wasn’t one of them,” she admitted. “You’re not on your own anymore, Sakumo.”

He met her eyes, and an old, weary weight seemed to lift from his shoulders.

***

Walking with Kakashi was less awkward than she had expected. The silence allowed her mind to wander, quietly planning for the day ahead. Her lips moved silently as she rehearsed how she would introduce herself, running through a few possible scenarios and how she might respond. She couldn’t help but worry about feeling out of place among the other kids, many of whom had already started their training at home, just like Kakashi who was already leaps ahead in skill.

“Stop worrying,” Kakashi’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“What?” she asked, shaking her head absentmindedly.

“Nothing much happens on the first day anyway,” he said, almost reluctantly. “Just teacher introductions and the Hokage’s speech. We probably won’t even start any actual coursework.”

“Oh, right. That’s… reassuring.” It did make the day sound less daunting, even if she wasn’t sure whether she liked the idea of seeing the Hokage again. If she was honest, he kind of scared her.

“Thanks,” she replied quietly.

Kakashi looked at her. “What for?”

Heiwa smiled and shook her head. “Never mind.”

The school soon came into view, rising above the trees. They passed through the red academy gates and stepped into the courtyard, where a quick glance at the bulletin board revealed their classroom assignation. Beside it, a list of first-year students caught Heiwa’s eye. She was surprised to count barely thirty names in total.

Inside their classroom, they were greeted by neat, leveled rows of desks, already occupied by a couple students chatting excitedly.  

“Heiwa, over here!”

She glanced over and spotted Obito in the middle row. She waved to him and turned to invite Kakashi to join them, but the space beside her was empty. Her eyes scanned the room for his familiar mop of grey hair, until she spotted him already seated in the last row, as far away from the other students as he could possibly get. Shaking her head in disappointment, she approached Obito, who was already sitting with two other kids.

“Obito, is this the friend you made during the exam?” asked the boy next to him. He had shaggy hair and looked strikingly similar to Obito, with the same big, wide dark-brown eyes and a mischievous grin. Beside him, almost too quiet to notice, sat another boy with the same dark eyes. Heiwa was surprised he had managed to pass the exams—he looked barely six years old.

“Oh right, Heiwa, these are my cousins. The stupid-looking one is Shisui—”

Obito barely finished before the aforementioned Shisui elbowed him hard, making Obito’s breath catch with a squeak.

“—and the cute one is Itachi,” Shisui finished for him.

If Itachi was annoyed by the description, he didn’t show it. He simply turned to her and inclined his head.

“Nice to meet you!” she blurted out. “I’m Heiwa. I’m new to the village, but I’ll work hard to catch up,” she added with a small bow.

Obito gave her a quizzical look as she straightened up. “Don’t tell me you rehearsed that introduction before coming here,” he deadpanned.

Heiwa’s cheeks turned pink, but this time it was Itachi who elbowed Obito. He let out an even louder squeak.

“Who’s the boy you came in with?” Shisui asked, unfazed by Obito’s squeals of pain.

“Oh, that’s Kakashi. He’s my neighbour,” she explained, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

Next to Shisui, Obito groaned. “Seriously? I was hoping I wouldn’t have to see his face again.”

Heiwa raised an eyebrow. “What happened between you two? You didn’t seem very friendly during the exam either…”

Shisui grinned devilishly, opening his mouth—only to be silenced by Obito clapping a hand over it.

“Nothing happened,” Obito said quickly. “We’re totally friendly. Actually—”

He turned around and shouted across the classroom. “Hey Kakashi! Over here! We saved you a seat!”

Everyone turned to look toward the back, but Kakashi didn’t even bother glancing at Obito. Instead, he opened his book and planted it on his desk, shielding himself from view.

Obito shrugged. “Guess he prefers being alone.”

More kids began filing in, but she didn’t recognize any of them. They either rushed to their friends or stood nervously, trying to decide where to sit. At one point, Obito stood up abruptly, nearly knocking her over. She glared at him, but he was completely oblivious.

He was staring at a girl standing near the front of the class. She was very pretty, Heiwa thought, with delicate features and large, doe-like eyes. Her head swiveled nervously as she glanced across the room, her short brown hair following the movement as she bit her lip. Obito opened and closed his mouth like a fish, utterly struck.

Heiwa shot Shisui a questioning glance, and he smiled knowingly.

“Hey, you, over here! There’s a spot next to us!” Shisui called.

The girl pointed to herself with a questioning look before walking over. Obito sat down abruptly, staring at Shisui in disbelief.

“Hi, I’m Rin,” she said with a warm smile.

Obito sat there, mouth hanging open pathetically.

Heiwa kicked his shin under the table.

“I think I’m in love,” he blurted out. Heiwa stared at him in horror and Rin looked stricken, taking a small step back.

"Yes! He's very much in love!” Shisui lunged forward, grabbing the half-squished rice ball on Obito’s desk. “With this!”

“With his rice ball... ?” Rin asked uncertainly.

“You can have it—” Obito started, but Heiwa cut him off quickly.

“Here, take the seat beside me,” she said, gesturing. Rin gratefully sat down, her eyes never leaving Obito’s breakfast, now crumbled all over the desk thanks to Shisui.

The last students trickled in, quickly taking their seats, as various officials filed into the room. Someone placed a podium and a lectern in the center of the space. No doubt the Hokage would appear soon, much to Heiwa’s dread. She turned to check on Kakashi. He was still seated alone, talking to no one. She furrowed her brows. Maybe Sakumo’s words held more truth than she had realized.

***

After an inspiring speech, the Hokage left them in the care of the Head of Education, who droned on about last-minute curriculum changes forced by the new Academy reform. Heiwa wanted to crawl under her desk, silently praying that he didn’t realize she was related to the source of his despair.

Rin leaned over. “I didn’t think the first day would be so ordinary.”

“I’m just glad they’re not asking us to do a demonstration of our Leaf chakra control,” Heiwa murmured.

Rin giggled, and they both turned their attention back to the front.

Finally, the man patted his forehead with a small handkerchief and announced that the new teaching staff needed to be reshuffled and would be revealed soon. Fortunately, they had managed to find them a homeroom teacher just in time.

Heiwa glanced as another man walked in, a senbon glinting between his teeth. He was noticeably limping, like his left leg was a dead weight he had to drag around. He still climbed the steps with surprising speed despite his handicap. She heard a few murmurs rise above the class.

“All right, brats, listen up,” he called. “My name’s Genma Shiranui. You can call me Sensei.” His gaze swept across the room, and the chatter died instantly.

“Now, let’s make this simple,” he drawled, tapping his fingers on the metal lectern. “You give me trouble, and I’ll have you running laps until your legs turn to mush.” Ting, ting, ting—the sound of his tapping was the only thing cutting through the suddenly silent room. Genma-sensei gave them something close to a wicked grin. “You’ll hate it. You’ll think I’m a sadist.” Ting. “But one day you’ll realize I’m doing you a favor.” Ting—he spat his senbon from his mouth; in a flash, it landed precisely on the board at the back of the classroom, just above Kakashi’s head.

A few kids exchanged nervous glances. Genma picked up a clipboard with his right hand.

“I’m glad that’s out of the way. Never been a fan of introductions,” he said, flipping the pages with his thumb.

A muffled snicker broke the silence. Of course, it was Obito.

Genma’s gaze snapped to him. In an instant—faster than Heiwa thought possible for someone who limped—he had crossed the room and slammed his clipboard onto Obito’s desk with a loud thud.

Obito jumped in his seat, his bravado shriveling. Heiwa sank lower, already regretting ever befriending him.Genma leaned in just enough to make the boy sweat, a new senbon twitching lazily between his teeth.

“Look, I’ll be straight with you,” he said, his voice low but carrying across the room. “I don’t like babysitting. But the Hokage thinks you lot are worth training, so here I am.”

He pushed off Obito’s desk and walked back to the front of the classroom. She couldn’t believe this was her new sensei—the one supposed to miraculously turn her into some prodigy ninja.

“…Cool,” he nodded once, the senbon twitching again between his teeth. “Now, let’s get started.”

Chapter Text

It was an unremarkable sunny afternoon in Konoha when Rieko made her way to a small dango shop. It was tucked into a quiet corner of the Civilian District — the kind of place you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it. Slight anticipation stirred in her as she pushed the door open. She was welcomed by the soft chime of a bell. The air was warm and sweet, carrying the scent of honey and vanilla, while the silence was broken only by the low hum of a refrigerator. 

The walls were still peeling in uneven patches, the elderly owners long having given up on appearances. After all, only those who remembered the shop’s former glory still bothered to come, knowing that the quality of its food and drinks had never declined over the years.

Rieko had spent many evenings here with her teammates back in the day, often after long missions. They would stop by for Hiruzen’s sweet tooth, but she and Danzo had always found comfort in the exceptional tea blends the owner had spent years perfecting.

Only one of the two tables squeezed into the tiny dining room was currently occupied. Rieko froze when her gaze landed on Danzo.

“What happened to you,” she breathed.

Danzo’s lone eye slowly looked up at her.

“I was on a diplomatic mission in Ame, when I got hit by a squad of Hanzo's ninjas. The two guards with me didn’t make it, and I was left with this,” he replied bitterly.

Rieko’s gaze lingered on the bandages covering half of his face.

“What about your eye?” Rieko asked.

“Unsalvageable, Tsunade said.”

Something inside her twisted painfully. Despite all that she harbored against him, she didn’t find any satisfaction in seeing her former teammate get hurt. 

“I see,” she murmured, sliding into the seat across from him.

Hiruzen looked distant. His plate of dango, normally gone in seconds, remained untouched before him.

“Amegakure suffered immensely during the war,” Rieko murmured thoughtfully. “The whole country is still unstable, and criminality has been rampant for years now." She looked back at Danzo. "How can you be sure it’s really an attack orchestrated by Hanzo?” 

“I know a calculated attack when I see one, Rieko,” he retorted. “It’s only a matter of time before they strike the leaf again. We must respond swiftly.”

She tilted her head slightly, resting a hand on her neck. “What do you think, Hiruzen?” 

Hiruzen reluctantly lifted his head, as if forced to join the conversation. 

“We’re not ready yet,” he admitted. “The village is too unstable right now. An all out war is the last thing we need.”

Danzo clenched his only visible fist. The other arm, smothered in bandages, laid stiffly across his chest.

“You want us to do nothing in the face of a truce violation?” Danzo asked, his eyes narrowing.

“For now, at least,” Hiruzen said firmly.

The tension in Rieko’s shoulders eased a bit. Danzo retreated in his seat, though fury still etched his features.

“I should have known you’d side with your own student despite his treachery,” he muttered. “Should we all abandon our duties like he did and pledge allegiance to the Hidden Rain?”

Rieko turned to Hiruzen in confusion. “Has Orochimaru deserted the village?” 

Hiruzen let out a long sigh. “No, this isn’t about him.” 

Still, Rieko's arched brow demanded an explanation.

“Jiraiya found a couple of starving orphans in Ame and has been helping them until they can rebuild," explained Hiruzen. "He agreed to come back briefly as a favor to me, to escort your niece to the village. He will be staying in Ame for now, to finish their training.”

Hiruzen pinned Danzo with his gaze. “It’s not an act of treason, Danzo. It’s compassion.”

Rieko leaned forward slightly. “I recognize his good heart, Hiruzen, but we’re in no position to give away one of our best ninjas to a neighbouring nation.” 

“For once, Rieko seems to understand,” said Danzo, almost mockingly. “If you can’t control your own student, Hiruzen, people will start questioning your authority.”

Hiruzen closed his eyes in quiet defeat. “If this is the council’s position, then I’ll side with your demands.” He opened his eyes again. “Rieko, you’ll be in charge of this issue.”

"Of course," she replied evenly.

“Don’t be foolish, Hiruzen,” Danzo cut in. “I already have intel in Amegakure, you should let me handle this.”

“Aren’t you still on mandatory rest while your injury heals?” Rieko pointed out. “We can’t have you back on missions until Tsunade clears you for duty.” 

Danzo couldn’t mask his anger as the situation slipped further from his control. Across from him, Hiruzen finally took a bite of his dango. As he savored the sweet rice, his shoulders eased and the tension in his face softened. It had been Rieko’s trick to help him unwind after a stressful mission — the sweet treats had always worked wonders on him.

“Is that why you brought us to this place, Rieko?” said Danzo, finally catching on. “To get Hiruzen to side with you like in the old days.”

Rieko pressed her lips together to hold back a smile. 

“There’s something important I wanted to discuss,” she stated. "Per the Hokage’s request, I’ve selected a new council member.”

Hiruzen’s mood perked up. “Has someone finally managed to meet your impossible standards, Rieko?”

“I’ll have you know I always keep an open mind,” she insisted. She glanced at the clock overhead. “If anything, you’re the ones who’ll need to widen your horizons. She should be here any second now.”

Just then, the shop bell rang behind her. Rieko watched as Danzo’s face twisted from irritation to disbelief.

“Was this your brilliant idea, Rieko?” he sneered. “Bringing a housewife in Konoha’s leadership?”

“Danzo,” Hiruzen murmured, voice low. “Mind your manners.”

“This is a waste of time,” he snapped, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. “I’ll leave you to your tea party, Hiruzen.” Without a glance at the visitor, he strode out of the shop.

The bell echoed once more. Rieko leaned back in her chair.

“Please accept my apology on behalf of my teammate,” Hiruzen said as he rubbed his temples. “He can be abrasive at times. Please, take a seat.”

The young woman took Danzo’s empty chair while Hiruzen poured her a cup of tea.

“Lord Hokage, Rieko-hime, it’s an honor.” Her voice was soft and clear, betraying no hint of nervousness. “I wasn’t aware I was to meet with the council today.” Rieko ignored the accusatory glance cast in her direction.

“It must have slipped my mind,” Rieko offered.

Hiruzen frowned disapprovingly, "I'm afraid we weren't privy to Rieko's agenda either."

He turned to their guest. “Well, Mikoto Uchiha, I am glad to finally meet you formally.”

Mikoto straightened under the Hokage’s gaze. “You know who I am?” she asked, surprised.

Hiruzen let out a half-hearted laugh. “Oh, I make it a point to know all the important people in my village.”

Rieko’s fingers tapped on the table. “Now that the introductions are out of the way, why don’t we get straight to the matter at hand?”

Hiruzen looked nearly exasperated. “Can’t we enjoy a bit of casual conversation for once?” 

Rieko slowly pushed another plate of dango in front of him.

“Well then,” he relented, subtly grabbing the plate without looking at it. “Mikoto, what do you say about joining the Hokage Council?”

Mikoto froze for a moment, her hands clasped tightly beneath the table. “A… council seat?”

“Indeed, we’re reshuffling the council now that Rieko has returned,” Hiruzen said lightly, between two bites. “It’s crucial to ensure that a variety of viewpoints are expressed. I’ve heard you’ve dedicated yourself to several causes since retiring from active service.”

Mikoto nodded. “Yes, after Itachi’s birth, I had a lot of time on my hands. I mostly spent it doing volunteer work for the orphanages.”

“Having lived both the kunoichi and civilian sides of life makes you the perfect candidate,” Hiruzen noted.

“This is also your clan’s chance to show their loyalty to the village,” Rieko added.

“That’s not something they need to prove,” Hiruzen muttered.

“That’s where we disagree,” she replied, meeting his gaze. 

Hiruzen's jaw tightened, before he let the subject drop.

“This is a great honor,” Mikoto lowered her gaze. “But wouldn’t Fugaku be a better fit for the role?” 

Rieko rolled her eyes. “If I wanted to ask Fugaku, I would have seen to his presence from the start. Now, do you intend to give us an answer, or do you need your husband’s permission first?” 

Mikoto returned Rieko's challenge with a heated glare. “I see no reason why he would object,” she retorted. “If this is a genuine proposal, then I accept.”

“Good,” Hiruzen said, sounding relieved. He finally took the last piece of dango from his plate and smiled. “Well, welcome to the team, Mikoto.”

Rieko finally allowed herself to smile as well while taking a sip of her tea. Mikoto’s expression quickly morphed into one of exasperation.

“Must you always try to manipulate others into doing what you want?” she remarked. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to just ask?”

“This is politics, Mikoto. No one truly says what they mean,” Rieko replied evenly. “It’s all just a game of who’s willing to go lower to get what they want.”

Hiruzen nearly spit out his tea, while Mikoto remained completely unfazed.

“I’ll talk to Tsunade and Orochimaru,” Rieko continued, rising from her seat. “I’ll get them to herd their teammate back.”

Hiruzen grimaced. “Good luck with that,” he admitted. “Those three haven’t been working together since the end of the war.”

“I’ll find a way to convince them,” Rieko assured him. “It’s about time we got our Sanin team back.”

Chapter Text

“Alright,” Genma-Sensei looked up at the rows of kids in front of him. Only a few of them were still hanging onto his every word, most had checked out hours ago — right after he had stopped throwing senbons around. “I hope you still have some stamina left in you, because we’re wrapping up our first day with a little exercise.”

A chorus of groans rose from the desks, drawing a smirk from their sensei. The clock was nearing half past four, and Heiwa was starting to get hungry. She wasn’t looking forward to completing the latest exercise their unhinged sensei had concocted.

Beside her, Obito still looked full of energy, despite spending all afternoon folding paper airplanes under Genma-sensei’s watchful eyes. Every now and then, their sensei would flash him a grin, as if daring him to send one flying right under the wolf’s nose. Meanwhile, Heiwa dutifully scribbled in her notebook while Genma-sensei launched into convoluted explanations of the five main disciplines they’d be covering that year. Blue, pink, green, purple, and orange alternated as her hand moved, her scrawny handwriting glittering across the smooth pages. At some point, she and Rin had started playing hanging-nukenin in the margins. Rin kept picking impossibly long jutsu names, killing off Heiwa’s ninja before she even had a chance to guess. 

“Relax, it’s not a test,” their sensei reassured them, just as Rin guessed “Kabusecha”, from only the three vowels Heiwa had revealed. Not even her deep knowledge of tea blends could rival Rin’s talent for the game.

“It’s just a way to get you thinking about your future,” their sensei continued. “I’m not a fan of classmates competing with each other. In the end, you’ll need to cooperate, whether you’re assigned to a tactical team or serving in the genin corps.”

That was something new Heiwa had learned recently — not everyone would get a place on an elite genin team under a jonin sensei. The ones who weren’t prodigies, or born into clans, would probably end up in the genin corps instead. A fate she really hoped wouldn’t fall upon her.

For her part, Rin had shared that she was aiming to start medical training right after graduation. Unfortunately, it was another competitive track, usually offered to only one or two students in each graduating class, so she also felt a lot of pressure to succeed.

Genma-sensei placed his hands on the desk in front of him, watching his students with a sympathetic look.

“Figuring out what kind of ninja you want to be… well, it’s not always easy. And believe me, I know there’s a lot of expectation on your shoulders. But no matter what role you end up in, every job matters, and it all keeps the village running and protects people across the nation.”

Heiwa was aware that the village also needed ninjas to work desk-jobs and take care of low-rank missions. Aunt Rieko had told her they represented the unsung backbone of the village, but all Heiwa could think about was how those genin never got to see the world beyond the gates. The thought made her stomach twist. She didn’t come all this way just to shuffle papers or run errands; she wanted to explore the world and make a real difference.

She was pulled from her thoughts when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a hand shoot up in the third row. It was from a girl with strange purple eyes. “What about you, Sensei?” she asked in a high-pitched voice. “What could possibly bring you to teach? Weren’t you a member of the Hokage guard?”

Genma smiled, as if he’d been expecting the question. “Well, aren’t you well-informed, Miss Hisayo? It looks like there’s nothing I can hide from my dear students,” he drawled.

Hisayo flinched slightly, but kept her unsettling gaze fixed on him.

“I can’t lie, this job kind of landed in my lap when I least expected it. And, as all of you will realize sooner or later, ninjas aren’t invincible.”

Heiwa felt sorry for her Sensei. It had been evident from the start that he was clearly overqualified to be teaching first-years.

“I severed a chakra pathway in my spine, leaving my left leg unresponsive. Chakra’s a tricky thing, and it likes to take its time growing new pathways, if it ever does at all.” He gave them a grin, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “So don’t worry. You’ll be stuck with me for a while.”

Genma-sensei turned around to pick up a stack of papers and began handing them down the rows.

“Take your time to answer, you’re free to go when you’re done,” he instructed.

Heiwa’s heart thudded as the sheets of paper finally reached her. She scanned the words at the top of the page.

What is your ninja way?

She twirled her pen nervously, rereading the prompt again. She snuck a look at Rin, wondering if she could ask her about it, but her friend was already deep in thought and scribbling something down. Turning her head the other way, she saw that Obito was already finished, balancing on his chair as usual. The messy scrawl on his paper didn’t surprise her — nor did the words written there: I want to become Hokage.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Genma said, passing by with a knowing look. “There’s no wrong answer.”

Heiwa gulped nervously, and nodded to her sensei. 

Alright, think… 

What about becoming someone like her aunt? That would be a respectable goal, since Rieko was a strong kunoichi and an important member of the Hokage council. Surely she’d still be great, even if she fell just an inch short of that.

Looking up from her paper, she noticed that Obito and Rin were already gone, along with Itachi and Shisui. All around her, papers rustled and chairs scraped, until only a handful of them remained — still stuck, still staring.

“I’ll let you finish these for tomorrow,” her teacher said as the clock inched past five. She watched him move away from his desk, his limp growing more noticeable. Maybe all the walking today had aggravated it... “Just put it in the box with my name before tomorrow's class. Can’t miss it, it’s in the hallway in front of the water fountains, I even added some decorations to it.” The sensei winked and saluted them before vanishing in a cloud of smoke.

She and the others exchanged a bewildered look, but being in Konoha, you soon got used to all the dramatics. So they, too, started packing up their things to go home.

As she made her way down, she saw that a girl was still at her desk. Her pale blond hair shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the windows. She seemed lost in thought, but not from a lack of inspiration. She was scribbling furiously on her page, line after line of tight, precise handwriting. 

Heiwa’s brows lifted. Wow… she’s incredible.

“Can I help you?” 

The voice snapped her out of it. The girl had fixed her sharp hazel eyes on her.

“Oh—uh, no, sorry,” Heiwa stammered. 

She ducked her head and hurried down the last few steps.

“So, Tsunade was right,” she heard the girl muttering from behind her.

Heiwa froze mid-step. “What?”

“You really did get into the Academy,” she said, louder now, “even though you’re an outsider.”

Heiwa’s stomach knotted in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

The girl crossed her arms. “I’m talking about how we don’t need another Senju dragging the clan down. Rieko was enough.”

Heiwa suddenly realized with a jolt exactly who she was talking to.

“You must be Tsugumi…” she whispered, incredulous.

The girl blinked, her composure faltering slightly. “You know my name?”

Heiwa nodded slowly. “My aunt Rieko told me about you. We’re cousins.”

Heiwa caught a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes, but as soon as it crossed Tsugumi’s face, it vanished. “That doesn’t mean anything. Don’t get any ideas, we’re nothing alike.”

Heiwa frowned, her heart pounding in her ears. “What do you have against my aunt?”

Tsugumi turned away, snatching up her bag in irritation. “I don’t like people who can’t keep their promises,” she said curtly.

“She wants us to have dinner together sometime soon,” Heiwa blurted out—regretting it instantly.

Tsugumi gave a humorless laugh. “As if a dinner would be enough to salvage any of this. It doesn’t matter, since I doubt Tsunade will stay in the village much longer.”

She picked up her paper hastily and walked out without another glance.

Heiwa stood frozen. Another Senju to bring down the clan… What did she mean by that? 

Suddenly, Heiwa spun around, startled by the sound of footsteps behind her.

“What are you still doing here?” she exclaimed.

Kakashi stood there, hands in his pockets, avoiding eye contact. “I promised your aunt I’d walk you home too.”

Heiwa groaned. “Right, because apparently I need a babysitter just to get from school to my house. Great. I’m so glad everyone knows how useless I am.”

Kakashi didn’t respond. He just watched her in that infuriating, unreadable way.

“What?” she snapped.

“I didn’t say anything.”

She huffed and brushed past him, heading down the corridor. Her steps echoed softly as she passed the senseis’ hand-in boxes. Her sensei’s box was impossible to miss, plastered with colourful stickers of ramen and shuriken.

The school was almost deserted now, the silence broken only by the hum of cicadas outside. By the time she stepped into the courtyard, she’d cooled off a little.

Kakashi fell into step beside her.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m glad to have someone to walk with.”

He nodded once. “You didn’t hand in your paper,” he observed.

“I haven’t written anything yet.”

“Me neither.”

She glanced sideways at him. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “What about you?”

“I’m not even sure what any of this ‘ninja way’ means.”

“I’m not even sure being a ninja is what I want,” Kakashi said flatly.

She stopped short. “What do you mean?” she exclaimed. “You were literally made for this. You’ve already mastered techniques most genin still struggle with, and your dad is basically a legend! What more could you want?”

Kakashi looked away. “Just because I’m good at it doesn't mean it's something I enjoy.” 

She couldn’t find anything to say to that. They kept on walking in silence, their footsteps crunching softly on the dried earth. 

“Well,” she stammered out after a while, “Obito seems to know exactly the path he wants to take, and he’s still set on becoming Hokage. I wish I were that sure of anything, really,” she exhaled.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kakashi replied. “You can change your mind anytime.”

She let out a soft laugh. “You sound like my mom.”

“Didn’t she give up the ninja life too?”

Heiwa hesitated. The truth was, she had never been able to picture her mother as a kunoichi. She was always the last person to get angry, and no one quite matched her kindness and gentleness. Her mother rarely talked about her time in Konoha.

“It’s too early to give up,” Heiwa murmured, half to herself. She didn’t want to go back to the teahouse, back to where everything was so neat and organized — where nothing exciting ever happened.

They walked a few more steps before an idea struck her. She spun around, eyes bright. “Alright, Kakashi, let’s make a pact.”

He blinked. “A what?”

“A pact,” she repeated eagerly. “Since neither of us knows what to write, we’ll write about each other’s goals instead!”

He looked skeptical. “You think Genma-sensei won’t notice?”

“I’ll make sure to copy your handwriting convincingly,” she assured with a smug grin. “What do you say?”

They had settled on going to Kakashi’s house to complete their illicit homework exchange. Heiwa sat with her most boring pen in hand (matte black ink only), staring at the way Kakashi’s name was neatly written in the top right corner.

“Don’t write something stupid,” he warned from his spot across the table.

“You too,” she shot back.

A smile spread across her face as her pen began to move smoothly over his paper.

I will become a ninja that values people and teamwork.

Wouldn’t that be exactly what Kakashi needed?  To feel like he belonged — maybe that would convince him that becoming a ninja alongside her was worth it. 

“Done!” she said, beaming.

“Already?” He raised an eyebrow. “Let me see.”

Heiwa folded the paper in two. “Not until I get mine back.”

Kakashi rolled his eyes and picked up his pen. “Alright, alright. Give me a second.”

She hummed idly, glancing around the room. His house was more spacious than hers, but it was every bit as warm and cozy. She eyed the toys lying on the floor next to the couch curiously. Some small rubber balls and a stuffed hedgehog, which was missing its tail.

“Wait,” she said, frowning. “Do you have a dog?”

Kakashi didn’t look up. “No.”

“Then why are there dog toys lying around?” She crouched to peek under the table.

“And there’s fur on the carpet — brown fur. Nothing two silver heads could have produced…” she added suspiciously, pulling herself out from under the table.

“Alright,” Kakashi said, “I know what to write now. You aspire to become the nosiest ninja of them all. Done.”

“Hey! That’s not fair, I actually applied myself for yours.” 

Kakashi shrugged. “Not my fault if it fits.”

“It’s not good to lie to your friends,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Now… Where. Is. The. Dog?”

Kakashi refused to admit to anything, despite her spotting even more fur on the pillows and pointing at the two dog bowls in the kitchen. In the end, he shoved her paper into her hands and kicked her out, claiming his dad would be home soon and he had to clean.

She called out as she stepped in, but there was no answer. Rieko must not be home yet. Heiwa toed off her sandals and unfolded the paper Kakashi had given her. There, in neat handwriting, strikingly similar to hers, she read.

I will become a ninja who brings peace to the world.

Heiwa blinked in disbelief.

Peace?

She grunted — her name might literally mean that, but it didn’t give Kakashi the right to write something so cheesy! Then again, he’d probably tear up his own paper once he read what she wrote for him.

As she walked around the house, her thoughts kept returning to the words on the page again and again. In the end, she folded the paper carefully and tucked it into her notebook, making sure she wouldn’t forget to hand it in tomorrow. 

After all, a pact between friends was sacred. And Genma-sensei wouldn’t dare object to such a noble ninja way, right?