Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was a normal day, in late winter.

The sun kissed the horizon, breathing oranges and pinks across the winter sky as all the children ran wild in the small park. She smiled, chasing after the boy she liked on short legs and tagging him with a gentle touch on his back. Hiroto, the smartest and cutest boy in her class, giggled at being caught.

“I’ll get you back!” he called after her, but she didn’t wait to hear anything else. A competitive spirit was building in her, and she pushed her legs to run faster and faster away from him.

The game of tag continued for a little longer, the five-year-olds laughing under the darkening blanket above their heads. Soon, her mother came and whistled at the edge of the playground, and she skipped her steps until arriving at her mother’s side. Her mother ran a soft hand through her straight brown hair, before taking her smaller hand in hers.

“Let’s go home, I have supper waiting.” She loved the voice of her mother, so sweet and honey-like.

“Okay, Mama!”

She admired the birds flitting across the sky and even slipped her hand out of her mother’s to point at pigeons pecking at trash. Her mother nodded along indulgently, waiting for the crosswalk light to turn green to cross the street to their apartment complex. The little girl followed her mother, jumping from one white-painted block on the asphalt to the next. 

The small apartment is cozy and heated when Hotaru enters, slipping out of her pink shoes and dashing toward the kitchen. Before she gets far, a warm soft hand grasps the back of her coat.

“Wash up first, Hotaru.” Her delicate hand runs through dark strands and Hotaru nods happily. Nothing can make her happier than her mother’s karaage , so she hurriedly pulls her coat off. Her mother smiles at her, delicate and pleasant, as she picks up a wrapped plate left on the counter. “I’ll be right back, I’m just going to drop this off downstairs.”

Hotaru hummed in reply, placing her coat above the touyo heater to warm it after a long day in the cold. She skips down the hall towards the washroom, mind focused solely on the warm meal about to be in her stomach in the nice warm apartment.

The faucet water is cold when it runs over her hands, but she dutifully scrubs at her fingers with the soap bar. The dirt beneath her nails proves to be especially difficult and it takes several minutes for her hands to be clean enough for karaage .

Considering it a job well done, Hotaru’s small palm wraps around the rather warm door handle so she can set the table before dinner. The door squeaks as it opens and a blast of dry heat causes her to squint her eyes. When she opens them -

An inferno engulfs the apartment, fire traveling down the hallway at a scary speed. The flames lick and lash at the walls like a living beast, a dragon coming to devour a scared little firefly. Hotaru screams and stumbles back, slamming the door in a panic.

The shower curtain rod slips from the wall with force, sliding across the closed door and into the door handle. Hotaru scrambles into the bathtub and watches in horror as tendrils of fire slip beneath the door and eat away at the wood.

“Hotaru! Hotaru!” Such a sweet voice mangled with the same fear coursing through Hotaru’s body.

Hotaru tries to call out loudly, but black smoke makes her throat hurt and her eyes sting. “Mama! I'm here!”

The fire felt so close, and Hotaru just wanted to be warm and eat warm food after a long day playing in the snow. Her hands, no longer clean, scrub at the tears dripping down her face. Fire claims the linen shower curtain pooled on the ground as it inches closer and closer to her.

Hotaru cowers in the corner of the bathtub - no one ever taught her what to do in this situation. They always told her about if she caught on fire, or how to avoid inhaling smoke, but she’s a cornered animal being hunted by a merciless predator. A predator that eats all.

The only thing she knows is that water extinguishes fire, so she wrenches the shower handle until cold water douses her from head to toe. It doesn’t matter, though, because the first still reaches her and her body burns .

She woke up screaming, the covers restricting her movement, and she writhed until her body was free of them. Her bones ached and her skin seared at every touch. The door to her room opened, lighting up her dark room, and warm arms cocooned her.

“Shhh…” Her mother soothed her, rubbing her back in circles, and she cried into her shoulder. She grasped at her mother’s shirt, fists of cloth grounding her in reality. “I’m here, shhh…”

“What happened?” Another figure stood at the door, silhouetted by the light, and the girl squinted her eyes at him. Who was he?

“Did you have a nightmare?” Her mother rasped, pulling her away from her arms to look into her eyes.

The light caressed the woman’s figure, illuminating her soft dark brown hair and light tan eyes. The little girl screamed, her throat ripping with the sound, and she shoved the woman away. She scrambled across the sheets, tears streaming down her face. The woman lunged for her, gripping her ankle, and she kicked as hard as she could.

“You’re not Mama!” She screamed, fighting as the woman, and now the man subdued her. 

“Umeko! Umeko!” The woman cried, pinning the girl’s arms to her side, and brushing a desperate hand through her hair. “It’s okay! It’s me, Mama!”

“I want Mama!” The little girl shrieked, “You’re not Mama!”

“Michiyori, what is happening?” The woman sobbed to the man, and he hugged the woman and little girl tightly.

“It’ll be okay.” He whispered to the woman, and his finger dug into the little girl’s neck and she saw black.

“Umeko, do you know who I am?”

The doctor smiled warmly at her, and she shrunk back from their gaze. Hesitantly, she shook her head. The doctor nodded, writing something down on a clipboard, then pointed at the two adults behind her, “And do you know who they are?”

She shook her head again, and the woman behind the doctor buried her head in the man’s shoulder.

“Do you know who you are?” And the girl’s lip quivered because she didn’t know anymore.

She thought she was Hotaru, the five-year-old who would wake up any day now and go to the park to chase after the boy she liked. But she’s not - her eyes are the color of sand, not the dark brown she had grown used to, and her mother’s voice was raspy rather than honey-like.

“I don’t know.” The girl whispered, hands tightening into fists.

The doctor scribbled something down on the clipboard again and scratched her head with her pen. “Amnesia, then?” She hummed to herself. The girl didn’t know what that meant.

The woman behind the doctor hesitantly approached the girl on the table, kneeling and grasping her small hands in her own. Her tan eyes watered as she stared into the girl’s own.

The man behind her looked on, his arms empty from where the woman once was. He stares and stares, his eyes like a yawning void searching her soul. The little girl feels like his eyes are simultaneously stone and the deepest, darkest part of the ocean.

“You’re my Umeko, don’t you remember?” the woman pleaded, tightening her hands until the little girl’s hands felt numb. The little girl began crying because she didn’t remember.

She hates frogs — slimy, leaping frogs that wiggle in your hands like beating organs. She hates them with a passion her five-year-old brain can’t comprehend. All she feels is gross, hate, tear, get it away, get it away.

“It’s your favorite toy, Umeko.” The woman, her not-mother, says desperately. She holds the frog plushie before her, shaking it as enticingly as she can. The little girl — Umeko now — wrinkles her nose.

Her not-mother bites off a sob, falling to her knees and dropping the frog. “Why can’t you remember me? Am I such an awful mother?”

Somewhere in her little five-year-old heart, she felt sorry — sorry for who she wasn’t, sorry this wasn’t her mother. Mostly, though, she felt scared. Scared enough to scream and claw and carve her way out of this reality. 

Instead, she says, “You’re not my mother.” And she might as well have carved her way out through the woman’s heart.

The woman shudders, choking on a bone-deep sadness, the taste of a lost child on her lips. Before her, she was nothing but a five-year-old stranger, a lost soul that wandered into the body of her child.

The little girl — Umeko, Umeko, Umeko — wraps her arms around herself, uncomfortable. She just wants to go home, to her sweet mother with the voice of an angel, and the tastiest karaage on their small table. Her stomach rumbles at the thought.

It’s embarrassingly loud, loud enough to grasp the woman from the edge of madness. Her not-mother straightens up as if remembering she still had a child to take care of.

A little uncomfortable, in a small voice, Umeko admits, “I’m hungry.” And then, thinking of her mother , she says, “I want karaage .”

Karaage is familiar, simple, something that her not-mother can work with. She smiles at her daughter, her daughter and not her not-daughter , and says confidently, “I can do that.”

Later, at the table, when Umeko takes a bite of the crispy, burnt karaage and makes a face, her not-mother laughs.

“Why don’t we go out to eat?” she suggests lightly, cheeks dusted pink at her poor cooking skills. Umeko grunts in interest because she’s still scared, but at least she won’t be hungry.

She doesn’t see that man again that day. The man who held her not-mother tightly at the hospital, eyes like stone.

It feels weird calling her mother — wrong, because she already has one far, far away under an orange and pink sky, calling her home after she played tag with the boy she likes. As the days go by, though, she gets confused about what to call her — she’s not her mother, but she treats her like a daughter. It feels like love, in the way she asks if she wants karaage and daifuku - in the way she replaced all the frogs and toads in her room and replaced them with cattle and cats. She wasn’t quite her mother, but she wasn’t quite not either. She was her not-mother. When Umeko called her as such, one could hardly tell it bothered her - except her smile was a little bit thinner, her eyes a bit more wet.

This love, but not love, was intoxicating in the little cocoon Umeko and her not-mother created. The little girl found herself humming and giggling along with the woman, who was so much harsher and rougher than her real mother.

“Not like that, not-Mama!” Umeko giggled, swatting at the woman’s hands when she pounded at the dough. “Our shokupan won’t be good!”

The woman chortled, her laugh coming in raspy breaths, because Umeko didn’t know the first thing about kneading dough, either. Instead of pointing that out, her touch became gentler and slower. “Is this better, little Ume?”

“ Much better!” They kneaded in silence, the only sound being the slapping of shokupan dough and Umeko’s humming. 

Once Umeko declared the dough properly kneaded, they placed it in the oven to cook. Her not-mother wasn’t entirely positive that was the next step, but they had spilled orange juice over the rest of the cooking instructions. She was sure it would be fine. Probably. Umeko insisted on dragging a stool to the oven, wanting to keep an observant eye on their food so the bread wouldn’t burn. 

“Not-Mama?” Umeko said, swinging her feet back and forth. Her not-mother got that look on her face, the one that looked glad and miserable at being called not-Mama. 

“Yes, my little plum?” Another stool was pulled up to the oven, the wooden legs squealing against the floor, and her not-mother slumped onto it.

Umeko didn’t know how to ask the question. It was something unvoiced, and she felt like even asking was breaking their little cocoon. An inexplicable fear clutched at her heart, squeezing with every pump, and she knew she had to ask or she’d die from not knowing.

“Who am I?” 

The bread was looking dangerously brown.

“You’re my miracle, Umeko.” Her not-mother didn’t stumble and didn't hesitate. A cautious arm laid across her bony five-year-old shoulders, comforting and suffocating all at once. The little girl twisted to look at her, and something in her must have looked as lost and scared as she felt, because not-Mama smiled and asked, “Do you know why I named you Umeko?”

Umeko shook her head no, glancing down with a jutted lip, because she didn’t name her . She named other-Umeko - the not-Hotaru.

“There’s an old fairytale - Umekohime. It was my favorite when I was young. Every night, I begged my mother to recite it while I fell asleep. My father called it childish, but she did it until I was much older than I should have been.” Not-Mama laughs, her fingers stroking through Umeko’s hair. “It’s about a couple, who prayed and prayed for a child. No matter how hard they tried, the woman’s stomach never swelled.

One day, while the woman and man toiled in an orchard, the woman reached up to a tree and - “ not-Mama reached her hand out, hovering in the air, and pinched something invisible between her fingers. “-plucked a plum from a tree. Her husband asked her for a slice, and with a small knife in her pocket, she split the plum in half. And-”

Not-Mama reached over, pushing gently at Umeko’s shoulders to scare her, a wild smile on her face. Umeko let out a squeal, and then a joyful laugh.

“-out came a little girl!”

Umeko was still giggling as not-Mama smoothed her mussed curly hair from her forehead. She had a faraway look in her eyes, something starry and abysmal, unfathomable joy and sadness all tangled together. “They named her Umeko-hime.”

“ My name is Umeko.” The little girl said in wonder - until she remembered it wasn’t her name and this wasn’t her mother. Instead, she cleared her throat and said, “What happened next?”

The woman startled from her reverie, and her cheek twitched with the force of her grin. Umeko could spot it for what it was - a fixture, a fake smile, and Umeko felt sad that she had been the one to put it there. “W-Well there’s a monster and there’s-”

“Chiyome!” The harsh yell startled Umeko, and she teetered dangerously on her stool. A small hand clamped onto the fabric of her not-mother’s shirtsleeve, steadying herself. “Don’t tell her that damn story!”

It was that man, her not-father. He had sequestered himself in his study since they came home from the hospital, and didn’t leave until Umeko was already asleep. She had gone days without seeing him, and he looked worse than she remembered. His face was covered in patchy stubble, and his sleep shirt was stained with grease and unidentified food. There was something wild and desperate in his eyes, but also something hard and unyielding - determined.

He stalked off with another word, her not-father. Umeko’s fingers tightened around her not-mother.

“It’s okay, little plum.” Her not-mother said, running her hand over her short brown hair.

Umeko didn’t think it was okay, not with the way her heart burned and her stomach plummeted. “He hates me.”

All at once, her not-mother swept her into her arms and slid to the floor. Her cheek pressed onto her curly head, arms tightening around her tiny body. Umeko felt so small, small enough to burst forth from a plum. Tears slipped down her round plum cheeks.

“Shh, he doesn’t hate you.” Her not-mother soothed, rocking them back and forth, “He wants to help - he’s been trying the past few days to bring your memory back, bring you back to us.”

Something ugly unfurled in Umeko, but not-Umeko, because she had no memory of them. They were strangers, and no memory would come back to her. It scared her, knowing she’d never be their daughter, and it scared her to think of what they would do when they lost hope. Unless she finds her way back home.

Umeko tiptoed down the hall of their small house, her feet silent on the wooden oak planks. She followed the sounds of their yelling, the feeling of poison rage emanating from that room her not-father locks himself in. Conveniently, the door is cracked this time.

Her not-father is in a chair at a large desk, his hands fisting torn shreds, and her not-mother towers over him on the other side of the tabled barrier. She’s snarling at him, her hands on the edge of the desk, nails carving grooves into the expensive wood.

“You aren’t even trying with her!” she accuses, something resentful coiling inside of her as she spits at him. “Not even trying for her!”

The chair her not-father sat in slams into the floor in his rush to stand, slamming a dent into the wall behind him. “I’m trying to fix her! To bring our little girl back!”

Umeko’s stomach plummets, because he knows , and when he can’t bring her back, he’ll kill her. She knows he will, with the way his stone eyes pierce her not-mother like craggy rocks under a cliff. All her not-mother has to do is jump.

“She’s not broken, Michiyori!” Umeko thinks she sees tears slipping down her not-mother’s face. “We just need time with her, and she’ll remember. That’s all it is — please just gi— ”

“Why won’t you ask him?” The words are dripping venom, and there’s a feeling lingering in his voice — something that isn’t quite hate but could grow to be. “If you loved her, if you loved me , you would ask him.”

“Don’t,” her not-mother stutters, “ don’t ask that of me. Not him.”

Her not-father shifts, once spiteful and bitter features softening to a desperate plea, “He could know something, Chiyome. He could help. I’ve looked everywhere else, I have . He could bring our little girl’s memories back, bring our little miracle back.”

Her not-mother is truly crying now, and she slumps to the floor as the fight leaves her. Any objections she had are gone now, with no energy to continue arguing, but she still says in a small voice, “Or he could break her like he did me.”

Stooping to his knees, her not-father cradles his wife to his chest, and all the fight has left him too. All the bitterness and acidic hatred has left them, and he presses a kiss to her head.

It’s clear to Umeko that they love each other — but she also thinks love must be ugly and complicated. Her other mother, her real mother, did not have a husband — Umeko did not have a father. She had never seen love like this, jagged and sharp and cutting.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Her not-father says quietly into the sobbing woman’s hair.

And Umeko doesn’t think she wants to ever love like that.

“Where are we going, not-Mama?” Her not-mother’s hands were sweaty, and Umeko desperately didn’t want to hold her hand. As they weaved through the crowded streets, Umeko was loath to admit it was a necessity. 

When her not-mother smiled down at her, it made her stomach flip and her throat clogged with anxiety. Wherever they were going, her not-mother didn’t really want to be there. The fight she spied on from the night before rings in her ears, unwilling to leave her mind.

“Not-Mama?” Umeko tugs her hand from her not-mother’s and stops walking until she notices. Her eyebrows tick upwards in question. “I want to go home.”

The woman bends down, grasping Umeko’s hand in hers again, and smiles reassuringly. “I know, my little plum. We just have to make a quick stop, and then we can go home, okay?”

It’s not very reassuring, though. The way her chin trembles as she smiles, and her hand feels so pliable and weak in Umeko’s. She doesn’t know where her not-mother is taking her, but she doesn’t want to go. She can’t go.

“I want to go home now.” Umeko squares her shoulders and raises her chin for a fight. She’s prepared to win.

Not-mother looks around as people maneuver them, many shooting annoyed frowns at them for the inconvenience. “Come, little plum. Don’t throw a fit here, it’ll be a real quick stop. And then we can stop for daifuku before going home, hm?”

The bribe fell on deaf ears. Umeko raised her voice, because her not-mother wasn’t listening to her, and she was getting frustrated. “I want to go home !”

“Umeko, enough!” Her patience had waned thin with the little girl, and she started dragging Umeko by her hand. And when Umeko digs her heels into the dirt, she throws Umeko over her thin bony shoulder.

Umeko kicks and screams and yells the entire way, telling her not-mother that she wants to go home, home, home. Her not-mother is surprisingly strong, her hand gripping Umeko even when the little girl tries to wriggle from her grip. The closer and closer they get to their destination, the tenser the woman becomes, and the louder Umeko screams.

Even when they stop, Umeko keeps kicking and clawing, trying to escape her arms, and her not-mother sighs in frustration. She shifts the little girl from her shoulder, into a tight cradle on her hip. Now able to see, Umeko finds themselves in front of a door of a traditional house.

“Be on your best behavior, Umeko.” Her not-mother says sharply, one of her arms caging her in and tightening ever so slightly. The other arm lifts and she tentatively knocks on the door.

For an agonizing few seconds, nothing happens. Silence hovers around them, and Umeko feels like her ears are plugged with cotton. Then, the door creaks open, revealing an old man with a cool, light brown gaze that reflects their own. He’s frail-looking, but with his presence comes an ominous pressure that feels suffocating.

“Chiyome, what do I owe this pleasure?” He seems unperturbed as if this was an expected outcome rather than an abrupt surprise visit.

“I need your help,” her not-mother clears her throat before adding, “Please, father.”

Umeko’s not-grandfather smirks, the scar on his face twisting grotesquely with the action. He moves to the side and the door creaks ever wider, “Come in, then.”

Umeko, on her not-mother’s hip, feels frozen and unable to get free as the two walk into the abode. Unbidden, Umeko wonders if they’ll ever walk out.

Chapter Text

The early morning sky settled onto their forms with a hazy blue, birds chirping like it was any other day. With each step towards the Academy, the more Umeko dragged her feet across the yellowed stone pathway. A childish urge came to her when she saw the edges of the building looming in the distance, to reach out and grasp her mother’s hand. Next to her, her mother slowed as well. Both of them were loath for their journey to end.

“Remember, Umeko, to go straight home afterward, okay?” Umeko couldn’t recall the last time she saw her mother fret like this, her hands twisting together in a knot of fingers and chipped purple nail polish. Umeko had applied the nail polish herself, the day before, begging her mother to sit still while she brushed her nails plum-purple. Umeko’s fingernails matched, but the paint hadn’t chipped on her nails and she had been very careful to avoid it.

“I know, you don’t have to be so nervous.” Umeko scoffed, trying to instill a sense of levity in her mother. When her mother looked even more nervous, Umeko tugged her hand into hers and twined them like she had a hundred times before. “Please, Mama. It’ll be fine - it’s just team assignments.”

Her mother brought their hands to her lips, kissing the back of Umeko’s hand. “I’m just worried about the team you’ll be placed on. I saw the list of jounin teachers this year and - well, I’m just worried. And you know how your grandfather can be, he might keel over and die - good riddance - if you are put on a team that will hold you back and - well - you know -”

“Mama, it’ll be fine.” Umeko tugged her hand from her mother’s, stopping at the stoop of the Academy. She had these worries as well, of course, but her mother didn’t need the added stress. “We’re here now. You should go home - to Michiyori and Momo. I will talk to you tomorrow.”

Her mother frowned at her but patted her shoulder regardless. “I’ll tell your father and brother that you said hi.”

Umeko stayed by the tree with the singular swing, her eyes following her mother’s form as she anxiously hurried down the path. Umeko huffed, once she was out of sight, and said to herself, “Tell him I said go to hell.”

She wouldn’t dare say such a thing to her mother’s face, her mother who desperately had hopes for a happy and whole family. Umeko had destroyed such a thing long ago - ate at their happiness like an ever-devouring void, and probably murdered the real Umeko when she did it.

Gathering herself, she stopped leaning on the worn and weary tree to dust her clothes off and ensure her twin half-buns were perfect. Once she felt presentable, not a single of her curls out of place and her cotton clothes unsullied, she edged her way into the building. 

At the door to her classroom, Ino and Sakura were causing some sort of ruckus, and Umeko slinked in unnoticed in the commotion. She sat at her usual spot, right by the window near the middle, and waited for Ino to join her once she had been cheated out of a seat by Sasuke, like she always was.

In no time at all, Ino trudged her way up the aisle to slump defeated next to Umeko. Curiously, after throwing a small glance in Sasuke’s way, it seems that Sakura had not been victorious either. Instead, the victor of the ritual morning contest was Naruto. Umeko snorted unladylike at that, and Ino pointedly cleared her throat.

“Morning, Umeko.” Ino sniffed, crossing her legs and flicking her ponytail over her shoulder. She imperiously waited for Umeko to return the greeting, and when Umeko did, she launched into a tirade about her worst enemy and knight in shining armor, Sakura and Sasuke respectively.

Umeko drummed her fingers on the edge of the desk, responding with a pleasantness she didn’t feel, “Sakura is always trying to inconvenience you. Doesn’t she know she has nothing on you?”

“I know right!” Ino agreed fervently, validated by Umeko’s sycophantic lies. “I’m so much prettier than her, and I taught her everything she knows, so really I should be top of the class.”

Ino wasn’t stupid, but Sakura had some serious academic brains on her and they both knew it. Looks wise, well, Umeko thought she was prettier than both of them with her understated chocolate brown hair and the distinctive beauty mark on her chin. Personally, Sakura and Ino were just too flashy for her tastes - such a vibrant duo of pink and blonde. No, Umeko was quite proud of her short curly brown hair and light brown eyes.

(What would she have looked like, if she had never died? Would Hotar-)

Instead of saying all of that, Umeko nodded serenely with her and ignored the groan from Shikamaru behind them at Ino’s jabbering. Of course, that caused Ino to turn and pick a fight with him, one that the lazy boy was too tired to really participate in. Valiantly, he combated the sleepiness to get a few good jabs at Ino, before relenting under the torrent of her complaints. Umeko mostly tuned the interaction out, nodding appropriately when Ino brought her into it, and resolutely did not make eye contact with a judgmental Shikamaru. What would that boy know, anyhow?

Despite her platitudes to her mother, Umeko undeniably felt the swirl of anxiety fluttering in her stomach. Her genin team would be the beginning of her shinobi career, and her success hinged on her teammates and sensei more than she would have liked. If she were to be paired with weaklings or a poor sensei, it would hold her back instrumentally, and she would have to deal with her grandfather’s ire to boot. In her head, she could already hear him sneering about teamwork and the Hokage’s naive complacency. Her eyes wandered to the back of the orange-clad monster in their midst, and she contemplated if her grandfather’s criticisms of the Hokage were true.

Almost as if he heard her thoughts, or felt the weight of her gaze, he twisted in his seat and looked back at her. His glare was sharp, but unhoned, like the underutilized weapon her grandfather preached him to be. Umeko never really gave him the time of day, not necessarily cruel but indubitably indifferent to his person. Perhaps that was a greater insult to him, her lack of attention, than attentive cruelty.

Without looking away, Umeko leaned forward on the desk and kept her eyes on him. She tried to gather all the cool, unaffected intimidation her grandfather oozed until Naruto scowled. Their staring contest only ended when Iruka-sensei yelled at him to turn around. Childishly, the slightest tick of her mouth raised, an immature competitiveness rearing its ugly head at winning something as insipid as a staring contest.

Much to her grandfather’s irritation, Umeko didn’t take everything he said as fact. She couldn’t quite say if her classmate was a monster, or just simply an unfortunate orphan with bad manners. The only opinion Umeko could say with confidence was about his lack of discipline and weak intellect. She prays for the poor fools that end up on his team.

Leaning back in her seat, Umeko does a quick scan of the room, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she thinks. Umeko would want a strong team, not just physically but politically too. A team like that would be the only way she could appease her grandfather. It made the most sense to be on a team with clan heirs. 

The first obvious choice, though it made her stomach turn with displeasure, was Nara Shikamaru. Physically, he wasn’t the most impressive choice, but the political sway of the Nara clan and their contribution to Konoha would be beneficial. Being on a team with him was a best-case scenario, despite how uncomfortable it would be.

Their history wasn’t a particularly long one, though a bit unpleasant and an unfortunate testament to Umeko’s lack of charisma. At the behest of her grandfather, she had attempted to befriend the Nara heir when they were eight. When he had scoffed and walked past her without a word to nap under a tree, Umeko had taken it as the rejection it was.

That particular day had been a big hit to Umeko’s pride, and she had to nurse her ego back to health for weeks after. She never made a second attempt, not with the way his eyes seemed to see through her, which caused a bitter taste of insecurity on her tongue.

It would be personally unfortunate to be on a team with him, but nonetheless instrumental to her shinobi career. The second teammate, however, was a lot harder to choose.

To balance out Shikamaru’s weakness, she would need a physically strong teammate. Sasuke would’ve been the obvious choice as the prodigy he was, but he was the last member of his clan. Politically, he was obsolete. 

Yamanaka Ino could have been a choice, her hiden jutsu particularly useful, but Umeko doesn’t really know if she has it in her to continue simpering at her feet. She was running thin on empty compliments and serene patience after years of playing the loyal lackey for political connections. 

Inuzuka Kiba and Akimichi Choji had some merit, with their skill in taijutsu and respectable clans. Umeko would be a little miffed at Kiba’s hot temper and ego, as well as Choji’s limited motivation and sentimentality. It was doable, though.

Iruka-sensei cleared his throat at the front of the classroom like the worn-down twenty-something man he was. Umeko, herself, would die before she taught at the Academy — of all the jobs for a shinobi, it was the most pitiful and thankless one. Iruka-sensei seemed to enjoy it, though, and someone not entirely awful had to do it.

“I’ll be putting you into teams now.”

Umeko felt all too ready and not ready enough. The previous year of graduating shinobi still held the title of Team 1, Team 3, and Team 4. The rest of the teams had been cut, deemed not ready for the cruel, unforgiving shinobi world. 

The cruel shinobi world was what she thought of as Iruka-sensei began to read off the members of Team 2. They were all civilian-born with average rankings. Since the titles of Team 3 and Team 4 were still currently held, Iruka-sensei skipped that and read the members of Team 5. Once more made of civilian-born with average rankings — Team 6 was much the same.

Grandfather called it culling. Based on arbitrary numbers and clan pedigree, Utatane, the Council member responsible for Konoha education, dumped all those doomed to fail in one team and the should-be greats in others. Some teams were duds, teams failing to meet the expectation of at least tokubetsu jounin. Her grandfather said it was a necessary process, to pool Konoha’s sources in the ones who will succeed rather than fail. 

Umeko shot the pathetically average Team 6 a pitying look. They looked so excited to be on a team, to live their dream of being real shinobi. It was sad, in a kicked-puppy kind of way. Umeko had arbitrary numbers and pedigree, though, and she didn’t plan on being the dog master to sweep them under her wing.

“Don’t look so relieved,” Shikamaru drawled behind her, “there are still some civilians left.”

Umeko leaned back in her chair and flicked her hair over her shoulder, hoping the blossom-scented curls smacked him in the face. Under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear, she whispered, “Is it true the legendary Ino-Shika-Cho trio is making a comeback? It must be hard for a boy like you to live up to your father.”

Being on a team with Yamanaka Ino must be a nightmare for Shikamaru, and living up to his father’s legacy was way too much work for the sloth. Umeko glanced back at him, fluttering her eyelashes and smiling innocently, even when wishing that it wasn’t true. Her perfect team would go down the drain, unfortunately. Such an unfortunate circumstance, that her wishes hinged on lazy Nara Shikamaru.

At the mention of his father, Shikamaru glared, and Umeko had a sinking feeling she was probably right. Shikamaru scoffed at her, before laying his head on the table, willingness to challenge Umeko drained out of him.

She scowled at being dismissed, once again, and sat forward in her chair. Umeko crossed her arms and hoped Ino wouldn’t see her pout. And so concluded her second interaction with Shikamaru, ever.

She took great comfort, at least, that she wouldn’t have to be on a team with Ino. Small mercies, Umeko reminded herself. With Ino-Shika-Cho alive again, she may be robbed of one good teammate, but she was rid of an annoying one, too.

It didn’t matter. Even without pedigree coming into play, Umeko had the numbers. She aced her tests, beat down her opponents, and even arranged a bouquet second only to Ino. There was no doubt Umeko would be on a good team.

“Team 7 — Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto, and Ōno Umeko.”

Well.

Ino was unjustifiably mad at her. It’s not like Umeko picked the teams. She would rather be on Ino’s team than anything — Ume-Shika-Cho had a ring to it — but instead, she was stuck with these ingrates. Still, Ino was mad.

Normally, Umeko doesn’t think she would care if Ino was mad at her. Except, Ino and all of Ino’s sycophants (one of which Umeko used to be) decided to sit elsewhere for lunch. That left Umeko alone, eating a cup of noodles she had bought last night. It was disgraceful and utterly humiliating.

To hide her shame, Umeko found a secluded bench outside next to a side entrance only used by custodians and, apparently, tween rejects. After she devoured her noodles, she idled there pathetically, kicking the dirt with her sandals. 

The only thing around her was the sound of birds and floating fluffy clouds. Her head tipped back, eyes shaded by the roof so she could look brazenly at the sky. They drifted by above her, like foam in water, washing away the blue of the heavens and the black of their sins. Umeko snorted to herself and her haughty pontificating. They were just clouds, stupid blotches in the air all gathered together like friends, and Umeko viciously thought of a bullet of air piercing their flossy bodies. If only they would fall from the sky, and beg at her feet for her forgiveness and mercy. Once again, pontificating - how absurd of her, and unpractical.

“Umeko?” The girl in question flinched back, her haven of misery invaded.

“Hey, Sakura.” It was painful seeing her, standing there at the path along the Academy wall. Her hair was a bright bubblegum beacon to anyone in a ten-meter radius, pointing her light at the sad and downtrodden Umeko. She tried to be gracious about it, offering a wan smile and lifting her hand lazily, “Long time no see.”

Umeko could see the way her jaw tensed even from here, and she could almost imagine hearing her teeth grinding together.

It’s not like Umeko didn’t have sympathy for Sakura. After Ino and she fought over Sasuke, Umeko chose the winning side of the Yamanaka heiress, rather than the unknown Haruno Sakura with her ever-genin parents. When Sakura sat alone at lunch and the other girls teased her, Umeko turned her back to the friendless girl. A social death was a political funeral, and Umeko kept her distance from her. There were times Sakura asked after her, or after any of Ino’s friends, and realized that they were just that - Ino’s friends. Now that she is twelve, she realizes the whole affair was rather silly, but the social isolation Sakura felt scared her right out of any dumb ideas of sympathetic grand gestures.

Instead of falling into false sweetness and veiled jabs, Sakura tossed her hair over her shoulder in an awkward imitation of Umeko and started to walk past her. Somehow, ignoring her smarted the stinging wound of Ino’s rejection even worse.

“Sorry, Sakura,” Umeko said, with all the sweetness and veiled words she had expected Sakura to use, “am I in your seat?”

Sakura stopped in her steps, and it made Umeko think for a second it might actually have been a bench she frequented. Has Umeko fallen as low as Sakura? Surely not, and Umeko endeavored to make a point of it. 

In strides, Umeko came to Sakura’s side, clapping her hands together to get dust, dirt, and debris off of them. Once they were at a friendly distance, Umeko’s lips fell into an easy smile. “I just wanted to be alone for a bit. I figured only janitors and, well,” Umeko gestured at Sakura’s form, “people like you came here. I’ll give you your seat back, though.”

Triumph in establishing her superiority, Umeko turned her back on Sakura to walk away when Sakura shouted at her, “Hey, you’re going the wrong way!”

At the yell, Umeko twirled on her heel to check if she was going the wrong way and oh that would be so embarrassing but she wasn’t. Sakura smiled serenely at having caught her attention, before jabbing her index finger at the side door violently. “Janitors go in that way, Umeko.”

Content with having the final word, Sakura skipped away with all the merriment she had stolen from Umeko’s would-be victory. That conniving little-

Fury at this injustice made her vision hazy, and she channeled her chakra into her hands as she thrashed the stupid bench that started this. The grip of anger was familiar, a descension of rage that came to her in abrupt bouts and uncontrollable flashes. Wood came away in scrapes under her painted nails, the polish finally chipping off at her assault. The planks gave way under her fist and a splinter embedded itself into her palm, right under her thumb, and she yowled in anger at that too. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” With every word, the bench was stripped of more of its planks until it was just the bones of an infrastructure. 

The side door closed with a thud and Umeko fell to her knees. She hadn’t even noticed the door had opened during her one-sided fight with the bench, a sullen figure watching the spectacle with contemplative eyes.

Sasuke stuck his hands into his pockets and walked off, and Umeko wanted to scream at that, too.

Ino and Sakura were best friends, once upon a time. Ino always had a following of girls trailing her footsteps, leeching off of her heiress status, but she favored poor little Sakura with the big forehead. Umeko didn’t care either way until her grandfather cared, and then she hated it.

One day, Ino discovers Sakura’s crush on Sasuke and confronts her about it because Ino likes Sasuke first. They walked away from the argument as rivals. It was a tale as old as time.

Somehow, Umeko fell into the middle of the feud, too.

Ino and Sakura had already left the classroom. Everyone did, until it was stupid Team 7 left high and dry for their mysterious sensei. Her knuckles ached after the assault on a stupid bench of all things, and the ticking clock was starting to bring back that familiar furious itch. Umeko had whittled away the first hour by carving her name into the desk she always sat at. Both Sasuke and Naruto sat in different rows in front of her, passing the time in their own ways. Once the third hour came around, Umeko’s mind had inevitably turned to reminiscing about her Academy years and insipid school drama.

She tried to think if Hotaru - no, she, because she is Hotaru - had such dramatic issues in the days spent on the playground and fields. There is a distant memory of a crush on a boy, but there had been rumors that - what was his name again? - boy shared her feelings. Umeko frowned, annoyed at the gaps in her memories, the small details escaping her desperate grasp. Even his face was hazy in her mind.

Umeko sighed and decided to push the topic away. She was Hotaru, now she’s Umeko. She made peace with that a long time ago (made peace with murdering the original Umeko, peace with the slipping recollection of a honey voice, peace with the fragility and fractured life she lives now - no one could possibly be at more peace than she is.)

Naruto entertained himself by writing lewd words on the chalkboard at the front. Umeko was almost impressed with his literacy. Sasuke sat still as a stone in the front row, his body rigid. He hadn’t moved since he finished sharpening his kunai an hour ago.

Umeko leaned forward, propping her cheek on her palm, and stared at the back of his head as if she could see into it. She wished she could — Umeko would give anything to crack his skull open and read his mind like literature.

Does he know the lengths girls would go to for his affection? Ino had started her own personal crusade, socially isolating any girl who she deemed competition in the war for his affection. The only reaction he gave was a tick of the eyebrow and a twitch of the cheek, a slight face that said “I’m annoyed” louder than any words could. He had so much power in the form of hormonal tween girls in the cup of his palm, and he did nothing with it. Either he was oblivious, or a better person than Umeko ever could be.

With an army of vapid schoolboys, Umeko would have every clan heir under her thumb by now. It would’ve been easy — join me, or die (metaphorically, speaking). Yet, Sasuke did none of that, as if he had no care for political power — only raw power, in the palm of his hand.

Naruto’s piece of chalk broke on the chalkboard, crunching in a distasteful way, and Umeko was pulled from her thoughts. She hadn’t meant to, but she had been staring at Sasuke longer than socially appropriate — and Sasuke knew that, judging by how he glared back over his shoulder.

Rather than show the embarrassment that she could feel creeping up her neck, Umeko smiled smugly at him until his eyebrow ticked and his cheek twitched. He turned from her, and her smile dropped.

“That’s it!” Naruto huffed, “I’m going to teach this guy a lesson for being so late.”

Umeko watched as he positioned a chalkboard eraser between the door frame and door, primed for an unsuspecting jounin to walk through.

“Is that for our sensei?” Umeko asked, a bit curious but mostly bored.

“Yeah, if he’s goin’ to be late, he’s gonna suffer for it!” Naruto proclaimed, and Umeko highly doubted it would work. 

She could interfere, but stopping Naruto’s stupid pranks was beneath her. Umeko was a genin , not a babysitter . It didn’t hurt that a happy monster was a harmless monster.

The door slipped open, and the eraser fell. Her one-eyed, silver-headed sensei peeked through the door and succinctly said, “My first thoughts — I don’t like you.”

And Umeko’s thoughts echoed that.

Duty-bound as she was, Umeko trudged along as they walked to the roof with their sensei leading. Naruto happily skipped steps in front of her, and Sasuke sullenly followed behind her. Umeko felt like the middle of a miserable, sad sandwich.

It wasn’t really her preference, but when her new sensei asked them to sit on the stone steps, Umeko found herself perched between Naruto and Sasuke. Both of them refused to sit next to each other, and that somehow made Umeko an unwilling referee.

“Introduce yourselves.” The new sensei said, lounging against the railing like a king of a bunch of twelve-year-olds.

“Aaaaand…” Umeko drew out, leaning forward and kicking her feet, “what exactly do you want us to say?”

He spread his hands, shrugging, “Likes, dislikes, that sort of thing.”

Naruto fiddled next to her, squirming and rustling, and Umeko thought about hitting him. Like he was physically unable to stay quiet any longer, he yelled in her ear, “Well, why don’t you go first!”

“Hmm…” The sensei made a face — what kind of face, Umeko couldn’t tell you, with his mask covering it, but she saw enough of his eyes to know he did. “My name is Hatake Kakashi. I don’t feel like telling you things I like or hate. And as for my goals? Never really thought about it.”

Their first exercise in teamwork, probably, they all rolled their eyes in unison. Naruto took it upon himself to start them off, babbling inanely about ramen to the point Umeko drifted off. When it was her turn, she gave basic answers — some were true, and some were just things she added to seem more like a person than the shell she was.

Next to her, Sasuke’s fists clenched, “I plan to kill someone.”

Looking at him now, his eyes unfocused with their single-minded determination, Umeko could see the appeal he had to some girls. She could see why Ino and Sakura would tear into each other, and anyone else, for someone as intense as him. It was scary, really, the conviction he had — and Umeko believed him. If Umeko was anyone else, she would have fallen for him too. But she wasn’t, she was carved from death — the death of Umeko, the death of Hotaru — and she would survive. Even now, Umeko could see holding onto a slippery thing like Sasuke would only end in being utterly destroyed.

It was thoughts like those that kept her sullen as she walked home alone. The door to the traditional house looked just as foreboding as it did before — the only difference now was that Umeko knew she could leave it (though a piece of her never would). It creaked open when she came through, and she toed her shoes off carefully. Her grandfather should be away still, doing his duties, and she would take that time to stew in peace.

“You’re home, Umeko.” Nothing has gone her way today, has it? Her grandfather sat at the low table, sipping at his sake as if he were waiting for her arrival. If she poisoned that sake, would he taste it? She had planned to come up with some delicate way to tell him about the team assignments later, to skirt around and flip it.

Instead, she stooped to the floor in seiza, hands clenched around her knees and eyes on the floor. “Grandfather, I’m sorry. I failed you — they put me with the monster and the survivor.”

She closed her eyes and waited for the sting of a cane across her knuckles. Predictably, it came down onto her hands, but Umeko long had practice in keeping her grunts of pain silent.

“I’m disappointed, Umeko.” She opened her eyes and he took a sip of his sake. “You have such a narrow mind still, after all these years.”

It wasn’t what she expected. Umeko was expecting to be disciplined for not being good enough, but being narrow-minded? She didn’t understand. “Grandfather?”

On steady legs, despite the bandages wrapping him, he stood to his full height. “Did you think I had no influence on the Academy at all? You forget yourself.”

Umeko swallowed his disappointment and it tasted like copper. “I’m sorry, Grandfather.”

He looked down on her at her position on the ground, and she felt so lowly. Even more pathetic and sad than when she whispered empty compliments to Ino, when Shikamaru rejected her.

Her grandfather started walking away, and said into the quiet of the big lonely house, “I gave you your tools. Now use them.”

Umeko didn’t rise from her position until long after the steam from his sake cup dissipated and the sun had set.

Chapter Text

Her grandfather woke her up early, the end of his cane digging harshly into her spine. It hurt enough to bruise, but Umeko was no stranger to his cane’s bruises. It was a struggle to pay attention so soon after waking from sweet dreams of karaage and daifuku , but Umeko commanded her bleary eyes to open wide lest the cane strikes her again.

Scrambling from the futon, Umeko hurriedly kneeled in front of her grandfather and folded her hands in her lap demurely. “Good morning, Grandfather.”

He hummed to himself, before thwacking her on the thigh to ensure she was fully awake. “You must leave for the test soon, so let me tell you of the bell test.”

“The bell test?” Umeko parrotted before pinching her lips closed at another thwack on her thigh. 

“It is a foolish and sentimental test that I suspect Kakashi will use as the genin test.” At the idea of such foolish sentimentality , her grandfather ground the end of his cane into the wood by her bed. “I want you to get stronger and learn on your own, but I will not have you held back, either, by some insipid ideas of the power of teamwork.”

“I—” With another thwack, Umeko stayed silent. She didn’t know what she meant to say anyway. From classes, the reasoning for four-man squads didn’t sound as silly as her grandfather claimed. However, her grandfather made some good points too — the only way to the top was to use others as stairs.

Umeko quieted her thoughts and listened. Whether teamwork was good or not, an advantage was always a plus. If this was the test, and her grandfather was fairly certain it would be, then she would easily pass the bell test. All she had to do was tell the others to work together.

Keeping her thoughts on the bell test should have helped her mind from wandering when she passed the house on the way to the meeting place. It didn’t.

The house looked well-suited to its red shingled roof and white walls. Her feet stopped without her telling them to, and she lingered outside. 

This had been her house once. Inside, she knew there was a door with her height marked, and she could smell burnt bread baking in the oven. A terrible acrid smell that brought soft, warm memories to mind. An intense yearning filled her when she passed this house — a yearning for Umeko’s mother (and Hotaru’s mother), for a quiet life where she would be praised for good things and grounded for bad things. 

Umeko glanced through the windows and a man glared back, his features still and his eyes like stone. With a snap, the curtains shut, and so did Umeko’s brief traipse down memory. She did not have a quiet life and would never be praised or grounded. As always, Umeko would be sitting on the outside with cane bruises on her spine.

By the way that he looked, Umeko doubts her father cares all that much about her bruises.

When she arrived at the bridge, Sasuke was already there. It surprised her and it didn’t. It was rather early in the morning, but she supposes a genius orphan doesn’t have much to do this early. It made Umeko scowl, anyway, because she wanted time with her moody, self-pitying thoughts.

“Good morning, Sasuke!” Umeko forced herself to look cheery as if she hadn’t rudely awoken that morning. “Did you sleep well?”

He looked irritated — maybe he wanted time with his thoughts too. “It was fine.”

His tone was dismissive, and Umeko had the thought to leave him be and sulk as she had planned. However, her grandfather’s voice haunted her, telling her to use the tools he provided. 

She did not know what her grandfather meant — it was clear he wanted her to use Sasuke and Naruto, but how and to what end? The only way she could think of, was as weapons. If Umeko planned to take her grandfather’s place, then she would need loyal soldiers like his. Perhaps she should instill that same loyalty in them. The last Uchiha would be a particularly good weapon under her belt, though she couldn’t say the same for Naruto. A tool was a tool, though, whether rusty or sharpened.

“I’m glad to hear it, Sasuke.” She grinned amiably at him, easygoing and casual. If she wanted to befriend them, Umeko would have to learn the best way to get beneath their skin.

Naruto would be easy to crack, the simpleton he was. Sasuke would be the challenging one.

He looked at her now, his face smooth and unimpressed. Umeko could see it now — how Naruto could be boiled until soft like clay to be molded. Sasuke, though, had to be roasted — slowly, painfully, and with time. For now, it would be best to leave Sasuke be and watch from afar. A person’s motivation is everything, and once she learns that she’ll be able to burrow under his skin like a tick.

Umeko’s face fell easily into a smile, she worked best with a goal. Her smile didn’t falter when Naruto skipped onto the bridge, yelling noisily in the morning.

“Good morning, Naruto.” Umeko simpered, clasping her hands in front of her and making extra effort to seem friendly.

“Ehh?” Naruto exclaimed, squinting his eyes at her, both disbelieving and curious at once. 

How annoying. There was no other choice except to push forward. “Did you sleep well?”

Naruto seemed bashful as he regarded Umeko, and she couldn’t help but think how easy this would be. Well, the easy part was pretending — the hard part was spending the next two hours listening to Naruto’s inane prattling with a fixed smile on her face.

Sasuke has long since lost interest in their interactions, standing several feet away from them and staring off into the distance. Umeko couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his stupid brooding — Ino fawned over his spaciness all the time. Still, she made several prayers for his intervention during the two hours of torture with Uzumaki. 

“Then this frog came out of nowhere and—”

“Good, all of you are here.” 

Umeko was startled from her reverie, having spaced out in the midst of Naruto’s overeager company. Kakashi crouched on top of the bridge gate, smiling as if he hadn’t singlehandedly subjected her to hell. 

Naruto and Sasuke appeared just as annoyed as her. Naruto was shouting obscenities at Kakashi, and Sasuke’s cheek twitched, and his eyebrow ticked. The classic Annoyed Uchiha Combo. 

“Sorry, sorry, I got lost on the path of life.” This was the man that would be teaching her for the foreseeable future — screw what her grandfather said, Umeko was doomed . There was no way to flip this situation in her favor; everyone on this team was either antisocial (Uchiha Sasuke), an idiot (Uzumaki Naruto), or both (Hatake Kakashi).

How badly would she be punished if she submitted a team transfer form? Umeko wasn’t quite sure a newly assigned genin could transfer, but it was a tempting thought nonetheless.

Thoughts of transferring and gorging on daifuku kept her thoughts semi-peaceful as Kakashi led them to one of the training grounds. His path seemed practiced and instinctual; this was most likely his preferred training ground. Umeko made note of that in case she ever needed to find him urgently — or assassinate him, the verdict is still out.

“Now that we are all here, I would like to explain the test I’ll be giving you.” Kakashi reached into his back pocket and pulled out two shiny bells. He would be giving them the bell test, just as her grandfather suspected. 

“I have two bells in my hand. I will hand two of you a bell, and one person will have nothing. You will have to determine who is the one without a bell. If the person without a bell is correctly identified, they will be sent back to the Academy. If you get it wrong, the two with a bell will be sent back to the Academy.” 

Umeko could feel her chest constrict and that familiar pressure building in her chest. This is not the bell test she was told about. Last night, Umeko had prowled through Kakashi’s records as a genin team leader. He failed every single team — sent them all back to the Academy. A few of them even abandoned the hope of being a shinobi altogether. 

Kakashi held his chin between his thumb and forefinger, as if in thought. Umeko saw it when his eye flickered toward her, a quick assessment she had grown accustomed to since moving in with her grandfather. The pressure felt stifling and Umeko tugged on her cheongsam top, the cotton becoming all too heavy on her pounding heart. 

His look was the only hint she needed to understand. Kakashi changed the bell test because he knew her grandfather would tell her. Kakashi did this specifically to sabotage her. Umeko’s hand fisted in the hem of her shirt only to stop her hands from fiddling — she needed to calm down. 

Even if he did change it, that just means she’s on equal grounds with Sasuke and Naruto. She’s better than them, she has to be better than them, Umeko can’t afford failure or falling behind. Kakashi’s sabotage is child’s play — whatever grudge he has against her grandfather won’t stop her from winning this test.

Without another word, Kakashi moved to go behind them. Without instruction, Sasuke and she stared forward; Naruto had to have his head forcefully repositioned when caught attempting to peek. She heard the tinkling of bells as Kakashi moved behind Naruto, and then he passed behind her. Umeko held her hand open behind her back, palm ready to soften the sound of a falling bell. Expectedly, but disappointingly, no bell fell into her palm. Just the annoying sound of bells tinkling as he moved on Sasuke.

So, no bell for her. That meant Sasuke and Naruto had a bell. The best course of action would be to turn them on each other and capitalize on their rather loud and contentious rivalry. They will spend the entire time squabbling, which will minimize the amount of bluffing on Umeko’s end.

“Mm, as for rules,” Kakashi hummed as he took his position in front of them, rocking back on his heels as he pulled out an orange book from his pocket. Umeko scowled, very familiar with that disgraceful piece of fiction. “If you use force, you will be disqualified. If someone sees your bell, you will be disqualified. If you steal a bell, you will be disqualified. You have until lunch.”

On a training log several feet away, Kakashi placed an alarm clock. With a small wave thrown over his shoulder, the man found shade within the trees to read his stupid smut book.

Everyone is quiet after Kakashi’s departure, the three of them assessing each other. Umeko stuffs her hands into her pockets, hoping to give the illusion of having a bell. Sasuke crosses his arms, probably hiding the bell in the crook of his arm. Naruto’s arms bracket his head, leaning his unruly blonde head onto his fisted hands — his bell is either in his hidden hand or tucked into his headband. Annoyed, Umeko sighs — it’s not like it matters where their bells are. If she steals one, she’ll be disqualified and booted to the Academy.

“Be honest, you don’t have a bell do you, Sasuke?” Naruto bursts out, breaking the tense silence and turning the atmosphere into a tense racket, instead.

Sasuke tucks his hands into his pockets, scowling. “What does it matter? You will find out if I do or not eventually.”

Umeko’s hands clench angrily in her pockets — partly because Sasuke mimicked her carefully chosen nonchalant stance, but also because of his annoying strategy. The stupid Uchiha intended to wait them out, observing until he found a mistake he could seize on. It’s a smart decision, and all the more frustrating since Umeko’s strategy hinged on their bickering. 

However, Naruto is an oblivious, gullible idiot. Umeko just needs to convince Naruto that Sasuke is the one without a bell to the point that he won’t trust any logical reason Sasuke might give later.

Hoping to keep her voice demure, Umeko pitches in, “It matters if you have a bell or not, at least a little…right? If you don’t have a bell and those of us with a bell choose each other, then we’ll both be sent back. One person being sent back to the Academy is a lot better than two being sent back.”

Naruto nods his head vigorously, moving forward with his hands fisted by his side. “That’s right, you selfish bastard! Just admit you don’t have a bell, so at least we can make it onto the team!”

The pressure of the test has begun to take a toll on them, even within the span of a few minutes. Naruto in particular looked fraught with tension, his hands trembling and lip quivering. Sasuke noticed it, too.

“You’re sweating a lot, Naruto.” Sasuke’s lip quirks upwards and he steps forward slightly. “Worried because you don’t have a bell?”

Naruto sputters, “Not at all! I one-hundred-percent no doubt have a bell, unlike you!”

This was a tightrope walk between the delicate balance of Naruto’s bullheadedness and Sasuke’s equal stubbornness with a dash of intellect. Umeko could double down on the accusations towards Sasuke, furthering Naruto’s suspicions of him. However, doing so would draw attention to her and make her a target for the keen eyes of Sasuke. Thank the skies Sasuke doesn’t have his sharingan yet.

The sharingan…

A thought is on the tip of her tongue, an echo of her grandfather’s voice rattling in her head about tools. But, he couldn’t possibly mean…

“What if Umeko is the one without a bell?”

At the sound of her name, Umeko startles back into the throes of the test. Sasuke glares at her suspiciously, though she is starting to suspect that he glares at everyone with suspicion.

Damn, he’s suspecting her. It’s way too early, she hasn’t done enough to convince Naruto that Sasuke is the one without a bell.

“Me?” Even to her ears, the word comes out feeble and guilty. Don’t clear your throat, don’t clear your throat, don’t clear your throat. Umeko clears her throat almost instinctively and curses herself. Such an obvious tell. “I have a bell…”

“Umeko definitely has a bell, jerk!” Naruto chimes in, and it takes everything in her to not sigh in relief. Apparently, Naruto didn’t need much convincing in the first place. “When it’s time for lunch, Umeko and I will vote you out, right?”

Naruto looks at Umeko expectantly, hoping for a verbal confirmation that would be very, very damning. She had hoped to play the middle ground until more time had passed…

“Mm, well, I don’t think you would lie to me about having a bell, Naruto.” Umeko smiles softly, chanting in her head: demure, demure, demure. “Sasuke is really smart so…I think he could lie really well. So, right now, he seems like the most likely suspect.”

Surely she averted this crisis, right? She stroked Sasuke’s ego slightly and provided a logical reason why she had been siding with Naruto this entire time. Plus, Umeko created a sense of camaraderie between Naruto and her. Perfectly executed.

“I think you could lie really well too.” Ah, damn.

When will this weasel leave her alone, and just let her win this damn test. Sasuke looks nonchalant and careless, confident, when looking at her. Almost like he knows something. In her mind, Umeko is vividly reminded of yesterday’s temper tantrum, the casualty of one rotten bench. Sasuke had seen part of it, hadn’t he?

Well, this just means she’ll have to double down.

Umeko deploys her hidden weapon — a sad pout paired with kicked puppy eyes that she learned from Ino. “I wouldn’t lie about this, Sasuke…It would be better for the village if two shinobi passed the test than one, and I just want to do what’s best for Konoha. Naruto feels the same way too, right?”

Like a switch, Naruto leans back and looks away from her. Umeko nearly scowls — she must have laid it on too thick, thick enough that even Naruto noticed. “Uh, well, actually…”

A loud, obnoxious ring stops him short. Two yards away, the alarm clock vibrates off the training log. As if the sound of the alarm summoned him, Kakashi suddenly appeared in front of them.

“So, who is the one without the bell?” Kakashi tucks a hand into his pocket and continues reading his book.

Nervously, Umeko glances at Naruto and Sasuke, trying to decide who they will choose. It doesn’t matter who they say, as long as it’s not Umeko. She’ll jump onto the first accusation to save herself.

Sasuke meets her eyes, the blackness of them piercing and calculating. Even without the blood-red sharingan Umeko read about, Uchiha’’s eyes are formidable — inescapable. She feels stuck like she’s encased in ice under his unperturbed gaze. 

Sasuke replied curtly, “It’s Naruto. He appeared nervous and erratic the entire time, he’s obviously the culprit.”

Sasuke’s answer brings Umeko up short. For a second there, she was almost positive that Sasuke would say her name. Beside her, Naruto’s head is bowed and his fists are clenched at his sides.

It’s a no-brainer, really.

“I agree,” Umeko joins in, voice stronger than it was earlier. After all, soon these teammates of hers will be back at the Academy while she is still here. “Naruto is the one without a bell.”

Except, her grandfather wants her to have these teammates. He specifically chose them to be on her squad — to use them, manipulate them, hone them like weapons. How could she do that with them back at the Academy? Does her grandfather expect her to go back with them? 

There has to be an answer, a reason, that everything is happening this way. An expectation she must fill. 

“Naruto?” Kakashi prompts the last person on the team, the supposed monster that has been quiet the entire time. He looks downtrodden, knowing that nothing he says will change it. He’s going back to the Academy, along with Sasuke, because they were too stupid to see the truth.

“They’re right.” Hold on. “I don’t have a bell.”

That pressure is back because she understands now. Even with her grandfather’s warnings, his preaching about Kakashi’s sentimentality and insipid values. Because the test might have changed, but the trick of it never did.

“You all fail.” The sound of his book snapping shut feels akin to the bars of a cell sliding in place. Failure . There are a lot of things her grandfather will not accept, but failure is at the top of the list.

“Wait, what do you mean they fail?” Naruto bursts out, waving his hand back and forth. “They were right, I didn’t have a bell, so they should move on and I go back to the Academy. Two is better for Konoha than one, right Umeko?”

Stop looking at me.

“None of you had the bell, Naruto.” Stop looking at me. “Instead of working for the better of the team, you all chose to lie for your selfish purposes.”

“You expected us to risk our position as genin in order to work as a team, even at the expense of ourselves?”

Stoplookingatme.

“Exactly, Sasuke. Those who break the rules are scum, but those who abandon their comrades are worse than scum.”

STOP. LOOKING. AT. ME.

That unrelenting grip is back, the grasping shadows clawing wounds across her heart until she bled rage . The crescendo of pressure that haunts her builds in the rhythm of a rabbit’s heartbeat, thrumming like a war drum. It’s the sound of her veins, her heart, pumping blood and she hears it louder and louder until all the noise is drowned out. And then she’s drowning in the silence. The silence before every thwack against her knuckles, every lash on her back. The silence where he looks, looks, looks and all Umeko can do is stifle her cries.

She can’t fail.

Failure isn’t tolerated, failure is a bitter venom that will eat her alive in that forsaken house. Success, though, is something she can grab — she can demand and harness like her grandfather does.

“Test us again!” A fire in her soul burns, a fire as hot as the one that killed Hotaru. It may not be the Will of Fire, but it’’s hers, and she’ll use it to push forward until she is in ashes. “There was — you have to test us again. If you don’t, I’ll—”

Then again, what power does she have?

Kakashi’s eyes are stone, stone like the man who cast her out of her home, stone like the man who shackles her to his legacy. “Fine, I’ll test you again. Same rules apply, and you will have ten minutes to decide.”

Ten minutes? Umeko can work with that, can work with anything if it means she can be tested again. She’ll get it this time; she knows the trick — knows the expectation. Umeko just needs to fill it, morph herself to fit the role she needs to play.

Kakashi follows the same steps as before, the bells tinkling behind them as he passes each of them. Expectedly, no bell falls into her palm. It’s the same as before, none of them have a bell.

Unless he wants her to believe that — this could be a ploy to get her off the team. He could keep Sasuke and Naruto, but send off Umeko with the biggest middle finger to her grandfather. Most shinobi would jump at the chance to pull one over on him, animosity running thick towards the unmovable political figure her grandfather has become.

Kakashi moves to the front of them again, leaning back against the training log. “Your ten minutes start now.”

Umeko feels jittery and anxious when she stares at Sasuke and Naruto’s faces, looking for any twitch of betrayal. Do they have bells, or do they not have bells? If she says she doesn’t have a bell and they do, she could be sent back to the Academy. But, if none of them have bells again, she would be falling for the same trick as last time.

Naruto tilts his head back from where he is staring at the grass, his foot toeing a pebble stuck between the leafy strands. “I have a bell.”

Umeko’s hands clench. Is he lying again, or does he really have one?

“I have a bell, too,” Sasuke mutters, his head tossed to the side away from them.

Is this…are they lying? Did they plan this from the start, with Kakashi? To lull her into a sense of security, let her think she has it all planned out, and then get her off the team. Kakashi could get rid of his granddaughter without any fuss or fanfare. No one could even call foul play, since he gave her a second chance anyway.

Umeko can’t fail again. She’ll just have to blindly trust in their words, just like one of those sentimental fools her grandfather lectures her about.

“I don’t have a bell.”

Sasuke stares at her and Umeko squirms under the attention. Then, he nods and turns towards Kakashi’s slouched figure.

“We have our answer. Umeko is the one without a bell.”

“It seems like you all passed then!” Kakashi says cheerily, and Umeko’s chest loosens slightly. She would’ve felt even better if he wasn’t so happy after psychologically torturing her for the past hour or so. “I’ll see you all tomorrow here at the same time. Don’t be late, my cute little genin!”

Kakashi leaves in a blur, and Umeko starts walking away because she has no intention of staying with her team after all of that. Naruto, seemingly, has other intentions since he sprints into her path almost immediately.

“Uh, Umeko…” Naruto scratches his cheek awkwardly, and Umeko would give anything to escape this conversation. “I’m sorry for lying at first. I wasn’t thinking about what was best for the village, I was being selfish like you said.”

What? Naruto couldn’t possibly be so naive or egotistical as to think he’s a mass manipulator who tricked her into believing in his innocence. Can’t he see she was playing him the whole time?

“Don’t worry about it, Naruto.” Umeko smiles, and it’’s painful and exhausting, “I lied, too. We all did. I guess that test brought out the worst in us. We’ll just have to do better, right?”

Naruto nods enthusiastically, grinning at her clemency. Umeko darts down the path before he can do something as awful as engaging her in conversation.

The house is quiet for hours after the bell test. Her grandfather hasn’t returned home despite the dipping sun casting an orange glow on his favorite lounging spot. It isn’t surprising nor is it alarming that he is gone this late in the day, but it is unnerving as Umeko sits on the engawa and awaits his judgment.

If he were here, he would lecture her about productivity — not a single moment spent or wasted when as youthful as her. However, Umeko can’t find it in herself to settle down and focus enough on the usual things she does to keep her occupied: studying, training, and meditating, mostly. The house had a strict ban on hobbies and anything that could be considered frivolous or trivial.

Instead, Umeko sits in the dying light of the sunset as a bag of prepped soldier rations goes cold in front of her. She thinks, once upon a time, she would have enjoyed cooking and baking. Burning bread and buying daifuku are the few good memories Umeko has made in this life before everything unfolded.

In the bubble of solitude, simultaneously fraught with a tension she can’t quite ever shake but also a rare undisturbed peace, Umeko thinks about Uchiha Sasuke. Specifically, she thinks about his eyes — the dark swirls of them that could swallow her whole if she looked too long. Still, the sharingan was reportedly much scarier and more formidable.

The Uchiha Massacre occurred during a time of uncertainty for Umeko. The year after she replaced ( murdered ) the real Umeko was spent living half with Mama and half with her grandfather. Continuously, her grandfather would come to their door and take her away even when Mama came up with excuse after excuse for her to stay. Even at the age of seven, Umeko knew one day he would take her and she would not return.

A day came when her grandfather stopped visiting. For a few peaceful months, Umeko spent her life burning bread and buying daifuku with Mama. Then, when Umeko began to foolishly hope, her grandfather darkened their doorstep. This time, he did not return her to her family home. A few days later, a sullen Uchiha Sasuke entered the Academy door while everyone gossiped about the death of Konoha’s legendary clan.

Umeko had never seen a sharingan, but her grandfather kept scrolls of information in his private library. One day, out of curiosity, Umeko stole one to examine the legendary eyes of a Uchiha.

Her grandfather caught her and slapped his cane into her spine. Then he gave her his entire collection of information on Uchiha and told her to study them. He never told her why and never discussed the Uchiha Massacre, but the way he prodded her with questions…she knew why he wanted her to know.

The Uchiha Clan was the enemy.

Using Uchiha Sasuke as a tool was too simplified, too naive of her to assume. Though he never told her of them, Umeko knew her grandfather’s schemes were always devious and nefarious. She could tell in the way his lip twitched downward when reports came in as if trying to suppress the slightest smile at everything going to plan.

No, his plans for Uchiha Sasuke were big, and that daunted Umeko more than anything else.

“Umeko.” His voice traveled like a cube of ice sliding down her spine, and Umeko immediately shuffled to the side so he could occupy his favorite lounging spot.

He sat down and said nothing for a long time. When his eyes flicked towards the kitchen, Umeko hurriedly retrieved his favorite sake and poured him a cup. Even as he stoically watched the sunset and sipped from his cup, he made no sound, and neither did Umeko. In this household, in this clan, everything was a weapon — even silence.

“And the bell test?” Admitting her failure…in the long run, doing so now would save her grief in the future.

“The test was different. I believe he assumed you would tell me of the original bell test and its secret meaning, so he changed it. I…failed at first,” thwack, as the curved handle of his cane crushed her knuckles into the tatami floor, “but I convinced him to give us a second chance. Hatake Kakashi passed Team 7.”

Her grandfather hummed and sipped, his cane still digging marks into the back of her hand. “And do you know what I ask of you now?”

Partially, but it was more than she did this morning.

“You…want me to unlock Uchiha Sasuke’s sharingan.” She read enough about it when she was young, pouring over scrolls half-blocked out with redacted information. The sharingan was a wily ability that could only be unlocked through complete and utter turmoil — a truly cursed gift.

Instead of replying, her grandfather sets his cup down and waits for her to continue. Umeko hesitates, knowing what is to come, but time has taught her to rip off the bandaid.

“I don’t understand the purpose of Uzumaki Naruto being on the team, Grandfather.” The cane that dug into her hand flips in her grandfather’s grip and the knobbled end crashes into her nose as he swings the cane upwards. With the force, Umeko falls backwards and the table clatters as she jostles it with her shoulder.

Her grandfather picks up his cup and drains it of the last drops.

“Uzumaki Naruto is the jinchuuriki of the Kyuubi. Since the attack twelve years ago, I have petitioned for the monster boy to be restrained and monitored to avoid another attack.” Umeko clammers back into a seiza position, ignoring the way blood drips down her nose. “Hiruzen refuses like the fool he is.”

“Then,” Umeko frets at the hem of her knee-length shorts, finger scratching at a loose thread of an embroidered plum blossom, “you intend for me to monitor him.”

“And control him.”

Controlling Naruto wouldn’t be hard, inconvenient, or annoying, but not hard. Today, while perhaps not Kakashi’s intention, gave Umeko an idea of the best methods to seize control of her team. Even still, she manipulated Naruto poorly today and he still apologized to her.  

And yet…he looked so sincere.

Umeko always puts herself first, and she has long since realized that this is the only way to survive here. Maybe Hotaru would have been softer, lighter, and kinder. Instead, Umeko is bleeding cracks and jagged edges.

The feeling of soft cotton sweeping against her chin startles Umeko from her thoughts. A slightly bloodied white handkerchief is gripped in her grandfather’s good hand and he swipes it gently against her stinging skin.

“There hasn’t been a member of our clan who can use the Shizen no Ne since my father.” Her grandfather’s words turn poignant, not quite softening but holding a muted wistfulness not often heard. “My own children proved unfit for a shinobi career. Even your mother.

“Then, there was you. The answer to our dying legacy.” Her grandfather presses the handkerchief into Umeko’s hand and picks up his cane as he pulls himself to his feet. “Do not disappoint me again, Umeko.”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

Whether touched by cotton or rubbed in salt, it doesn’t change anything. A broken nose just fucking hurts.

Chapter Text

To some extent, Ino knew Umeko’s friendship was a farce. The Academy was filled with sycophants attempting to curry favor with the clan heirs. Of course, Ino didn’t think Umeko was any different — and she wasn’t — but Ino liked the power and attention.

Pretending to be her friend and follower was annoying, but it was easy. It didn’t take much, and Ino saw through most pretenses anyway. Just a nod here, an agreement there, and the Yamanaka heiress was satisfied.

These tasks, the upheaval, and the grand manipulation of Team 7 were new territory for Umeko. Her skills in getting what she wanted were better than most, but Sasuke saw right through her during the bell test. Fooling Naruto would be easy, but the Uchiha will prove to be a challenge.

Umeko needs to get creative.

Only six years ago, the Uchiha women were the epitome of fashion in Konohagakure. While the Uchiha Clan’s presence as the police force diminished their political power and made them persona non grata in many social circles, everyday civilians couldn’t help but admire the poise and grace the Uchiha wielded. From their clothes to their perfume, civilians copied the Uchiha women and even published style tips in civilian magazines. 

Umeko knows this because she spent the entire night studying such civilian magazines to find the slightest scrap of information on the Uchiha. The clan was secretive when it came to their skill set and family secrets, but Uchiha fashion habits didn’t fall under classified data. It was no recipe book, but it would suffice for Umeko’s last-minute purposes.

Feeling delirious from little sleep, Umeko began getting ready for her first day with her team in a state of zen that only hours of research and a heavy dose of dedication can achieve. When wrapping her rose gold sash on top of her cheongsam , she ties it in a decorative butterfly knot instead of winding the leftover length of cotton between the wrap. Her fingers slide through her curly locks, short enough that Umeko can afford to leave it down, but long enough to brush against the tops of her shoulders.

Umeko whistles to herself when she leaves the house, satisfied.

She’s the last to arrive at the meeting spot - bar Kakashi, of course. From a few rumors she’s heard, Kakashi’s tardiness is something to be expected going forward. Naruto waves enthusiastically at her, and Umeko forces a sweet smile. Sasuke leans against the bridge’s railing, looking off into the distance once more. Umeko ensures that her body faces him, trying to appear open and friendly.

Naruto makes conversation while they wait, and Umeko fiddles with the butterfly knot a few times, making sure not to ruin the elegant loops. With her fiddling, Naruto’s attention keeps straying to her sash in the middle of his words until finally -

“Say, Umeko, your sash isn’t usually like that.” Umeko smiles brightly at him, and her hands smooth down the knot.

“Ah, I thought I’d try something new!” From the corner of her eye, she can see Sasuke’s shoulders go stiff and his hand clenches in his white arm warmers. “It’s a butterfly knot, it was really popular around six-ish years ago. Is it pretty?”

Taking a step back, Umeko twirls on her foot to show off the sash. It wasn’t different other than the butterfly knot, but Umeko might as well commit to this vain demonstration. 

“Yeah, it looks really pretty!” Naruto agrees, nodding vigorously. This is too easy, Umeko thinks to herself.

She pauses as if deciding on something, “Well, I saw it in an old civilian magazine my grandfather keeps around. You probably aren’t into these types of things, but I can bring them tomorrow if you’re interested.”

Umeko highly doubts that Naruto is interested in fashion magazines, but anything that could constitute a shared interest will be met with nothing short of avid agreement. Like she expected, Naruto was pumped to take her up on her offer, and Umeko bored him with stupid fashion tips she saw in the magazine last night—most of these tips were inspired by Uchiha fashion trends.

By the time Kakashi arrived, an hour and a half later, Sasuke was silently fuming to himself. Umeko couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face, so she turned to Naruto and pretended that her smile was for him. 

The month Umeko first came to live with her grandfather, he presented her with a list of rules that she was required to follow. If any laws were broken, it was ten slaps of bamboo across her knuckles. Some of the rules listed made sense - curfews, chores, the like - but other rules seemed arbitrary and irrational. Such rules as brushing her teeth for precisely three minutes—no more, no less—and eating her meals in ten bites. Any food after the ten bites was thrown in the compost bin.

One day, nearly driven crazy by the list of over a hundred rules to memorize and follow, Umeko asked her grandfather about the meaning of the rules. He simply took a sip of tea and responded, “I have to break you down before I can build you up,” and then she received ten lashes on her calves for asking a question before midday.

Umeko hated that lesson, hated that list of rules, but he did break her down and build her back up, piece by piece, in the image he pictured. Now, Umeko will do the same for Sasuke.

The sharingan is unlocked through emotions, adrenaline, and what evokes more emotion than the slaughter of your clan? It’s cruel, creating a plan to remind Sasuke of his family every single day until he breaks. Umeko has enough of a heart to realize that, but any guilt is overshadowed by the ache in her nose and the bruise covered by makeup. 

The next day, Umeko arrives with her magazines. The models on the cover aren’t from the Uchiha Clan, but their pale skin and black hair are a blatant imitation of them. She sits on the ground with Naruto, looking over the pages and the covers unobstructed from Sasuke’s view.

Umeko even invites Sasuke to read the magazines with her. Sasuke takes one glance at the cover of the magazine she’s waving at him and walks across the bridge to rest under the trees. 

“Man, Sasuke is sucha bastard!” Naruto yells, incensed at Sasuke’s snub. With renewed interest, Naruto picks up a magazine and starts flipping through it. “Don’t worry, Umeko. I like reading with you.”

A voice that sounds like her grandfather echoes in her head, telling her not to forget the second part of her mission: control him.

She smiles and lays her hand gently on Naruto’s hand, “It’s okay, Naruto. You don’t have to pretend to like the magazines. We can do something else.”

“No, no! You like this stuff, right? I like it, too!” Naruto protests, though Umeko knows he’s been spacing out mid-conversation about fashion. If she’s being honest, Umeko doesn’t really like it either. She’s not so ignorant as to not know about her vanity, her love for pretty things, and being perfect, but she’s always preferred cuteness over the stiff elegance in the magazines.

“Thank you, Naruto. I really enjoy spending time with you.” Umeko leans back, resting on her hands, and catches Naruto’s eyes. She’s careful to maintain eye contact, forcing herself to project something akin to sincerity. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah, of course! I swear I won’t tell anyone.” Naruto inches forward and glares suspiciously at Sasuke, still lounging at a distance.

Umeko scoots forward too, leaning in close and speaking quietly, “Mm, to be honest, I know I’m not as great or pretty as the other girls in our class. I had to work really hard, harder than they did, to make a good grade. I could never go shopping or eat with them because I was so busy training. Sometimes…I feel like they looked down on me because of it.”

It wasn’t really untruthful. Umeko wasn’t able to do things that all the other kids could do, confined to her grandfather’s strict schedule. Ino did look down on her, too, seeing her as nothing but her little puppet. The only difference is that Umeko’s pretending to care more than she actually does.

“That’s not true! You’re great.” Naruto said, and his hands grasped Umeko’s fidgeting ones. Umeko startled, not expecting the sudden declaration told with such conviction, and when she looked into Naruto’s eyes - it felt damning. Truly, Naruto was genuine in everything he does - even this. For the first time, the guilt is hard to swallow. “I kind of went through the same thing. Everyone looks down on me, too. Especially that bastard!”

Umeko doesn’t look when he gestures at Sasuke’s distant form. Instead, she’s forcing down the panic seizing her veins. He’s such an innocent boy, and Umeko will use that against him. At least with Sasuke, he’s tainted - his pain consumed him, and he came out just as cynical as she did. Naruto, though, despite the cruelty of everyone, is still so optimistic. 

Her hands feel dirty under Naruto’s clean touch, and she almost slips her fingers from his grip. Her nose still hurts from a snap of the cane, though, so Umeko squeezes Naruto’s hands and grins at him.

“We’re a lot alike, Naruto.” Umeko removes herself from his clutch and shifts backwards. She tucks her hands under her thighs so he can’t touch them again. “We’re a team within a team, you know? You and me, we understand each other.”

Umeko doesn’t think she understands him at all.

Kakashi arrives soon after, casual and indifferent as always. There’s a sharper edge to it today, he leaves several times in the midst of their D-rank missions. Naruto complains about it, and Sasuke looks disgruntled, but Umeko can’t help an inching suspicion.

Her next idea requires some investigation and thorough research. The information she needs isn’t easily accessible; it's not necessarily a classified secret, but rather an invasion of privacy. She only has one chance to gain access, and if she’s found out, it means a vicious beating.

Umeko transforms into her grandfather and spends hours in front of a floor-length mirror, ensuring every detail is perfect. It helps that she’s spent the last six years studying him, watching him through resentful eyes. When she finally approves of it, when his height is right to the exact centimeter and his eyes are the right shade of light brown, she leaves the house.

The Hokage tower is a vast, bulky cylinder of a beacon, and a short distance away. Her grandfather bought his current residence because of its easy access to Konoha’s main hub of administrative hell. As she walks the halls, multiple people scurry out of her way and give her a wide berth. Her grandfather’s pragmatic disposition and intolerance for failure must be widespread knowledge.

The accountant's corridor is near the back of the tower on the second floor, and the slow drudge of bookkeeping and deskwork is hidden from the flurry of activity everywhere else. The halls are dead quiet, and everyone’s eyes are dead when Umeko enters the main room.

No one really looks up or notices her, all of them hunched over scrolls and papers, penning numbers under aching fingers. It’s a relief not having to project the tenor of her grandfather’s voice, chakra rubbing against her vocal cords to change pitch. With the air of someone meant to be there, Umeko steps into the back storage room.

It’s a large storage room with ceiling-to-floor cabinets set up in rows. Each cabinet had a different label on it, some dedicated to tax forms of clans, and others reports for Konoha spending. There’s an advanced sorting system to it all that Umeko doesn’t fully understand, so she walks each aisle and skims the labels. 

She finds the cabinet she is looking for in the back corner, the drawers covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs sticking thickly to the handle. The fading yellow papered label declared it to be the tax forms of the Uchiha. Careful not to disturb too much dust, Umeko inches a drawer open with a single finger under the handle. It slides out in small budges, squeaking on rusty hinges, and she flinches with every squeal.

The drawer is sparser than she expected, with only a few papers filed over the last six years. With tense fingers, she pinches out the report from last year and flicks through the pages. When her eyes land on a heading titled “Properties,” she stops and scans the list.

Most of the Uchiha clan’s items were stored away after the massacre in their storage properties. Nearly the entirety of all Uchiha funds fell to Sasuke, with some of it being pulled for this or that. Among the yearly expenses draining the Uchiha account were property taxes, the funds being used to preserve Uchiha land until Sasuke decided what to do with it. Umeko’s fingers traced down the page, making note of every storage location. Some were blotted out in thick lines, probably sensitive addresses that held precious Uchiha heirlooms — but Umeko didn’t care about that.

With the few addresses memorized, she slipped them back into the drawer and left the storage room. Almost immediately, Umeko nearly collided with a small chuunin holding a clipboard. The nervous chuunin stared up at her with a quivering lip, unmissably intimidated by her grandfather’s visage. With trepidation, the chuunin nudged the clipboard towards her.

“S-Sorry, but it’s policy for e-everyone to sign off when entering the ar-archives.” The young shinobi stutters, and Umeko tries to summon her most surly, annoyed look. Her eyes narrow, and her lip barely curls in a mimicry of her grandfather. Despite the young shinobi seeming cowed, he still insists on holding out the clipboard with a trembling hand.

Knowing she might actually be signing her death warrant if this list reaches her grandfather, Umeko attempts to hold her hand steady as she pens her grandfather’s name in almost identical handwriting.

Three weeks after officially joining Team 7, Umeko breaks.

Not emotionally — something sinister forged her in blood and fury when she came to this world, and Umeko is beginning to doubt whether a heart beats beneath her chest at all. No, Umeko breaks under Naruto’s hopeful baby blue eyes and bashful, hesitant invitations.

Umeko agrees to try Ichiraku ramen with Naruto.

The only time Umeko indulged in ramen was in the Academy on days her allowance fell too short for her usual grab-and-go meals. The instant ramen tasted flavorless on her tongue and possessed an abnormal amount of crunch. Typically, gorging on food with such a lack of nutrients and vitamins would result in an insufferable lecture and scraped, bleeding knuckles. This evening, though, the Hokage summoned her grandfather to a council meeting, and Umeko could breathe easily for a few more hours.

“How’d ya cook it, really?” Naruto asked in an absurdly serious manner as they traveled the trodden path to the Ichiraku stall. “Two minutes on boil, right? Instant ramen is nowhere close to old man Teuchi’s ramen, but there shouldn’t be a crunch!”

Umeko figures that engaging in asinine conversation will win her a few points, so she genuinely tries to remember as much of her miserable Academy lunches as possible. Beyond the bland taste and tacky feeling of hard ramen sticking to her teeth, Umeko only recalls Ino’s annoying prattling and the inevitable dread of a day half spent.

Umeko shrugs and answers honestly, “I don’t really remember. Lunch time was always a blur.”

“Yeah,” Naruto smiles softly at her, his kind eyes oozing a repugnant empathy that made Umeko’s stomach churn. “Lunch was like that for me, too. Though…”

Curiosity piqued, Umeko studied Naruto’s profile in the setting sun with interest. Perhaps he’ll unveil a vulnerability she could exploit. Umeko prompts, “Though?”

“...it was the best time to sneak out!” Naruto grins mischievously at her, and she deflates in a whoosh of a breath.

“I guess I should’ve expected that,” Umeko mutters with a small amount of surliness, kicking a rock in her path. It ricochets off a nearby bench and slips into the tall grass bordering the road. Naruto just snickers next to her. She thinks about throttling him.

“Oh!” Naruto exclaims, pointing at a red bedecked stall a few meters away, “We’re here! C’mon, Umeko, I’m hungry!”

A sweaty, too-hot hand squeezes around her wrist, and Naruto tugs her towards Ichiraku. At his unbearable touch, which seemed almost as tight as a manacle around her guilty hands, Umeko grimaced and bit back a sharp retort.

Teuchi was an extraordinarily kind old man—or, perhaps, Umeko knew only bitter and cruel old men. He greeted Naruto with a large grin, and his resting face had prominent laugh lines that spoke of a jovial and happy life. His daughter, Ayame, as she introduced herself, had the same joyful and cheery disposition as her father. They chuckled at Naruto’s antics when he ordered five bowls of ramen for himself, each a different flavor, and happily offered a discount for their ‘favorite customer.’ It set Umeko’s teeth on edge as if she had bitten rhubarb, and she distracted herself from the sickening sight by studying the cheap, paper menu.

“And what would you like to order, miss?” Teuchi asks her once they stop teasing Naruto, his tone mirthful and glad. Umeko’s hackles rise, and her back muscles tighten — she rolls her shoulders in a jarring, quick movement to hide the unpleasant reaction.

Umeko stares sightlessly at the menu for a moment before shrugging her shoulders and saying in a faux cheery tone, “It all looks so good! Pick me for me, Naruto.”

Naruto is more than happy to do so and starts babbling about which ramen he should choose. Ayame watches Naruto with an indulgent fondness, and Teuchi laughs as he turns around to begin boiling Naruto’s noodles. Satisfied that the attention has been returned to her companion, Umeko stretches her tight shoulders and tunes out.

Naruto ends up choosing his favorite Ichiraku dish for her — miso ramen with extra chasu. It tastes better than Umeko expects, the pork is tender, and the broth adds a savory flavor to the meat. The company isn’t too awful either. As the sun draws closer and closer to the horizon, Naruto adopts a more mild, placid temper. There is still a rambunctious edge to him, and he yells a little too loudly when Umeko says frogs are slimy and gross. Still, it’s almost…serene.

Their meal only lasts for thirty minutes as Naruto devours all five of his bowls and Umeko, hungrier than she thought, eats with just slightly less gusto. Unexpectedly reluctant to depart, they linger another hour at the stand, joking about similarities between Kakashi and Sasuke and trading Academy stories. 

For that small slice of time, Umeko forgets.

“We’ve got to close up now, kids,” Teuchi tells them regretfully, interrupting Naruto’s tale of pranking the Hokage and meeting the most honorable grandson, Konohamaru.

From a small silk coin pouch, Umeko pays for her meal and drags her feet away from the stall. Naruto rummages clumsily in his frog coin purse for payment, some coins clattering to the ground in his hurry, which he then has to stoop down to retrieve. Without really thinking about it, Umeko waits for him.

Naruto pays Teuchi, and his smile broadens when he sees Umeko waiting for him. He rushes to her side, nearly tripping over a stick in his enthusiasm. “You waited!”

A warmth blooms in her gut, the sensation both pleasant and vile. She feels even sicker with herself when a blush blooms across her cheeks. “I thought we could walk for a little, it’s not that late, yet.”

I don’t want to go home.

“That sounds great!” Naruto cheers, and Umeko leads the way as they begin to amble through the sparse streets in quietness.

Uncharacteristically, Naruto is subdued and silent, his hands tucked into his pockets as he stares at the path they walk. Even more uncharacteristically, the overwhelming urge to break the silence overcomes Umeko. “Thank you, Naruto. I would’ve been eating cold rice if you didn’t invite me out.”

From the corner of her vision, she sees Naruto’s head tilt towards her and his lips pressing into a frown. Umeko doesn’t think she likes it when Naruto frowns — it seems unnatural.

“Would your…” Naruto stutters on the sentence and he sucks a breath in before starting over, “Would your parents not make supper for you? I hear Shikamaru and Choji talking about their mom’s cooking all the time…”

“I don’t live with my parents.” This truth slips out of her too quick, too easy. Umeko clears her throat and smiles, as if she can swallow down the vulnerability she shared, “My grandfather takes care of me, trains me, and stuff.”

“Are your parents…dead?” His hesitant words come in a whisper, desperation edging each syllable. Never has Umeko felt his loneliness so painfully and poignantly. 

Maybe it’s the night sky, a sliver of a moon suspended in the air, and a blue-toned, starless sky blanketing them that causes these slips of the tongue. Or, maybe, terrifyingly, disgustingly, Umeko wears her loneliness just as painfully and poignantly.

“My dad disowned me.” The summer night’s heat sticks to her, wringing all her secrets out of her like a sweaty palm around her neck. Umeko tries to smile, tries to ignore the ache behind her eyes and the lump in her throat. She can’t bring herself to look at Naruto, though she knows he’s staring at her.

A hand slips around her wrist and tugs at her. Reluctantly, Umeko returns Naruto’s gaze — and immediately regrets it. His expressive blue eyes mist over, and his lips tremble.

“You don’t have to fake a smile around me, Umeko.” Naruto declares, his words steel and stone and safe. His hand tightens around her wrist. “I’ll make you smile for real, dattebayo!”

The warmth in her gut returns, followed by a sensation of squirming worms that eat it away. You’re just a tool for me , Umeko thinks, and she wishes Naruto would just understand. Umeko almost wants to tell him. Instead, her smile slips away like a hidden detail in the dark, and she squeezes his hand back. “Okay.”

They part soon after that, and it's a devastating blow when she enters her house; the rooms feel stuffy, stagnant, and oppressive. With snappy, exhausted movements, Umeko struggles to slip her sandals off at the entrance, choking back unformed sobs the whole time. That devastation turns into something much worse when a shadow darkens the doorway.

Her next plan remained at a standstill until their next rest day. Umeko found her fingers fidgeting often, an antsy impatience vibrating through her core. 

She tied her sash normally, again, and left the fashion magazines at home for the next few days. Sasuke existed in her peripheral vision, but he became an intangible thing that Umeko couldn’t exert her control over anymore. In only a few days, he stopped flinching and glowering when he noticed her outfit or peeked at the magazine rolled into her hip pouch. Until she could retrieve what she needed, she was stuck in this state, glued to him.

So, Umeko redoubled her efforts with Naruto. At every turn, she integrated herself into his life — an enthusiastic friend who ate ramen with him, a thoughtful friend who brought him meals, his only friend whom he could trust. It was a balance act, suspended above two sides — one side being the kind and sweet girl she was supposed to be, the other sowing doubt in Naruto’s mind. 

In return for her friendship , Naruto invited her to everything under the sun after their dinner half a week prior. A movie, to the park, some solo training. Umeko accepted some, declined most — partly because she needed him to crave her attention and acceptance, but mainly because the guilt carved itself into a cavity in her gut. Umeko pushed that guilt as deep as she could. Still, Naruto never wavered, even when an ugliness rose in Umeko without cause and she lashed out before catching herself. He would just smile that sad grin and ask her if everything was okay. Umeko lied to Naruto a lot.

The worst lie she told wasn’t to serve her purpose, and that made it the most vile. 

For someone who didn’t seem to enjoy their presence, Kakashi made them take missions often — though, he never trained them. Umeko hadn’t experienced a rest day in two weeks, exhausted beyond belief. When she complained to him, all sweet smiles and wide eyes, he smiled that infuriating cheeky grin and said it was endurance training.

Her lie came during one such grueling day.

The day was hot, and sweat soaked through Umeko’s clothes. Makeup covering her bruises from half a week ago felt sticky and claustrophobic. Umeko was in a sour mood.

Together, the three genin on Team 7 toiled in a small garden for an elderly woman with a broken calf. Umeko decided she would get rid of weeds, her hands viciously pulling out the roots with a cathartic rip. She directed Naruto to the fertilizer and gestured to the watering can for Sasuke.

They always worked in silence until Naruto would break it with inane babbling about something or another — usually ramen. Sasuke would ignore him, and Umeko would nod, hum, and speak in all the right places without actually listening. An art, really, that she perfected around Ino.

This day, Naruto hunched over the plants as he swept fertilizer into the garden. He covered many topics, sometimes shifting subjects mid-sentence. Umeko bore it with a smile as her grimy hands twisted weed roots out of the garden bed. Sasuke walked up and down the garden, watering the plants and occasionally refilling the watering can.

An unnerving chill sparked against her neck every time he passed behind her.

“Oh! Umeko, you missed a weed!” Naruto pointed enthusiastically over her shoulder, interrupting his tangent about his landlord. There was a dispute about a broken window or something similar.

“Thank you for telling me, Naruto.” I can’t wait to go home.

On her knees, she shuffled around, only worsening the dirt stains on her clothing. Naruto followed her, bending down to point out the weed again with unnecessary scrutiny. At the same time, Sasuke meant to pass behind Naruto after filling up the watering can.

He tripped. Water splashed across Umeko’s face.

“Sasuke! Watch where you’re going!” Naruto leapt to his feet, and the usual heated exchange between them started up. Annoyed, Umeko used the only clean cloth — her nearly stainless top — and swiped the water from her face.

Silence descended.

“Umeko…” Naruto kneeled before her, and his blue eyes widened. Rough fingers gently grasped her shoulders, and he pulled her closer. “What happened to your face?”

The answer was that a lot happened. Her grandfather wasn’t impressed with her stunt at the Hokage tower after she came home from Ichiraku, even though she insisted it was to unlock Sasuke’s sharingan. The punishment was rougher than usual, lashes against her back and thighs. In an unusual burst of anger, the injustice simmering beneath her skin, she lashed back, saying she was only doing what was asked of her. That resulted in a few hits around the cheeks, his broad and harsh palm a reminder that he ruled her with an iron fist. The bruises and cuts would take longer to heal this time around.

Umeko didn’t say that. Instead, she smiled even though it hurt and pried his fingers from her shoulders. “Training accident. I have to keep up with you, right?”

Naruto seemed uneasy, but didn’t press the issue. Umeko wanted to throw up, the vulnerability blending her insides with anxiety.

The next day, when Naruto arrived with a medkit and carefully tended to her face, Umeko excused herself to a nearby public bathroom. Hunched over a toilet bowl in one of the stalls, she puked up her breakfast.

A break in their schedule came several days later, and Umeko’s bed taunted her temptingly like a siren. The idea of spending her full day off wrapped in her blankets and staring at her ceiling appealed to her exhausted mind. Unfortunately, there were other matters to deal with - namely, the addresses burning in her thoughts.

The warehouses were located on the outskirts of the village, near the old, abandoned Konoha police headquarters and the wall surrounding the Uchiha district. Sweat beaded her forehead from the typical summer days of Konoha as she inconspicuously walked the dusty paths. Even though time pressed in on her, urging her to run to the warehouse before she was caught in the act, Umeko maintained an even pace within the crowd.

The further and further she walked to the outskirts, the more sparse the streets became, until her lone shadow darkened the path. The abandoned Uchiha district suffered at the hands of time, and stalls and buildings were decrepit and in disrepair. Eerie chills crawled up Umeko’s spine as she walked through the ghost town, the absence of Konoha’s usually bustling streets a stark reminder of a bloody tragedy. Despite Konoha sending shinobi to clean the area, stubborn rusty red stains clung to neglected corners of the streets.

Not for the first time, but perhaps the most significant of times, Umeko questioned her grandfather’s orders. Reports say Sasuke witnessed it all, came home to streets awashed in blood, and Umeko plans to remind him of this sight deliberately. Her past willingness to do so is a mark on her soul that Umeko will never be able to cleanse. The continuous slap of her sandals against the ground is an indictment she will always carry. Because even though she resented her grandfather and her decision, never did she hesitate or think to turn around. Umeko understood that she was a selfish, evil creature when she entered this world with blood already on her hands. What’s a few more moments of selfishness when she’s already damned?

The first warehouse she came across was small and held uncategorized items. Things that couldn’t be traced back to their deceased owners, items broken in the fight, and seemingly essential scraps of buildings and stalls. A long wooden sign, cleaved in half, bore the katakana characters spelling " senbei" ; Umeko figures it's the last remnants of the popular Uchiha Senbei food stall. Her finger glides through the dust on the chipped wood before she turns and leaves the warehouse.

The second warehouse contained records — birth records, death certificates, and one drawer that had been stuffed with miscellaneous receipts, which tipped ominously sideways. Umeko idled for half an hour, digging through the folders for any sensitive information, but it seemed to hold only the simplest of forms.

The third and last warehouse address Umeko had memorized was built closer to the heart of the Uchiha district. The building loomed bigger than the other two, though still squat like most of the buildings in the Uchiha district. Due to its size, the rusted door was larger than Umeko had anticipated, and she struggled for a few minutes trying to inch it open without breaking it. After one nasty budge that resulted in an ominous crack, the slight gap between the double doors widened enough for Umeko to slip through.

It was precisely what Umeko had been looking for: homeless items listed in personal property memoranda. Large racks towered to the ceiling of the warehouse, dusty and forgotten items stacked haphazardly onto the steel slatted shelves. Every item in this warehouse had been listed in an Uchiha’s will and memorandum, sorted and separated by the testator’s name. The inheritors of most of these items were slaughtered right beside the decedent. As a matter of fact, all of the heirs died — except for one.

In the back of the warehouse, as if protecting their clan head’s property from robbers and raiders, a pile of items nearly spilled off the bottom shelf. The metal edge of the shelf read: Uchiha Fugaku .

A wave of impatience crashed over her, and Umeko scrabbled onto her hands and knees. She sifted through the items, selecting only a few to seal into her storage scroll. A familiar well of guilt began building in her stomach; Umeko’s movements became even more hurried and inelegant. Her hands caught on a cookbook, the corner of the hard cover digging into her wrist, and Umeko flipped it open, frustrated. Inside the cover, in an elegant scrawl, katakana penned Uchiha Mikoto across the hardback. 

Trembling fingers flip through the pages, thick with a mix of printed words and handwritten notes. Uchiha Mikoto kept a meticulous record of her alterations to the recipes, her family’s reaction, and the subsequent changes. Every etch of katakana radiated love, sometimes the lead of her pencil deepening in evident fervor, and other times a slight, hurried scratch of last-minute changes.

Uchiha Mikoto’s scrawl completely overtook one page dedicated to a recipe for tomato curry. Something thick and emotional burned behind Umeko’s eyes as she carefully read the crossed-out recipe additions that were stacked on top of even more crossed-out changes. In the right margin, she rewrote the recipe with her preferred revisions. And, in the bottom right corner, Uchiha Mikoto squeezed in a small sentence, nearly engulfed by her other scribbles:

Peel the tomatoes - Sasuke never says so, but he notices.

Like the smell of burnt bread and the taste of savory karaage on a winter night. Umeko swallows and delicately tucks the cookbook into the sealing scroll.

When Umeko left the warehouse, it was with downcast eyes and her guilty, wretched hands tucked under her arms.

She stops for groceries.

The three medium-ripe tomatoes almost roll off the cutting board, their thin, membrane-like skin wet from a thorough wash under the sink. With a delicate and unsure hand, Umeko scores the bottom of each tomato with crisscrossing slashes, the lines uneven and wonky. Bubbles foam over the rim of a pot on the stove, water boiling with the violence of a battlefield. Water sloshes onto the floor each time Umeko drops a tomato in, some of it even splashing onto Umeko’s wrist and exposed toes. Other than a swift hiss of breath, she ignores it and waits a few seconds poised over the pot, until she begins to see the skins peeling back from the fruit—vegetable?

After fishing the tomatoes from the boiling water, she ices them and then peels them completely. The beef and pork are seasoned with the exact measurements listed in Uchiha Mikoto’s penmanship. Potatoes sliced into too thick chunks, and Umeko swears as she tries to recut them smaller until all of them are too small. When searing the beef and pork slices, they come back a little blackened and stiff.

An hour later, Umeko stares at four bento boxes stuffed full of rice and a slop-like curry of burnt meat and overcooked tomatoes. Cursing, she empties each bento box over the trashcan, her hand slapping the bottom, and a spoon scooping up the slop.

After three different attempts, Umeko is finally pleased. She spoons it into the bento boxes with a reverence, each portion measured exactly and laid with burning precision. It's 3 AM when Umeko glares at the clock, each beat of the ticking hands sounding like the bell tolls after the Uchiha Massacre.

She scrubs each dish with a viciousness, the kitchen silent except for that damn clock ticking away like a countdown until she will come face-to-face with Mikoto’s motherly wrath in the afterlife. The metal of the pot bends slightly under her wrinkly fingers and red knuckles. Her reflection in the soapy dishwater ripples, contorting her mirrored self until it echoes the twisted feelings she harbors inside.

Umeko slams the pot down and turns to shove the bento boxes into the fridge, her arms trembling with self-loathing. A harsh hand shuts the fridge door, and she stares at it - the bloody hands of a cruel manipulator, a cold murderer.

In the margins of a worn cookbook, Uchiha Mikoto weaved her love into a letter of ink and ingredients for her youngest son. At noon, Umeko will serve it to Sasuke like a final supper of tomatoes and treachery.

Chapter Text

Sasuke’s fingers grip the lacquered sides of the bento box, his knuckles stark white against the deep cherry wood. The fastened lid bears no patterns or engravings except for a small kanji in the uppermost right corner — “INTENTION,” a classic signature of her grandfather’s clan. Despite the discontent warping Sasuke’s features, Umeko finds herself pleased as she settles onto a nearby bench for lunch.

“Man, Umeko! This looks amazing!” Naruto exclaims as he settles next to her, his bento box already open with the lid gently tucked under the box.

Umeko preens under Naruto’s words, flipping her bento open and grabbing the reusable chopsticks placed inside. “I wanted to show my appreciation. I’m happy to be on Team 7 with you guys!”

Kakashi says nothing, a few feet away where he leans on a low fence outside their client’s house. Annoyingly, they were deep cleaning a home on the outer edge of the village for a pregnant woman. Umeko wouldn’t have minded the job so much if the lady didn’t hover behind them the entire time, correcting every little mistake and scowling at the slightest mishap. Within fifteen minutes, Kakashi relegated Naruto to outdoor work to separate him from the temperamental woman.

“Thank you for the meal, Ume-hime.” Kakashi grins at her, and he tilts his bento box forward slightly to show that it’s empty. Umeko bites back a sneer at the nickname and his flippant behavior, instead nibbling on a slice of pork.

The entire time, her eyes keep flickering back to Sasuke.

Sasuke, unaware of her scrutiny, spoons some curry into his mouth. The reaction is both undeniably visceral and obscenely muted. Once that single spoon of curry touched his tongue, Sasuke’s body stilled. Like an artist and eraser, the previous disgruntled pinch of his eyebrows and twitch of his jaw smoothed out until he became a blank canvas. Enraptured, Umeko tracked the bob of his throat as he swallowed the meal down, silent and still down to the last bite.

Her stomach became an odd mix of satisfaction and shame, the pride of achievement battling the remorse of duplicity. The rest of the curry tasted like ash, and Umeko choked down every grain of it.

On sturdy steps, Sasuke approaches her and holds out the bento box to return. Umeko glances up into his eyes and is met with that blankness again — that emptiness. Her hand trembles minutely as she grasps the bento box. Sasuke’s black eyes pierce into her like a sword. “Where did you learn to cook this?”

“Just a cookbook I found lying around,” Umeko’s lips twitched into a forced half-smile. “Did you enjoy it, Sasuke?”

His hand still clutches the bento box in a steel grip, and the poisonous meal between them connects them. Sasuke’s eyes are so dark, Umeko fears, for a single moment, that she’ll be devoured by the reflected abyss. Even like this, blank and empty, Sasuke is devastatingly handsome. Dark hair sweeping across his pale forehead, sharp angular features with an aristocratic point, and a misery so palpable and intriguing — it is that, above all, that captivates her. Umeko thinks she understands Ino more and more each day.

Underneath the black of his eyes, a slight burgundy hue seeps out from his pupil. The spindly lines of color blend into the black, brightening in spots of his iris, until the black engulfs the red. But now she knows it’s there — a bud beneath the surface, ready to bloom.

An intoxicating pride warms her stomach, overtaking the churning guilt, and Umeko’s bright and sincere smile widens.

It’s a nice reminder that Umeko may understand Ino and her childish impulses, but she will never be that insipid or delusional. Sasuke could never be a silly little boyfriend or charming husband to Ino — he was a weapon, and he was hers to sharpen.

“Don’t make food like this again.”

Umeko can’t even pretend to be upset; she just tugs her bento box out of his hand and smiles.

The satisfaction thrumming through her soon wriggled into a wormy unease. A gray eye - and, perhaps, even a hidden red one - tracked her throughout the day, and Kakashi dogged her steps throughout their litany of tedious D-rank missions.

A growing annoyance settles behind her teeth as they complete mission after mission, and Umeko realizes Kakashi has been giving her the hardest chores between the three of them. When walking a retired Inuzuka’s dogs, Kakashi extended a hand gripping three leashes - all belonging to a dog either the same size as her or doubled. During a short mission inside the Hokage’s office, Umeko was expected to deliver a tower of papers while Sasuke and Naruto ran missive deliveries. Gardening didn’t fare much better, either, when Kakashi smiled sweetly and handed her a trowel alongside stacks of fertilizer. Sasuke and Naruto watered and trimmed the hedges.

The last mission came after a slow, miserable day, and Umeko’s hands shook in excitement as she picked up trash from the shallow parts of the river. Sasuke and Naruto argued on the bridge nearby, both shoving trash into their bags in a furious rush with the intention of gathering more than the other. A tinge of melancholy clung to Sasuke throughout the day, but Naruto somehow managed to irritate him enough to coax out his competitive nature.

Naruto and Sasuke scrambled over stone and wood to capture the last of the remaining trash. Being on dry land looks so nice, Umeko thought viciously as she speared a foul-smelling object that was too waterlogged to distinguish. Kakashi lounged on the hill by the river, reading his stupid book. Umeko knew a careful eye still remained on her as she struggled through the slight current against her ankles. Every so often, Umeko would fix a glare on his form and imagine a tidal wave splashing over him, ruining his precious filthy book.

It was during such a daydream that Kakashi finally spoke to her. 

“Say, little Ume,” Kakashi drawled, turning a page with a lazy flick of his fingers. Umeko nearly snapped at him to not call her that, but she bit it back and stared at him warily. “You live with your grandfather, Shimura Danzō, right?”

Umeko stabbed a tin can, the dulled point of the spear piercing straight through and into a river rock underneath. “Yes, sensei. Since I was seven.” Anyone could tell Umeko is bitter about it, especially a trained elite jounin like Kakashi, so she doesn’t bother masking her tone or softening it.

Kakashi only hums and flips another page. Then, over the edge of his book,  he smiles at her. “I can tell, he’s taught you well.”

Umeko recognizes it for the insult that it is, and her hand clenches around the stupid spear. That familiar rage bubbles inside her, threatening to take over, and she pushes it down, down, down. Somehow, Umeko musters a honey-like grin, and she makes eye contact with the older man.

“He sings your praises often, sensei,” Umeko says, mimicking his nonchalant, affable tone. “Says you’re shaping up to be just like your father. The coming of the second White Fang of Konoha.”

Kakashi’s fingers are still on his book, and the quirk of his lips drops as he studies her for a moment. Umeko doesn’t flinch from eye contact, even as trash flows by her and Naruto complains about losing to Sasuke. Then, with a snap of his hand, Kakashi closes his copy of Icha Icha and stands to his full height.

A part of her expects some retribution for her smart comment, for prodding at a wound that hasn’t healed. Still, Umeko can’t find it in herself to regret saying it. If Kakashi finds an issue with being compared to his dishonorable father, then that’s his problem. Kakashi lifts his hands and Umeko flinches, expecting them to form into a handsign, but instead he’s waving Naruto and Sasuke down from the bridge.

“Whaddya want, Kakashi-sensei?” Naruto chirps, jumping into the shallow water with a splash. The water smacks into Umeko’s face, and some of it even goes up her nose.

“Good work, you two.” Kakashi compliments, his hand patting Naruto’s head condescendingly. Umeko scowls, bending over to collect the trash again, expecting Naruto and Sasuke to be dismissed now. This is her punishment, it seems, to finish the mission by herself. “Help Umeko with the river, alright?”

Naruto enthusiastically agrees even as Sasuke eyes Umeko distrustfully. In a swirl of leaves and debris, Kakashi is gone.

Umeko doesn’t think she’s a person. She’s a fractured, ugly little thing pretending at it. The motions are by rote, mimicking her peers until the movements feel natural. Smile, laugh, cry. It’s all a muted sensation in her chest, a dull muffled thrum that Umeko can barely hear over the rush of rage in her ears. The anger is the only human thing about her — the need to bend, break, claw, consume.

Lately, guilt has been there too, settled under her ribcage, right above where the fury blooms. 

Umeko doesn’t think Hotaru is much of a person either, to be able to assume this wretched identity. Her memories as Hotaru haven’t disappeared like a dream slipping through her fingers, but they’re faded like an overexposed picture in the sun.

Before, Umeko never had proof of her lack of humanity. The only thing she had were bright photos of memories leeched of color and a whirlpool of violence, madness, and anger in her gut. Now, though, the evidence lies in an array around her, uncloaked for everyone to see.

Mikoto’s cookbook, crafted with the tenderness of maternal love.

Itachi’s hemp hair ribbon, the edges frayed from overusing it.

Uchiha Family Album, a thick black binder brimming with pictures, except for the last few pages.

It’s an array of love and family, memories and dreams. It’s also a collection of cruelty, a weapon forged in something infinitely more dangerous than steel.

Umeko spends that night after her disastrous encounter with Kakashi exploring the items. There are more in her scroll, though less precious and poignant than the three items before her. She leaves bookmarks in the cookbook for interesting meals, idly fiddles with the ribbon until she absentmindedly ties it around her wrist, flips through the photos in admiration of a family of ashes.

Most of the photos are severe, proper, and traditional, but a few pieces of Sasuke’s life appear in candid photos of celebrations and special occasions. Itachi never appears in the candid photos, and Umeko realizes he must be the photographer. In a fit of insanity, Umeko peels a photo of Sasuke’s sixth birthday from the album and studies it.

Her hand caresses the grin across Sasuke’s lips and touches Uchiha Mikoto's long, silky hair. An airy strawberry cake is untouched and ignored in front of the joyful boy. Behind them, the sun is setting and it casts a beautiful golden glow onto their skin.

This is how Itachi saw his family — exultant, content, celestial.

Her anger claws up from her stomach and rushes through her ears, whispering like an old friend. Because how could Itachi do this heinous, terrible thing? If he hadn’t ripped and shredded and desecrated this heavenly family of his, Itachi could have saved Sasuke from the world, from her.

Maybe Itachi isn’t human, either.

It takes several days, but Umeko learns how to cook okonomiyaki , Itachi’s favorite. Instead of meat, Umeko packs it with scallions, which Itachi prefers.

Sasuke nearly refuses to eat the dish until Naruto prods and pokes him with inane insults and stupid challenges. He doesn’t make it halfway through the dish, the bento box clattering to the ground as he flees the bridge. Before he disappears, he throws a dark glare over his shoulder and Umeko meets his eyes.

Black, black, black. All she can see is a drowning, consuming, devouring black that ignites a roil in her stomach. She doesn’t see a hint of the red swirling underneath.

During their last mission, Kakashi dismisses Naruto and Sasuke early, and Umeko scrubs stubborn, thick lines of graffiti alone.

Sasuke brings his own lunch now. It’s a sad, clumpy onigiri made in a rush, but it’s a reason to decline Umeko’s bento boxes without Naruto annoying him.

She doesn’t really need to do it, but Umeko continues cooking for the other three members of Team 7. Naruto appreciates it, and it scores her points with him as she becomes increasingly more demanding and controlling. Kakashi seems indifferent, his small words of thanks more an obligation than genuine gratitude. Umeko thinks he only eats it still because it’s free.

Most of the time, missions are normal, but on some days, Umeko tests the leash she’s tying around Naruto’s neck, pulling him to her whims and commands. On those days, Kakashi punishes her with grueling tasks, and she’s always the last to finish. It doesn’t dissuade her — Shimura Danzō terrifies Umeko more than Kakashi’s small punishments ever could.

Discontent permeates the household, heavier and heavier each passing day. At night, Umeko thinks it’ll smother her in her sleep, the displeasure a roiling smoke that sears her throat and burns her eyes. A stone, brown gaze settles on her just as heavy, like a hawk ready to swoop down and snatch her up.

A day that blends into all the other days is marked differently by a single aspect: the cloud of discontent bursts into a maelstrom.

Umeko’s knees press into the hardwood, scabbed and bleeding, and her back aches from how long she has been bent over in a bow. As if Shimura Danzō could ever be something as significant as royalty, the thought makes Umeko want to sneer. Then, he slaps her spine with his hemp flog and she just wants to sleep instead.

“Two months.” Those are his first words to her other than ‘come here’ and ‘bow.’ “Has the Uchiha boy unlocked his sharingan?”

He knows the answer, but her grandfather always considered it a necessity to admit her failures aloud, like a confession or a grave sin, only he could absolve her of it.

“No, grandfather.” Umeko grits out, muscles tensing as she waits for the thick rope to fall across her back. It does so with a cracking sound, and it stains her back with scratches and blood.

“Are you in control of the monster?” 

Umeko bites her lip. Naruto considers them friends and even listens to her half the time, but only when he doesn’t find the task boring or nonsensical.

“No, grandfather.” She swallows a whimper of pain as the rope descends onto her back again.

“It’s been two months since you graduated, Umeko.” Her grandfather remains standing, his hand still gripping his flog as if in warning. “I expected more progress by now.”

“I’m sorry, grandfather.” Another hit, and she yelps.

“I need results, not apologies.” He pauses, and the stillness feels like the world on her back. “You are my legacy, but you are not indispensable to me.”

The rest of her punishment is doled out in silence, her bitten back whimpers and hemp against flesh the only exception. The sun has fallen behind the horizon before her grandfather becomes tired, primly placing his hemp whip on the table. A nod of his head has a shadow descending on Umeko’s prone body, and her grandfather sweeps from the room without a word.

With the last vestiges of energy she has, Umeko lifts her head to meet the eyes of the stranger — what stared back at her was hardly a man, but a ghost masquerading as a human. Vacant blue eyes scanned her injuries with dispassion, neither pleased nor irritated, and he tended to the worst of her wounds with a practiced, clinical touch.

Umeko shuddered under the cool sensation of iryō ninjutsu, the chakra of the medic spilling into her wounds. The pain lessened only a fraction, surely intentional on his part and due to a command from her grandfather.

The stranger, one of her grandfather’s puppets, serves as a cold reminder of Umeko’s fate if she continues to fail. Legacy or not, he will have her abilities under his thumb somehow — even if he needs to strip her down to nothing more than an animal, a pet.

It’s a reminder that she’s powerless.

Because Sasuke is resilient and stubborn, a survivor who will survive any cruelty she inflicts upon him.

Because Naruto is kind and effervescent, his very nature is unbreakable whether by a guiding, insincere touch or a barbed iron fist.

Her chest tightens, the maelstrom of discontent squeezing her until she’s suffocating on it. No, not discontent — fear. A primal fear seizing her nerves and veins and aching, stinging flesh until it unchains her like a rabid dog.

I don’t want to die.

I don’t want to die.

Air is dragged through her lungs, sharp and painful when her chest expands. There’s a pulsing inside her, a headache maybe? Or perhaps it's her own heartbeat, thrumming like a war drum.

Don’tdieDon’tdieDon’tdie.

The agent is under her with a kunai pressed against his throat, Umeko’s body reacting to the electric currents of terror before her brain can make sense of it all. She stares down at him like a predator on its prey, wanting nothing more than to tear into him, sunder his flesh from bone, and he —

DIE. DIE. DIE.

Empty eyes watch her, disinterested, as if he couldn’t care less if he lived or died. Her sluggish brain eventually catches up with her feral body, and she feels herself slotting back into place — Umeko once more, instead of that wild monstrous thing.

“I could kill you.” It’s not a threat when she whispers it, but she doubts he would’ve done anything if it were. Umeko’s head throbs, and her heart pulses two beats faster. The kunai digs into his skin, a bead of blood bubbling up like a pearl of red. Her fingers tremble, and she grabs at his red hair, ripping it at the roots. Umeko swallowed poison and the only thing she could do was spit it out, shrieking at the supine marionette, “Are you even alive?”

The agent pushes her shoulders, and she slides off of him, her injuries burning from the movements. He looks down on her, and Umeko thinks she must make a pathetic sight, not that he would care if she were. In a burst of leaves and shadows, he disappears.

Umeko struggles to her knees and crawls to her futon, limbs too numb and heavy to stand.

“Naruto, can you carry the cat?”

“Sure, Ume-chan!” Umeko cringes at the nickname, her face full of brown fur hiding the expression. Thin, shallow scratches adorn her arms, surface-level cuts that all of them wear like a Team 7 uniform. Naruto’s tan hands scoop the wriggling, angry feline from her hold and gets claws to the cheek for his audacity.

Sasuke walks ahead of them, his hands stuffed in his pockets and a surly look on his face — not that it’s anything new, he’s always moody and callous. Kakashi strolls a beat behind them, his book in his hand and a disinterested eye occasionally boring into Umeko’s back. She doesn’t know exactly what she did to earn his ire today. Umeko’s body burns with every movement and touch, something she hasn’t experienced since she originally died. In too much pain to enact her evil plots, Umeko spent the day being a friendly and caring teammate. She had even carried the demon cat for most of the walk to the Hokage tower.

“Man,” Naruto moaned, “I’m tired of these missions. This is the second time we had to catch this stupid cat this week!”

Sasuke glanced back at them, his tone cold and reluctant when he called back, “For once, I agree with the idiot.”

Umeko waits for Kakashi to chime in, but he seems content to let them complain. “We’ve only been genin for two months.” Umeko reminds them, glancing back at Kakashi and cursing him for his inattentiveness. Would it kill him to take care of his team just once?

Loudly, to spite him, Umeko adds, “I heard Team 8 has been training really hard and learning a lot of cool new jutsu. Must be nice.”

Collectively, the three of them shoot glares at Kakashi. The smug bastard just hummed and said noncommittally, “That’s nice.”

They arrive at the stoop of the Hokage tower, and Umeko is grateful for the interruption of their awkward, stilted conversation.

The daimyo’s wife greets them with a nauseating amount of enthusiasm, and her cat even more so. Naruto shoves the evil little furball into her arms, and she squeezes the thing to her chest, cooing her gratitude to them.

“Good work, Team 7.” The Hokage compliments once the daimyo’s wife leaves the room. “We have a few other D-ranks available today.”

He drones on about the different chores masquerading as real missions, and Umeko tunes out. It’s always frustrating when the Hokage decides to hand out lower rank missions, something he makes a point of doing once every few weeks. Umeko doesn’t really understand why — he’s paying these chuunin to do it for him. It’s mostly annoying because he prattles on and on about this or that instead of handing them a mission at random. In the end, the mission will still be chosen for them.

If there’s anything Umeko hates more than not having a choice, it’s the illusion of a choice.

“I tried a bunch of new cup ramen flavors lately, and they’ve been pretty good.” Naruto’s voice interrupts her bitter thoughts, as per usual.

“What flavors?” Umeko says, because she’d rather talk about ramen than listen to the litany of babysitting jobs available.

“Well, there was this new spicy flavor and it has…” It’s a little interesting, sometimes, listening to Naruto babble on and on about ramen. He’s surprisingly knowledgeable in cuisine, even if it only extends to the noodle variety. Umeko finds herself asking questions, despite how much she’s learning to despise the dish — or, perhaps, love it, which is even more annoying.

“Ahem,” The Hokage clears his throat loudly in a bid to gain their attention, “Which mission would you like to accept?”

“Gah!” Naruto groans, jumping to his feet, “None of them! Don’t you have something better? I’m tired of these dumb missions.”

“Don’t speak to the Hokage like that, brat!” Iruka-sensei yells next to the Hokage, glaring at Kakashi as if its his fault Naruto speaks out of turn. It probably is, the man has no control over his team.

“It’s quite alright, Iruka.” Umeko has to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She never understood the genial old man routine the proclaimed ‘God of Shinobi’ put on. “I do have a C-rank that might be of interest. A simple escort mission, if you’re interested.”

“Yes!” Naruto cheers.

“Yes.” Sasuke deadpans.

“ Yes.” Umeko sighs.

“It seems like my little genin are in agreement.” Kakashi smiles, clapping his hands together. “We’ll accept the mission, Hokage-sama.”

Chapter Text

The oranges of a dawn sky inched by at a snail's pace, and Umeko busied herself with packing, unpacking, and repacking. After leaving the Hokage tower yesterday, Kakashi told them they would leave at early light - then Tazuna, the drunkard Team 7 had to guard, protested in a slurry huff. Whether Kakashi believed in customer service or simply wanted Tazuna to shut up, Umeko wasn't sure, but he rescheduled the departure for mid-morning. At the time, Umeko had been happy for the few extra hours of sleep, but then she woke up when the last vestiges of night darkened the sky.

Umeko sighed, stuffing her scrolls, supplies, and extra scrolls into her pack again. Everything had been accounted for excessively as she wasted her time fiddling with the contents. She slumped onto her futon and looked around the sparse room. Umeko never really bothered with decorating her room, as if giving it her personal touch made it real - made this her home. Her futon looked dreary in its gray tones, and the room felt empty with her dresser pushed into the corner. The Uchiha knick-knacks she stole brought the only color into the place, brought the only sign of life.

How depressing, Umeko thought, and shoved the Uchiha items into the corner with her dresser.

The front door snicked closed, the sound deafening in the lifeless house. A wooden thumping noise trailed down the hallway, pausing for a second by her room, before stomping further into the bowels of the house. The thudding of her grandfather’s cane provided ample reason to leave early, and Umeko fleed the house.

Her footsteps dragged down the streets of Konoha, and she followed a twisting, turning scenic route to waste time. In an unfortunate betrayal of her feet, she halted in front of a home with red shingles and a small green lawn. 

Umeko could remember the chalk drawings sprawling across the concrete path to the door like it was just yesterday — before, before, before. Her fists clenched by her side, and she made the impulsive decision to nudge the fence gate open. The thick soles of her sandals slapped against the path, stepping on unfamiliar scrawls in pink and blue chalk. Colorful toys in reds and oranges and yellows lay in the blades of grass like ornaments, and Umeko swallowed down her bitterness. It scorched her throat on the way down.

Three knocks against the door, her knuckles rapping on the wood with fragile care, as if the wood would disintegrate under her touch. The roof overhang gave a slight reprieve from the relentless sun, and Umeko licked at her chapped lips. She counted to ten - ten moments of silence, ten heartbeats of glaring at the chipped brown door.

A sigh slipped from Umeko’s lips, and her feet shuffled an inch, hesitant to leave but ready to go. Another sigh, and Umeko stepped towards the sidewalk.

“H’llo?” A quiet, timid voice asked.

Umeko paused and turned, her eyes drawn to the small boy peering at her through the cracked door. Tousled brown curls flopped over his forehead, and an unknown substance splattered across his blue shirt. She tried not to wrinkle her nose, and stepped towards the house again with a sweet smile.

“Hi.” Umeko stopped, and nearly frowned when she realized the little boy came to her waist. Shaking her head, curls flouncing against her neck, Umeko cleared her throat and said, “Is your mama home?”

“Yeah.” The boy nodded, and Umeko waited expectedly for him to get her. When he remained silent and in place, Umeko cleared her throat.

“Would you go get her for me, please?”

The boy glanced up at her with big, round eyes and chewed on his sleeve, unmoving. Would it be rude to barge in? Umeko shifted her weight, about to say something, when the boy nodded again. “Okay.”

Umeko could only stare as he toddled off, the door left ajar as he ventured deeper into the warm, lively home. From the protection of the overhang, Umeko couldn’t see the sun, but she hoped it hadn’t travelled too far into the sky. Being late for her first C-rank mission would suck. Maybe she shouldn’t have come, maybe Umeko should leave dead things alone, like Uchiha recipe books and broken families.

“Umeko?” The raspy word jolted Umeko from where she stared at the small sliver of blue sky she could see, and she frowned to herself. When did her mother’s voice become so unfamiliar? It had only been a few months since they last saw each other.

At the doorway, her mother stood with the little boy hugging her leg from behind. The tall woman wore a sunshine-yellow dress and braided her brown hair into a long tail that rested behind her shoulders. She smelled sweet, like flowers or fruit, and not smokey like she became used to. “Hi, Mama.”

“It’s so nice to see you!” Her mother swooped forward, arms wrapping around her briefly, before she retreated to the threshold of her home. A home that Umeko had been forbidden to enter since she was seven years old. It would be nice, though, to be inside for just a moment - to feel the warmth of the home seep into her skin as she drank tea or ate snacks, whatever people invited into homes did. Her mother must be thinking the same thing, because she says, “Would you like to go out to eat? Maybe your favorite?”

It’s back, the familiar gurgle of anger brewing in her stomach. “No invite inside then, I guess,” Umeko replied, the words acerbic and stinging on her tongue. Her mother didn’t flinch, had grown used to all the sharp and thorny edges of her daughter over the years, but her features became fixed like they always do. Like a smile engraved in marble, cold and hard. Umeko regretted her words already, and she shuffled her feet again. “I just came to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye? Where are you going?” Her words became distracted, her attention diverted to the little boy tugging on her dress. In a whisper, her mother patted his little back and nudged him away from the entrance. “Go and play with your toys, Momo. I’ll be there in a second.”

The boy obligingly stumbles further into the home, and Umeko scrunches her face. “He’s big now. Got good at walking.” For a five-year-old , Umeko doesn’t add.

“Mhm, he’s rather smart, too. You should see him with his building blocks.” Her mother smiles brightly and genuinely, and Umeko wonders if her mother has ever been this fond of her. Her mother loves her, and that has never been in question. Umeko thinks she might have even left her husband and absconded with Umeko somewhere far, far away where Shimura Danzo could never find them. But accidents happen, Umeko supposes. “You said you were going somewhere?”

“Yeah. I have a mission.” Then, desperately wanting approval or pride, Umeko added, “It’s a C-Rank.”

“C-Rank?” Her mother squints at Umeko. “Are you ready for that?”

Umeko just shrugged, disappointed. “The Hokage thinks so.”

“Oh, okay.” Her mother pulls her into a hug, squeezing her extra tight. “Be careful then, Ume-chan. I love you so much.”

Umeko swallowed with some difficulty. “I will.”

She doesn’t say I love you back and walks away.

Sasuke and Naruto are idling by the large red gate by the time Umeko arrives. Naruto’s head bobs up from where he had stared mulishly at some leaves, a bright, vulpine grin stretching his cheeks.

“Ume-chan!” he shouts, jumping as he waves frantically at her, as if she wouldn’t see him at the near empty gate. Sasuke’s eyes are cool and impassive when he looks up at her, arms crossed and not even willing to grunt in greeting. Umeko deserved that.

“Naruto,” Umeko acknowledges, stopping at his side. She forces a smile to her lips despite her disappointment souring her mood.

The heat between her back and bag becomes unbearable as they lounge by the gate, waiting for their sensei and charge. It’s already a hot morning, and the added layer causes sweat to soak into the bandages wrapped around her healing wounds. Umeko slides her pack from her shoulders, wincing as the weight pulls on her cuts, and drops it next to her feet. When she glanced up, Sasuke was staring at her.

Umeko hates him, she thinks, and his eyes. There’s no emotion except an indifferent appraisal and the slight wariness he always approaches her with now. Even on such an annoyingly sunny day in a week of unbearable sunny days, Sasuke is a monochrome picture of pale, ghostly skin and black, black eyes. They see nothing and everything, and Umeko despises that aspect of Sasuke the most. She’s more than naked under his eyes, she is flayed like a corpse on an autopsy table with all the crevices of her soul exposed.

Then, Sasuke looks away, and Umeko is unknown again.

“How’s it going, Ume-chan?” Despite being a question, it came more as a demand with wide blue eyes peering at Umeko. Unlike Sasuke, Naruto’s eyes on her felt like a blanket, or like soothing ointment on a burn.

“I’m…” Bitter. Disappointed. Hurting. Tired. “Great. What about you, Naruto?”

“Tired!” Naruto said this with a smile and a bounce in his step. “Man, I was in such a rush to get here that my ramen…”

Umeko can’t stop her eyes from glazing over, letting his raspy voice wash over her as Naruto narrates his morning to her. From the corner of her eye, she tracks Sasuke’s movement, observing him as he observes her. Kakashi and Tazuna didn’t so much arrive as descend on them, their presence somber and oppressive to Umeko. Tazuna said something bitter that Umeko ignored, and Kakashi offered something comforting, or maybe encouraging. Umeko didn’t care.

“Let’s go!” Naruto hollered, marching them away from the gates of Konoha. Of her home. Of her prison.

They were forced to walk along the dirt road, the sedate pace itching under Umeko’s skin. Tazuna made it even more unbearable with his weak knees and incapability to keep his rude thoughts to himself. His words towards Naruto chafed in particular, and Kakashi had to hold him back on multiple occasions. Umeko notably didn’t attempt to stop him, intensely eager to see the old man silenced.

“Tch, I can’t believe my life depends on brats like you,” Tazuna grunted, not for the first time in the past thirty minutes. “Some light rain would take you kids out.”

Naruto has long since adopted the diplomatic approach of whistling aloud to drown out the drunkard’s insults. Umeko, the closest to Tazuna, had run out of diplomatic patience several remarks ago. In a saccharine tone, Umeko grinned to Tazuna, “We can always return to Konoha if you’d like to upgrade to a B-Rank mission.”

Tazuna glared at her, and Umeko wanted to pluck his eyes from their sockets. It would serve him right for glaring at her, one of the four who cradles his life in the palm of her hand. She’s tempted to let the robbers and highwaymen have him if they run into them. Instead of replying to her, Tazuna chose the diplomatic option to turn away with a scoff and a swig of his sake.

Two hours into their journey, Kakashi called for a fifteen-minute break. Umeko and the rest of Team 7 sighed in unison, annoyed at having to extend their travel time when they weren’t even tired. Tazuna, for his part, wheezed and huffed as he happily slumped at the base of a tree.

For lack of anything better to do, Umeko climbed a tree a little way away from the rest and snacked on an energy bar. She hoped they wouldn’t stop for lunch and eat on their way, but she doubted her dreams would come true.

Umeko shifted, the bark of the tree digging into her wounds, and she leaned forward in a hunch. A sharp rush of air hit her cheek, and a rattling sound had Umeko straightening, hand shooting up and catching a cylindrical object on instinct. When she glared down at the object, she realized it was a small jar filled with round blue pills. Painkillers, her mind supplied, and top shelf at that.

A stick cracked and a leaf crunched as Sasuke sauntered away from her, hands tucked into his pockets. Umeko scrunched her nose in confusion and popped the glass lid to slide out a few pills. The kind gesture struck her as odd, but her cuts hurt too much for her pride to refuse the rare gift. Sasuke probably didn’t want her slowing down the team. 

As if, Umeko scoffed, and viciously bit into her energy bar.

A whistle resounded in the forest, a sign from Kakashi that the fifteen minutes were over. Umeko tucked the jar into her pouch and jumped to the ground, leaves crunching under her feet. It’s deep into a Hi no Kuni summer, and the leaves are browned with the harsh sun drying them out. Forest fires weren’t particularly rare during these months, either.

The rest of Team 7 waited on the dirt road, Umeko the last to join them, and they departed from the unremarkable patch of woodland. For the next hour, Tazuna stayed silent in a rare form of mercy — or, perhaps, he was tired from being ignored. Either way, Umeko enjoyed the buzz of nature washing over her senses and the aroma radiating in the air that could only be described as green. In her lightened mood, Umeko even allowed herself to playfully stomp in a puddle.

Wait, Umeko’s feet stopped. When was the last time it rained? A week ago.

A surge of chakra interrupted the peace of nature, unmistakable even to Umeko’s untrained senses. Her feet shifted into a fighting stance, and a weapon slipped from her off-the-shoulder sleeves into her palm. In the trees, a glint of metal flashed among the foliage, and long chains lashed out from the branches.

The chains ripped through Kakashi, chakra-enforced steel shredding his skin until he fell into chunks and pieces in front of them. Clumps of red viscera and lumpy flesh slopped onto the ground. Umeko choked back vomit and leapt backwards, shuriken clenched between her fingers as she guarded Tazuna.

Naruto lurched forward, his feet stumbling as two cloaked figures, their sudden attackers, bracketed his back. Umeko’s hands raised before she could think, a familiar tingle at her fingertips. Her chakra weaved together in strands of wind, water, and earth until a thin, living thread branched from her palm. Faster. Faster. Faster. Umeko urged, feeding her chakra to make it stronger, steadier, better. It would take too long - the root was too weak, too flimsy to be of any help. Umeko gritted her teeth and pushed more until her chakra was a wild thing vibrating under her skin, too tumultuous to build into a weapon.

“You’re next.” One of the cloaked figures hissed, a smug lilt to his words. Umeko’s eyes scrunched closed - she wouldn’t be fast enough. Naruto will die.

Naruto doesn’t deserve to die.

Thud. The clatter of metal against the ground, the smack of a heel against a face. Umeko forced her eyes open, squinting as she tried to track the quick movements of Sasuke. He bobbed and ducked with their blows, flipped and jabbed in the gaping openings the duo provided. This. This was the difference between Umeko and the top of her class; the gap in their skill level was never more apparent than in this moment.

Sasuke threw a shuriken, the sharp edges pinning the chain linking the two attackers to the ground, and his feet planted on their shoulders as he forced them away from Naruto. He was better than Umeko. Stronger than her, smarter than her, better than her in every conceivable way.

Umeko witnessed greatness, and it frightened her more than anything. It didn’t scare her because she thought Sasuke would kill her or that she would never grow stronger than him. It horrified her because it became more and more apparent that Sasuke would never unlock his sharingan. What did a genius like him have to fear? Sasuke was not a survivor. He was so much more than that. He was more, something undefinable that Umeko couldn’t put her finger on. In the face of an Uchiha, Umeko realized she’s inconsequential . Something bloomed in her chest - not reverence, not loyalty, but something too warm, scalding against her soul. Admiration?

Envy.

Whatever the feeling burning her heart was, the cold wash of adrenaline drowned it, of primal fear seizing her. At that moment, Umeko was above her grandfather’s soldier with a knife pressed against his throat, she was kneeling on the floor as a flog lashed against her back in a rhythm of agony, she was glaring at her reflection because she was a murderer and a monster.

Her hand lifted, the thread strengthening with the flow of chakra until it was a living network under her touch, and she flung it out. Wire thin and nearly invisible, it crossed the path of Sasuke as he dodged and parried. A cool tickle of her senses let her know his ankle brushed it, and she yanked her hand down until the threaded root became taut. Sasuke stepped backwards to evade a clawed swipe, and her fingers ached with the vibration of her jutsu. Umeko inhaled as Sasuke stumbled against the nearly invisible tripwire. Red, red, red, Umeko chanted in her thoughts, eyes widening as she stared into his dastardly black eyes.

His eyes widened at the press of the strand, surprise coloring his features as he tipped backwards. And why shouldn’t he be surprised? He wasn’t expecting an attack from behind, from where his teammates could cover for him. He fumbled, and the attacker in front of him seized on the opportunity, a trio of blades slick with something oily thrusting forward. Sasuke could die — would die, unless his sharingan activated.

Please, Umeko begged, her fingers numb with the overload of chakra. She didn’t know if she was pleading for his sharingan or for Sasuke.

Sasuke’s back hit the ground, and he used the momentum to flip backwards just as foot-long claws pierced the dirt, grazing his cheek in their descent. His hand jerked to the ground, and a large fūma shuriken fanned out. With admirable precision, Sasuke threw the weapon until it lodged into the attackers’ connecting chain, pinning it to the ground. Two shuriken now hooked the steel links, restricting movement even now, as neither could move to reach Sasuke. The unknown shinobi lingering further behind moved towards the shuriken, and Sasuke capitalized on the distraction. He darted in and yanked the link until the two attackers were entangled in it. Sasuke’s feet planted on the shoulders of both of them and jammed a final kunai into the chain link, solidifying the knot he tied them in.

Umeko’s hand clenched, and the thread became husky, crumbling into dry dust. Even with her sabotage, Sasuke prevailed, and his eyes stayed black .

It would be better if he died, Umeko thought in one moment, and then regretted it in the next.

“Good job, Sasuke.” Kakashi praised as he meandered from behind a tree, book in his hand. Even as he addressed Sasuke, his dark eye stared at Umeko. By her side, her hand tightened into a fist, and her fingers carved in gouges. He stepped closer, and his eye finally flickered away, landing on the shallow cut on Sasuke’s cheek. “You should take care of that wound before the poison sets in. Then you’ll really be in trouble.”

“Whatever,” Sasuke grunted, turning away to dig into his pack for an antidote pill. In front of him, Naruto stayed shellshocked, mouth agape and eyes wide. Sasuke must have noticed it and said tauntingly, “What’s the matter, scaredy-cat?”

“I’m not scared!” Naruto shouted and fell into a tirade. The familiar banter between the two only served to tighten the feeling in Umeko’s chest.

“Ume-hime,” Kakashi called out to her, and Umeko flinched, both at the nickname and at what was surely to come. After all, she did just try to kill her teammate. “Why don’t you come help me secure these two to that tree?” Kakashi pointed at the tied up duo, their eyes narrowed and their breathing heavy through the mask.

No way was Umeko going to let Kakashi get her alone. “I should protect Tazu—”

“—I’m sure Naruto and Sasuke can watch over him for a little.” Kakashi grinned as he grabbed the spiked chain, waiting for her to join him.

Umeko helped Kakashi drag the two across the dirt road where they had been attacked. Her sensei deemed the first line of trees too thin and weak to hold the two, and they walked a little further into the thicket. They stopped at a branching oak that seemed the same size as the trees they’ve passed, and Kakashi hauled their human packages around the trunk. With a thick rope, he secured them to the oak, their bodies hidden behind it from the road. With Umeko’s assistance, they wrestled their breathing masks from their faces and forced their hitai-ate between their lips like gags.

The choice in location was obvious — they were hidden by the tree from the rest of the team with privacy, but close enough that they could peer around the branches and lay eyes on Naruto and Sasuke. Umeko shifted on her feet, attempting to hide her discomfort.

“What do you think these two wanted, Ume-hime?” Kakashi asked with a light voice, his hands shoved into his pockets as he looked down at them. His tone was playful and his expression bored.

“How should I know?” Umeko said in a grumble, shifting on her feet again, “Why don’t you ask them?”

“Ah, but they wouldn’t tell me without some incentive.” Kakashi paused and dug into the pouch on his hip, withdrawing a sharp kunai. “Have you ever tortured someone before, Umeko?”

Umeko stared at his gloved hand, the hand now offering his blade to her in an obvious command. His intentions were clear, this is punishment for her actions — a robbery of another fractured piece of her soul, a lesson in the cruelty she was so good at. She didn’t hesitate when she snatched the kunai from his fingers, though her hand trembled.

With a deep breath in, Umeko kneeled before the enemy closest to her. When she exhaled, she was no longer in her body. She was shoved into the back, locked behind bars, and forced to watch her hand inch up, up, up until the sharpened point of steel pressed against a rough fleshy cheek. The skin dimpled but didn’t puncture — push harder, apply more pressure, dig under their skin for answers. A bead of blood bubbled up for her efforts. Her body inhaled, though she no longer had control of it, and her hand trembled as she began pushing further.

A gloved hand whipped forward and enclosed around her wrist. The bars of her mind slammed open, and Umeko was thrown to the forefront again, the fog dispersing. With a frown, Umeko glared up at Kakashi and his offending hand.

“Do you always do what you’re told?” Kakashi said, pulling her to her feet. So this is the lesson, Umeko thought as her lips pulled into a sneer. “Physical torture is very unreliable. I don’t suggest using it for answers.”

Anger churned in her gut, and she dropped the kunai onto the dirt in disgust. It’s clear this was a test, pushing Umeko to see how far she’d go — how far her grandfather could make her go. “And psychological torture is any better?”

Kakashi ignored her rebuttal and slipped his hands into his pockets again. “We don’t need to ask them for what we want to know. That’s a Kiri hitai-ate, and their description matches that of the Demon Brothers in the bingo book. From how they attacked, I’d assume their target is our dear client, Tazuna.”

Umeko tried to close off her expression, stuff her feelings and thoughts, and all those pesky things deep inside of her until she became stone, like her grandfather’s shinobi. “Looks like you got it all figured out, then.”

Umeko stepped away and was about to walk back to Sasuke and Naruto when Kakashi stopped her. He didn’t do so with his hand or a well-placed foot, but with the somber tone in his voice as he said, “He’s your teammate, Umeko.”

“So?” Umeko muttered, stopping and folding her arms across her torso. Clearly, Kakashi wasn’t done with this lesson of his.

“If Sasuke hadn’t been fast enough, if the Demon Brothers had been stronger, your teammate would have died. Teammates need to have each other’s backs and protect each other, because on the battlefield? That’s all we got.” Kakashi sighed, his nose wrinkling in displeasure even as his eye seemed to be heavy with responsibility and regret. “I have let this go on too long. I don’t know what Danzo has told you to do, but this behavior ends here — before you get yourself or your team killed.”

In the streets of Konoha, the dirt always seemed so dusty and dry. Here, in the forest, the soil was rich with nutrients and water, humid enough for fungi and plants to grow. The last time it rained was a week ago, but the scent of rain lingered in the foliage. Umeko wanted to burn it all to the ground. Konoha, this forest, the Demon Brothers, and Kakashi, too.

Acid crawled up her throat and fermented on her tongue, her mouth salivating in her anger and bitterness and overwhelming resentment. It’s not like she asked for this, that she wanted to kill Sasuke, or even hurt him. Her soul breaks every time she says a kind word or makes a nice gesture to Naruto, knowing the evil intentions lurking beneath. Because she is cruel, and it’s not fair that she has to be. And who is Kakashi to say anything about it? He’s just as bad as her, a mindless soldier with blood dripping from his hands in the name of Konoha and his own frothing self-hatred.

Umeko wants to scream, but she can’t, so she laughs as she bites out, “You’re such a hypocrite.”

Unimpressed by her outburst, Kakashi only raises an eyebrow. “Am I now?”

“Yeah, you are. You think that, what? You’re a good sensei, talking to me like this? Hell, we’re most likely to die because of you . You haven’t trained us or taught us anything, just sent us on dead-end mission after dead-end mission.” Umeko swallowed, stepping towards Kakashi with a sharp, piercing rage behind her eyes. “Don’t sit there and lecture me when you’re just as bad as I am. Maybe, even, worse. So stop acting like you care — about Sasuke, about Naruto, about me .”

Umeko’s hands clenched and unclenched by her sides, fingers flexing with the urge to send her chakra out — to feel the rich soil under her feet bloom with her jutsu, with the precious Shizen no Ne that ruined her life.

“You’re not your father, Kakashi.” Umeko sneered, turning around and walking away as the acidic words dripped from her mouth. “He actually cared about his team.”

Chapter Text

“After performing jutsu, it’s possible for you to leave a trail of excess chakra behind. This is a chakra scent, and can be easily followed by someone with the slightest sensor capabilities — aka, most high-ranked shinobi.”

This was the tenth tip Kakashi gave in the last thirty minutes, and Umeko rolled her eyes. After their argument, Kakashi had come back with a smile and levity that Umeko particularly despised, ushering them on their way. Ten minutes out, and the nuggets of wisdom started. How performative, Umeko scoffed. He was only teaching them in a twisted way to prove her wrong.

Tazuna had been strictly placed in the middle as they fell into a rigid formation instead of the loose pack they had walked in before. If Kakashi had his suspicions about the attack from the Demon Brothers, he didn’t share them.

“How do you get rid of the chakra trail or whatever, then?” Naruto asked in his loud way, excited at the prospect of learning but annoyed at his confusion. On the other side of Tazuna, Sasuke looked reluctantly interested as well.

“Hm, well, there are a couple of ways,” Kakashi hummed, holding his chin with that carefree attitude that grated on Umeko’s nerves. “Most jounin have learned to suppress their chakra signature, though that doesn’t work with true sensor-types. For you three, I’d suggest leaving breadcrumbs behind.”

“Breadcrumbs?” Sasuke crossed his arms and his jaw clenched, “They wouldn’t even need to bother with the chakra scent to find us.”

“Ah, that’s not what I meant.” Kakashi smiled at Sasuke from the front of the group, looking over his shoulder. “Animals have a chakra scent too, and enough of them following you will confuse the trail.”

Sasuke and Naruto fall silent, both mulling over this new bit of information and storing it away for later. Umeko is less concerned with his lessons on principle, even if her interest is piqued by the prospect of learning how to sense chakra scents. In her mind, Umeko is already making a list of things to search for in the study: dispersing chakra trails, learning to sense chakra scents, and maybe even learning to sense chakra beyond the simple imprint of a jutsu.

The smell of sea salt on a breeze breaks Umeko’s concentration. In front of her, the line of trees breaks upon a sparse, sandy shore. Waiting in the temperamental sea, a small fishing boat bobs against the waves with a single rower at the stern. Tazuna wades into the water and clasps his hand around the rower’s forearm in greeting.

“You’ve got my message, then.” Tazuna grunts and hauls himself into the boat with a surprising agility for an old man.

Kakashi presses a hand against Naruto’s back until he’s splashing through the water and scrambling over the edge with the grace of a flopping fish. When Umeko follows, the water is cold enough against her shins and calves that she flinches. Under her hands, the boat weaves and bobs as she heaves herself into the hull. Kakashi and Sasuke simply jump from the shore to the boat, bypassing the humiliating struggle in the finicky water.

Umeko crosses her arms and scowls, telling herself she would have done that too if she hadn’t been following Naruto.

“We’ll have to keep our voices down,” the rower says in a hush, pushing his oar into the shallow end until they were in the water proper, “and no loud noises. I’m only taking this risk because you’ve been good to me, Tazuna-san.”

How the old drunkard could be good to anyone is beyond Umeko.

“Before we continue,” Kakashi hums, finger scratching against the material of his mask on his chin, “I need to know why those missing-nin are after you. If not, I’ll have to end our mission once we dock.”

A thick fog drifted towards them the further they rowed into the sea, enveloping them in a damp and chilly embrace. Tazuna didn’t flinch at Kakashi’s question, a serious demeanor contorting his face into something Umeko hadn’t seen on him before. The belligerent man always carried himself as if a weight lay on his shoulders. Umeko had attributed this weight to the weariness that comes with old age and experiencing the turmoil in their lands. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

“My home used to be prosperous,” Tazuna’s hands fiddled with the canteen he had carried within reach the entire trip so far, “a strong current near us created a trade route countries used often. We benefited greatly from it, as ships often stopped in our harbor. When boat motors became more common, we adapted and travelled to sell.

“This all changed when Gatō came. Our little island was good for trade,” as if he couldn’t bear talking about this any longer without alcohol thrumming through his veins, Tazuna tipped his canteen back and gulped a large quantity of sake. “It wasn’t good for defense. He controls the port now, and his taxes on our goods are bleeding us dry.”

Kakashi’s eye hadn’t flickered from Tazuna’s form, and there was no discernible shift in his expression. Umeko wouldn’t be surprised if he had already known, to some extent, the dire state of Nami no Kuni. Not much information escapes the notice of shinobi villages, especially if an enterprising thug is behind it. If Umeko had to guess, the Hokage greatly underestimated the importance of Tazuna to Gatō, and that is the only reason he dispatched Team 7 to Nami no Kuni. That, or the Hokage, knew the dangers and trusted Kakashi to protect them.

But why send us at all?

“Gatō controls the harbor in order to make his money off our hard work,” Tazuna grunted, and Naruto’s face scrunched in confusion, “it won’t be so easy to choke our trade once I finish my bridge. That’s why he’s hired missing-nin to take me out.”

There’s a sadness that passes over Tazuna, quickly followed by a resilience that Umeko would’ve commended, if it wasn’t so foolish as if a bridge would fix all his problems. Someone like Gatō will find another way to quell the rebellion; that’s what greedy men like him do. He won’t stop until it’s more trouble than it’s worth, or he dies.

Umeko doesn’t say that, though.

“I see,” Kakashi said after a beat of silence, staring into the horizon. There’s still confusion hovering around Naruto, but Umeko can sense his desire to continue with the mission and be the savior Nami no Kuni desperately needs. Sasuke looks, well, Umeko isn’t sure. She can’t really read him at the best of times; his eyes are unflinching, and the muscle of his jaw flexes. “The mission will continue on. We’ll protect you until the bridge is finished.”

Curious.

“Will the bridge connect to Hi no Kuni? ” Umeko asked, glaring at Kakashi as if he were the one who would answer. Kakashi smiled at her. Bastard.

“No, it’ll connect to Hashi no Kuni .”

A bridge connecting to Hashi no Kuni would still be advantageous to Konoha as long as the alliance with Kusagakure, that country’s village, holds. Umeko can’t help but be curious about Nami no Kuni ’s exports that have Konoha so keen to see Gatō’s presence dissolved.

“There’s the bridge now,” the rower whispers, and they stare up at a lumbering structure barely visible in the rolling fog. How is Tazuna affording the timber when his land is poverty-stricken?

The boat sways as it docks at a creaking walkway lined with several derelict houses. This time, Umeko jumps from the boat onto the warping oak planks instead of a graceless climb out of the hull. Naruto seems to agree with her decision as he hops out next to her.

“This is as far as I go,” the rower muttered gravelly, and rows away before Tazuna can even say bye.

Umeko’s lip curls, and she sneers, “How ominous.”

“Whatever!” Tazuna huffs, stomping forward even as the wood under his feet groans with the weight, “Take me to my house, and it better be in one piece!”

Maybe Umeko should let Gatō have him.

Not even within five minutes of the walk, the ramshackle village disappears. Patchy woods surround them as they follow the dirt path created by habitual use. Umeko hangs in the back, as far from Kakashi as she can be without exposing a weak spot in the loose formation. Of course, it doesn’t really matter, because Naruto is quick to break formation and run several steps ahead in search of a nonexistent enemy.

“Over here!” Naruto shouts, throwing a kunai into a bush.

“Naruto,” Kakashi immediately barks, “kunai are not toys to be thrown around!”

Umeko rolls her eyes; he’s taken to his new role as an overbearing sensei real quick after her small comment. She doesn’t think it’ll last.

“Don’t scare me, brat!” Tazuna yells in outrage, and Sasuke scoffs next to Umeko.

Naruto doesn’t listen, twirling around to throw another kunai into a bush, “No, over there!”

The kunai thunks against the tree, and Umeko is prepared to sigh in annoyance until Kakashi steps towards the bush. He parts the sticks and leaves until a frightened white rabbit is exposed. 

Umeko’s eyes widen, and she turns to stare at Naruto. Somehow, this idiot had noticed something as minuscule as a rabbit lurking in the underbrush; something that had escaped Umeko’s senses. It wasn’t a feat that would be surprising for a jounin, or even a chunin, but the fact that Naruto had that level of awareness? It pissed Umeko off a little. Sasuke proved himself in battle, and Naruto had sharper senses than she expected. Umeko couldn’t possibly be the weak link on the team, right?

“I’m telling you guys, we’re being followed!” Naruto insists as Tazuna starts a shouting match with him. 

Kakashi stands still at the foot of the bush. His back is to Umeko as he inspects the cowering white rabbit. With a straightened spine, he swirls around and bellows, “Get down!”

Despite her misgivings towards Kakashi, Umeko isn’t going to ignore a warning like that. Her hand hits the nape of Tazuna’s neck as she forces him to the ground, ducking just as a whoosh of air blows across her back. A tickling sensation follows as bits of her curly brown hair sprinkle onto her skin, the edges cut. The sound, not unlike an axe into a tree, echoes in the clearing, and she twists her head just in time to see a ginormous sword embed itself high in the tree.

Then, within the blink of an eye, a man is perched on the sword. His hitai-ate carries the symbol of Kirigakure, and bandages wrap around his mouth. The muscles in his shoulders are bulky, but the planes of his exposed stomach are almost emaciated. The man looks desperate; he looks hungry .

For blood.

“Momochi Zabuza, missing-nin from Kirigakure,” Kakashi greets, stance widening and a kunai gripped in his hand.

Umeko stands to her full height and pulls Tazuna up onto his unsteady feet. The name sounds familiar, but she can’t place where she heard it before…

“And you’re Hatake Kakashi, of the Sharingan,” Zabuza drawls, his tone a chilly rasp, “Sorry, but you’ll have to hand over that old man.”

In front of her, Sasuke jolted as if electrified by the words. It never occurred to her that Sasuke hadn’t been aware of Kakashi’s stolen eye - well, given, depending on who you ask. Naruto darted forward, only to be stopped by Kakashi’s outstretched hand.

“No, this isn’t your fight, Naruto.” Kakashi’s fingers pried his headband up. From her vantage point, Umeko couldn’t see his face. From Sasuke’s horrified expression, she could only assume it’s the spinning, red iris she’s been trying to awaken in him.

“Kakashi-sensei, what the hell is up with your ey—”

“Later, Naruto.” Umeko cut Naruto off, reaching forward and gripping his wrist. With a yank, she dragged him to her side and out of the swinging distance of Zabuza and his massive sword.

Zabuza leapt, his hand dislodging his sword, in one fluid movement, and Umeko flinched. Instead of the sword beheading her like she thought, Zabuza landed on the water, an arm outstretched and his hand in an incomplete tora seal. Then, he’s gone, disappearing in the descending fog like an apparition.

“Team 7, in formation. Protect Tazuna, and stay out of the way.” Kakashi ordered, and for once, there wasn’t that annoying casualness to his words. This was the jounin that earned himself a kill-on-sight modifier in bingo books. “He’ll come after me first. Momochi Zabuza is the ex-leader of Kiri’s ANBU. He’s a master of the silent killing technique.”

Smoothly, Umeko fell into formation with the other two — Sasuke in the front, Naruto protecting the left, and Umeko on the right. Even as she adjusted her kunai in her grip, her legs trembled beneath her. This pressure — pure chakra, pure intent. Someone would die here today. Umeko could taste it in the air and feel it in her bones. The question was just who .

The fog thickens around them, until it’s a sheet of white obscuring Umeko’s view entirely. Kakashi disappears in the blanket of mist, and so does everything around her, until all she can do is hear . Hear the terrified pants of Tazuna behind her, hear the shift of Sasuke’s feet against the dewy grass, hear Naruto’s frustrated huff of breath, hear —

“ Eight spots. ”

Umeko tensed at Zabuza’s ominous voice. The words seemed to echo around them, with no beginning and no end. She grits her teeth and sinks lower into her stance, letting her chakra churn in her pathways — preparing for a fight she will lose.

“Larynx, spine, lungs, liver, jugular, subclavian veins, kidneys, heart, ” Zabuza’s words mixed with the mist, loud and deafening just as it was calm and callous. As if it didn’t matter to Zabuza that he would be taking five lives that day. “Now then, which spot should I strike?”

“ Kakashi, ” Umeko gritted out, fingers tightening around her weapon so hard that her nail nicked her palm. The one word coming from Umeko wasn’t encouragement or a challenge. It was a warning . Team 7 is leagues out of their depth, and their fate rests solely on Kakashi’s shoulders.

Deep in the mist, chakra built up, so heavy that even Umeko could pick up on it with her untrained senses — and then the fog dispersed in a burst of chakra-laden air: Umeko flinches, the lingering chakra sizzling hot against her skin.

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you with my life.” Kakashi turns and smiles at their trembling forms, “I will not allow my comrades to get killed.”

Blood spills down Umeko’s palm from clenching her fingers too hard, hands shaking on the kunai, as she glares at Kakashi. What a joke, as if Kakashi hasn’t already let his comrades die. As if Team 7 weren’t next on a never-ending roster of dead people around Hatake Kakashi.

Just as Umeko shifts to say so, to tell Kakashi to keep his useless platitudes to himself, the back of her cheongsam is split by something sharp, and a razor-thin cut slashes across her healing wounds. A grunt of pain leaves Umeko’s lips, and she stumbles to the ground, her knees hitting the dirt. Her head twists against her will to look behind her, to stare death in the eyes, and she meets the feral glare of Zabuza. The large sword in his hands swings, and she can see her wide-eyed, stunned reflection in the gleaming metal.

Dead before chunin. How pathetic.

A tight grip around her wrist, and she’s pushed forward until she’s sprawled on the grass. The knot of her hitai-ate knocks loose and tumbles onto the ground, and her brown curls fall into her face unrestricted. Next to her, Sasuke tightens his grip and pulls her behind him, away from Zabuza — and Kakashi, plunging a blade into his stomach.

Umeko can hear the drip drop of blood gushing from Zabuza’s wound — except, that’s water , not blood, and —

“ Sensei! Behind you!” Naruto hollers, scrambling to his feet.

Kakashi turns just in time to see Zabuza swing, his body cleaved in two, and splashing into water. Then, he’s pressing a kunai against Zabuza’s neck. The battle of jounin starts in earnest there, but Umeko struggles to keep her eyes on the battle. The thin cut of Zabuza’s sword reopened her old wounds, and she can feel the slickness of blood mingling with sweat and condensation on her back. 

Useless.

So useless.

Umeko blinks repeatedly to keep herself on her feet and not slumping against Sasuke. Sasuke must have noticed, though, and he winds her arm around his neck until they’re moving closer to Naruto and Tazuna.

“Take front point,” Sasuke grunts, forcing her into the position he had been earlier in the formation. It would make it easier for Naruto and Sasuke to flank and protect her.

Useless.

Loser.

Naruto seems like he’s about to ask what’s wrong, but the fight in front of them grabs his attention. Umeko’s fingers slip into her pocket, and she holds the bottle of painkillers. She presses it to her mouth and tips her head back, taking all of the pills in the bottle, before putting the bottle away. Top-shelf shinobi painkillers like these will dull the pain in no time, just long enough for this fight to finish. She can deal with the consequences later.

The fight between Kakashi and Zabuza didn’t last long as Kakashi escaped into the water. Zabuza follows him, hands already mashing together into seals, and just when Kakashi surfaces, a dome of water surrounds him, connected by Zabuza’s hand.

A water clone forms out of the lake, and its head tilts forward in a glare, “You brats acting real tough as if you’re shinobi. A real ninja has been between life and death numerous times. Only those worth being in a bingo book deserve to be called shinobi.”

A thousand times - that’s how many times she’s practiced this jutsu. A thousand times, and yet Umeko’s chakra shakes and quivers as she urges it to mold. Zabuza’s aura surrounds them in a thick, suffocating sheet — no, not aura, killing intent . 

Please, work.

As if answering her prayers, Umeko’s chakra starts to obey and form into three distinct elements: fūton, doton, suiton. Her special technique, unique to no one else in the world, not since her great-grandfather's time. The three chakras mixed in her system, slowly at first as she trembled, and then rapidly, the more she pushed and pulled. The solidness of earth softened by water seeping in then wrapping wind around until, until—

Umeko’s hands bent into the tatsu hand seal, fingers stretching until tangled in a dragon-esque pose. The chakra burst from her palms, and she slammed them onto the ground until all the chakra poured into the dirt. Spindly, pale roots sprouted from under her fingers and crawled across the ground, creating a circle around Team 7. The thin strands of mycelium may look fragile, but stepping on the fungi will drain anyone dry.

“One step on my roots, and all the chakra in your clone will be absorbed,” Umeko hisses out, arms trembling, but blissfully numb from the painkillers.

Zabuza’s eyes flick down at the silky crisscrossing threads, “ Kinton ? So, you’re from the Shimura clan.”

The flinch at the name is instinctive, Shimura — as if she belonged with her grandfather and his wretched family. Nonetheless, she inherited Shizen no Ne — or Kinton , to those outside of the clan — from her grandfather—the only person to possess the kekkei tōta in over forty years.

Umeko could already feel the drain on her chakra reserves; the jutsu couldn’t be maintained for very long without a supply of chakra — hers or her enemy’s. In the condition she’s in, Umeko won’t be of much use to Naruto and Sasuke, but she can provide support and terrain control.

“Sasuke, Naruto,” Umeko’s fingers curl in the dirt, feeling every strand of mycelium draining her chakra in thin, reedy pulls, “this is all you guys, now.”

Naruto stared down at her, eyes wide and shiny, before they narrowed into something solid . It reminds Umeko of the stone of her father’s eyes — no, this is something more than stone. Naruto is a building fire, glowing with resolve and determination. Resilience. And, when Sasuke steps forward, Umeko gets a chill down her back.

I’m looking at greatness, Umeko thinks to herself. Not now, but in the future, Umeko thinks a man like Zabuza would tremble in front of Sasuke and Naruto.

Useless.

Pathetic.

I want to be great, too.

When they dash towards the clone, Umeko feeds her chakra into the ground until more roots of mycelium are crawling across the ground. For every step her teammates make, Umeko is pushing her mycelium until the strands are herding the clone. She controls the battlefield, forcing Zabuza to pay attention to the ground and his weak spots as she creates blind spots for Naruto and Sasuke.

Eventually, the clone is backed to a tree, and the water clone spears his sword into the ground. The impact severs some of Umeko’s roots, and she’s forced to pour more chakra into closing the gap. Zabuza’s clone uses his sword to swing him away from the crawling mycelium, but not before the mycelium touches the metal of the weapon. The clone lands several feet away from her sprawling network of roots, just as the cloned sword splashes into water on the ground. Umeko’s mycelium greedily sucks up the chakra in the water, compensating for some of the loss Umeko felt.

The battle stalls. Naruto and Sasuke jump back to Umeko’s side as the clone hovers on a mycelium-free spot of ground. Despite their efforts, they haven’t gotten a step further in freeing Kakashi. Exhaustion cords through her muscles, and she trembles. At least, Zabuza hasn’t gotten closer to killing them, either.

“You guys,” Kakashi yells from his prison, slamming a fist against the water orb, “you can’t fight him. Run! ”

No, Umeko can’t run. What is there to run to? To run back to the Shimura clan in shame, admitting weakness? To run to a family that won’t even let her into their house? Naruto and Sasuke don’t have anywhere to run to, either. Umeko won’t be the weak one to give up.

One of her roots snaps and disintegrates, Umeko having no more chakra to sustain it.

“I won’t allow a comrade to die,” Naruto roars, spittle flecking her mycelium roots with his passion. It’s not chakra, but Umeko thinks she can feel the power of his words from it, all the same. “That’s what you said, right, Sensei?”

Umeko inhales and exhales deeply, centering herself before her eyes narrow in focus. “One more try, I have one more try in me, Naruto.”

Naruto nods, adjusting his hitai-ate, and his brow furrows in concentration. Sasuke grunts in affirmation, settling back into his fighting stance.

The battle begins again.

There’s more direction to it this time, more of a plan forming rather than the relentless, desperate movements from before. A trail of white darts forward directly at cloned Zabuza, then veers right. The clone dodges to the left and flips into the trees to avoid Sasuke’s fireball. The edges of her mycelium burn, and she can feel the heat ricocheting up her roots and into her fingers.

The original Zabuza is unprotected as Umeko chases the clone into the trees. Sasuke pushes away from the treeline and dashes towards the original Zabuza. Umeko removes her hands from the ground and presses them into three hand seals before slamming them back onto the dirt. With the last dregs of her chakra, she forces it down the veins of her mycelium until spores erupt out of the roots. The yellow spores float harmlessly into the air for a moment before exploding into a veil of poisonous fog separating the clone from Zabuza.

With the last of her chakra gone, Umeko’s arms buckle underneath her, and she falls to her elbows. Through narrowed, sleepy eyes, she can only watch as Sasuke wraps the original Zabuza’s free hand in wire and yanks it to the side just as Naruto aims Sasuke’s fūma shuriken at his other arm. Zabuza rips his hand free of the water prison and snaps the shinobi wire around his arm, jumping backwards.

Kakashi’s free.

Umeko slumps and figures she’ll either wake up alive or not at all.

Chapter Text

“You were right.”

Umeko’s eyes blink open to stare up at a wooden ceiling. There’s a hole in the corner in which water steadily drips. The last thing she remembers is passing out on the battlefield — not dead, then. 

She doesn’t look at Kakashi, not even when he continues talking.

“If any of you three die, it’s my fault,” Kakashi sighs, and there’s stilted movement in the corner of her eye, “I failed you all.”

A morbid curiosity getting the better of her, Umeko’s head shifts on the pillow until she can see Kakashi’s lying figure a foot away from her. He’s on a futon and staring at the same leaking, shabby ceiling.

Umeko snorts and rolls over. “Pretty words.”

Cool air blows against her back, and Umeko realizes someone has dressed her wounds in thick bandages. She hears a shift of Kakashi’s blanket as he settles, and she knows he’s looking at her.

“I failed you the most.”

Umeko doesn’t need to see his expression to know what he means. Through gritted teeth, Umeko spits out, “Clans discipline children all the time.”

Another shift, and the shadows dance against the wall she now stares at. A pause, and then a gentle tone, “Not to this extent.”

A huff leaves her lips, and she kicks the blanket off her, sitting up on the threadbare futon. When she turns to Kakashi, it’s with a cold glare and practiced sneer — an armor more familiar to her than any flak jacket could be.

“And what of it?” Umeko’s lip curls, and she leans back on her hands. “You're going to tell the Hokage that his most trusted advisor is beating his granddaughter? He’ll probably just puff on his pipe and say ‘just like old times’.”

Kakashi doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t even move from where he is lying flat on his back. The only change is the flicker of his eye settling onto her face.

“You’ve graduated from the Academy. That’s enough grounds to file for emancipation,” he said evenly.

Umeko’s response was a bitter, incredulous laugh. “And you think he’d allow that? The Shimura clan hasn’t seen kinton since my great-grandfather. There’s no getting away from Shimura Danzo’s legacy,” Umeko hisses out, “My life is hell. Has always been, will always be. You think you’re the first to make a connection, to see his handiwork? Pretend you saw nothing, just like the rest of them did.”

The room’s walls loomed closer, suffocating and stifling in their wooden planks and peeling wallpaper. Perhaps this is what a crab sees before it’s ripped from the ocean, dangling in its wooden trap. Umeko’s knees wobbled underneath her as she forced herself to her feet, a few unsteady steps towards the door. Smaller, smaller, smaller — the walls pressed in until the very air from her lungs squeezed out of her chest in a punch. No matter how much she tried to inhale, her caged lungs couldn’t hold it.

“Umeko.”

A large hand on her head, running through her curly locks. It’s an unfamiliar gesture — the type of casual affection Umeko was never allowed. Umeko sucked in a breath, and her lungs expanded. The walls settled, unmoving as always.

“I’ll make you strong enough,” Kakashi said it so simply, as if it were a fact and not a possibility. He didn’t clarify beyond that; he didn’t need to. In the shinobi world, strength is everything. If she’s strong, nobody could touch her. Strength is enough. 

Kakashi’s hand slipped from her hair, and he pulled away with a wince — as if he, like her, is burned by affection. “Eat lunch, your training starts in an hour.”

The door closed behind him, and Umeko collapsed on her futon. She sat there, staring at her hands in the light filtering through the window. Choices always had a way of slipping from her fingers, impossible to hold as her grandfather yanked them from her hands. Umeko doesn’t know why, but her hands look so small. Smaller than usual, younger maybe. Like, despite all the burdens on her shoulders, Umeko still had some time left, some youth in her still. And, when she clenched them into fists, she felt like there was finally something solid to hold onto.

This once, just this once, Umeko can give Kakashi a chance.

Umeko stayed in the room, watching the drips of the leaky roof until she heard Kakashi herd Naruto and Sasuke out of the house. Naruto yelling about training was hard to miss, and Umeko’s fingers flexed at her sides. 

If she were strong enough, could she —

No, the only one Umeko could trust was herself. Her grandfather taught her that at a young age. Friendships and kindness are the follies of the weak.

Once she could no longer hear Naruto’s shouting, Umeko dressed — wincing slightly at the rawness of her back — and left the room. Tazuna and a woman sat around a table, eating a simple meal. The woman brightened at Umeko’s emergence and quickly fixed her plate.

“Tsunami, my daughter,” Tazuna said with a grunt, and then pointed his chopsticks at the door, “my grandson is lurking around somewhere.”

Umeko just hummed, sinking into a chair and taking a bite of the food. The meal was plain, simple, but it had that home-cooked quality about it — the kind of touch that made it tasty no matter how simple it was. It tasted a bit too fishy — the land is probably too poor to import any food to the island. The reminder made Umeko appreciate it a little more, though it brought questions to her mind.

“Tazuna-san,” Umeko stared down at her plate in thought, “what does Nami no Kuni export?”

Why is Konoha so invested in getting the bridge fixed that they would risk a fresh genin team? Under a pretense, no less.

“Well, we have a couple of exports — fish, salt, and the like. Metals found in the ocean are our biggest profit, though.”

Her mind snagged on the mention of metals. Hadn’t her grandfather complained about that recently? It had been to the Hokage when he came over for tea — Umeko had just happened to overhear while getting ready for missions. Prices had gone up for an imported metal — what was it again?

Oh, she remembers now.

“Do you export reigane?” Umeko tried not to look invested in the answer, biting into a scoop of rice.

“Yes,” Tazuna said, eyeing her anew, “your village used to buy that metal a lot before. I hear they’re trading with Kaze no Kuni, now.”

Tazuna watched Umeko warily, fingers tightening around his sake bottle. Not suspicious, but reassessing. “Must cost Konoha a pretty penny, outsourcing Suna.”

Umeko hummed noncommittally, “I don’t know, I’m just a genin.”

“Right.”

Naruto perked up when he saw her in the little forest clearing thirty minutes later, but Sasuke didn’t bother to acknowledge her. He continued to stare down the thick tree trunk in front of him as if it were an S-Class missing-nin here to kill them (again).

“Ume-chan, Ume-chan!” Naruto runs to her side, and his hand lands on her shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. He looks the same as usual, no visible injuries, though his smile seems…unnatural. Bright and blinding and a little forced. “I was so worried when you passed out yesterday! But you were so cool, and—”

Umeko can’t summon the energy to fill her little role, to play kind and sweet and everything she’s not. Umeko just hums and glares at the ground, something heavy filling her gut. Something indigestible and sickening, like a weariness, Umeko just can’t shake.

“Don’t crowd her, Naruto.” Kakashi’s hand ruffles Naruto’s hair, and he doesn’t flinch away from Naruto like he did with her. Maybe Kakashi wasn’t allergic to affection; perhaps he just found her disgusting.

Umeko crossed her arms awkwardly, feeling off-balance. After nearly dying with them, Umeko thinks Sasuke and Naruto deserve a break from her meddling. Plus, she’ll need to devise some new tactics — Kakashi will definitely step in next time.

Or you could trust them, a traitorous thought whispered, and it sounded too hopeful and naive for her liking. Umeko shoved the thought deep, deep down and disregarded the pit forming in her stomach.

Kakashi gestured towards a tree a little bit away from the other two, and threw his flak jacket on the ground for her to sit on, “The boys are learning to tree climb, which you already know how to do, right?”

“Yeah,” Umeko mumbled, lowering herself down onto the flak jacket even as her back twinged in pain. On the other side of the clearing, Sasuke flips away from the tree and onto his feet with a frown. The sun glints off his headband, and Umeko makes eye contact with him for a mere second before he’s running back towards the tree.

“You did well in the fight, Ume-hime,” Kakashi sat in front of her, his crutches discarded beside him, “but your chakra control needs work.”

“Tch, you don’t think I’ve worked every chakra control exercise there is?” Umeko huffs, already rethinking her decision to give him a chance.

Kakashi pulled a slip of paper from his bag and handed it to Umeko. “With better chakra control, you’ll be able to perform your jutsu faster and expend less chakra on them. The jutsu you used with the mycelium-”

“Shokune no Jutsu,” Umeko interrupts.

“Right, Shokune no Jutsu needs a lot of chakra to spread over a large terrain, especially if you aren’t absorbing any enemy chakra with it,” Kakashi forces Umeko’s thumbs to press against the front of the paper, “You need better chakra control if you want to be useful.”

Hard pill to swallow, but Umeko has swallowed harder ones.

“This seal can only be a conduit for a set amount of chakra. Too little chakra and nothing will happen, too much chakra and it will explode in your face. The right amount of chakra, and you’ll get a surprise,” Kakashi smiled at Umeko as if she were a dog to be trained with a treat, “I’ll give a hint: it’s the amount needed for a kawarimi.”

Kakashi stands up, swiping the dirt off his pants, and tucks the crutches back under his arm, “Oh, and make sure to use your kinton chakra, or this whole exercise is pointless.”

Then he hobbled away, calling pointers to Sasuke and Naruto.

The paper crinkled under the press of Umeko’s thumbs, deceptively thin, but with the stiffness typical of sealing paper. The symbols inked on it meant nothing to her, but the lines had been etched in a careful calligraphy. Purposeful. Exact. Umeko didn’t dwell on it for long; she never did have much interest in fuinjutsu.

A simple kawarimi — an academic-level jutsu, the replacement technique that had been drilled into their heads since they were eight. The longest part of the process had been mustering her kinton chakra — mixing the elements in her core, mashing them together the way her grandfather taught her. With a quirk of her lips at the ease of it, Umeko pushed kawarimi levels of kinton chakra into the seal —

— and a plume of chalky green dust exploded all over her.

Naruto fell from the tree he had been climbing, back, hitting the forest floor as he held his belly and laughed. Sasuke misstepped and pushed from the trunk, leaving a splintered indent in the shape of his foot behind. Umeko sputtered, coughing out chalk dust that filled her mouth.

Face aflame, ears pink, Umeko slapped the seal down and pointed an accusing finger at Kakashi, “Your stupid seal is broken!”

“Mm,” Kakashi rubbed his chin, his visible eye staring at the canopy of trees, “if it were broken, it wouldn’t have exploded. Have you always used so much chakra for a kawarimi? Your control must be worse than I thought.”

“My control—!” Umeko struggled to her feet, nearly slipping on his flak jacket, “It’s fine! My control is fine!”

“Try shaving off a quarter of the amount, Ume-hime,” Kakashi said brightly, waving her away as he turned to address Naruto, “You have to hold the chakra in your feet the entire time, Naruto.”

With a hiss through her teeth, Umeko lowered back onto the flak jacket and glared at the seal in front of her. Her brow furrowed as she mixed her chakra up again — earth, solid and packed, softened by the easy, molding flow of water and stagnate air weighted by humidity. The mixed chakra sludged through her fourth chakra gate, and then her third, before she pushed it into her hands — the amount for a kawarimi, a quarter less.

Umeko prepared for an explosion, lips pressed tight together.

Nothing happened.

“Kakashi.” Umeko bit out, glaring at his back.

“Yes, yes, increase it by ten percent.” Kakashi didn’t even bother to turn around, watching Sasuke make it up to the first branch of the large oak.

Sighing through her nose, she tried it again — mixing, pushing, and estimating how much ten percent would be. Half of being a shinobi was guesswork. Umeko’s eyes watered as she stared unblinking at the paper seal, threading the chakra into it. The usual easy push and pull became harder for Umeko, her control wavering on the smaller amounts. Then, a final tug until her chakra spilled into the seal.

For a moment, nothing happened, and then — pop! A small cloud of smoke gusted from the seal, and a crinkled bill of a hundred ryō rolled onto Umeko’s lap.

“This is my prize?” Umeko said with incredulity, grabbing the bill in her fist and shaking it at Kakashi. Her daily allowance was more than that!

Kakashi smiled at her, “I thought you could buy some sweets with it later!”

“Some? I couldn’t even buy one with this!”

He made a dismissive noise and wandered over, leaning on his crutches as if they were an afterthought. Umeko doesn’t know if he’s as injured as he pretends to be. “Now that you know how much chakra to use, we can refine your control.”

Umeko didn’t bother to help him as he lowered himself down in front of her again, letting his crutches fall to the side. “Using that small of an amount is hard for most genin, but your basic chakra control is alright for your age,” Kakashi said with such a condescending levity that Umeko found herself bristling, “Your control in nature transformation is lacking.”

“I’m transforming three natures at once; anyone would struggle with that,” Umeko said defensively, sneering at him.

“Yes, but you aren’t just anyone, Ume-hime,” With his elbow on his knee, Kakashi rested his chin in an open palm, “You are the only user of kinton in the world.”

“I’m aware.” The sharp, burning glare she levelled at Kakashi was only met with a blank stare.

He ignored her quip, “But you’re right, transforming three natures at once is difficult — especially when you aren’t skilled in any of them.”

Umeko frowned, “Why would I need to be good at them if they’re just going to be mixed into something new anyway?”

“Do you make shokupan with spoiled milk, eggs, and butter? You’ll just mix it up in the end, anyway.” Kakashi didn’t wait for her answer, “The quality of the ingredients changes the taste of the bread.”

“So, the better the components, the stronger the whole,” Umeko muttered to herself. It pissed her off how much sense it made.

“Your transformation control will be better, too.” Kakashi flicked the seal still gripped in Umeko’s hand, “Now, continue the exercise, but use only suiton this time. Should be easy now, right?”

It wasn’t.

On her first try, Umeko almost added doton on instinct, and her ensuing panic caused the seal to explode over her face again. The chalky dust was bright blue this time.

The second time, suiton chakra formed all too easily — like a relentless current surging through her, slipping from her control even as it rushed past her tenketsu points. An explosion of pink, now.

Naruto and Sasuke managed to make it to the halfway point up the tree before Kakashi called it quits for the night. Umeko didn’t make any more ryō than her one wrinkled bill and left rainbow dust in her wake. The chakra didn’t yield to her control yet; either she lost half the amount needed while channeling it, or too much channeled too quickly. Whether the seal exploded on her seemed to be a flip of the coin, the rushing chakra slippery and wild — like grabbing an eel in the river.

Kakashi made the three of them shower before dinner was done. With only one shower available, they came up with an ingenious strategy to decide who showered first — rock, paper, scissors. Sasuke won first dibs, and Kakashi refused to let Umeko trail colorful residue in the house, so she loitered outside until her turn.

Naruto, sweaty but not particularly a danger to the interior, elected to stay with her of his own free will.

A chasm had sprung up between them, deep and unpassable. Umeko toed a rock, staring at the splotches of pink that rubbed off on it. Surely, Sasuke wouldn’t take too long showering, right?

“Ume-chan,” Naruto said, his voice gravelly and muted. It reminded Umeko of that night they went to Ichiraku’s — subdued, familiar, nigh intimate, “you were—!”

His fists clenched at his sides, and he bowed his head, something excruciating and sad crossing his face. Hesitant to engage in whatever emotional turmoil he happened to go through, Umeko only responded when his silence continued for too long. “Naruto?”

“I’ll get stronger,” Naruto shouted, and his blue eyes reflected the dying sunlight — wild and stubborn and unstoppable, “I won’t let anyone hurt you again, not some stupid missing-nin — no one, dattebayo!”

And it was such a stupid declaration, because Naruto could never guarantee something like that. He couldn’t always protect her, couldn’t battle these demons that had an unyielding grip on her. She smiled.

“I’ll get stronger, too,” Umeko promised, and she didn’t have that fire in her that everyone on her team seemed to possess, that will to make the impossible possible. Her voice echoed in the forest, determined anyway. “Got it?”

“I got it!”

Relief bloomed in Umeko’s chest when Kakashi poked his head out and called for the next person to take a shower. The camaraderie, easy and warm, chafed against her sensibilities. With a pat against her clothes to get most of the loose chalk off, Umeko scooched into the door — she had come second place in rock, paper, scissors. Naruto always chose rock.

Even though Naruto could follow her into the house, he stayed behind — smiling to himself as he kicked against a pink-splattered rock.

They had seafood for dinner again — a bowl of noodles in some type of fish broth. Umeko had a feeling she wouldn’t be able to stomach seafood for a while after this, but ate her food without too much fuss. An unspoken tension haunted the table, and everyone seemed to be in a silent battle.

Kakashi and Tazuna were having a wordless stand-off. Tazuna’s brow furrowed as he glared at Kakashi, and Kakashi just stared back, bored, unmoving. Sasuke and Naruto raced to finish all their food, lips curling as they sneered at each other — once again making the most simple of things a competition. Umeko ate her food unbothered, free from the irritation that had gripped everyone else. And wasn’t that a novelty?

Of course, Tazuna’s twerp of a grandson had to ruin it with a derisive comment about women being shinobi. After that, Umeko spent the rest of the meal glowering at Inari and fighting with Sasuke over the last pickled cucumber. With the determination of a woman’s fury (and an unintended distraction from Naruto), Umeko ended up the victor.

Tsunami had been clearing the table when Tazuna gruffly bit out, “Fine.”

“Ah, I knew you would see reason, Tazuna-san,” Kakashi smiled, and beckoned the team to follow him. “Let’s get my cute little genin tucked into bed.”

“We’re not five,” Sasuke scoffed, and Naruto quickly shouted his agreement. They still followed, an uncharacteristic, shy shuffle to their steps.

Kakashi closed the door behind them and wobbled to his rolled-out futon. A seriousness fell across his face, and he waited for them to sit around him before talking.

“Tazuna-san has agreed to wait two more days before returning to his work on the bridge,” Kakashi reported, “to give us time to heal and train.”

The weary slump of Kakashi’s shoulders and the sharp glint in his eyes clued Umeko in on his worries. Sasuke beat her to the punch, though. “You think that crime boss will send another missing-nin after Tazuna.”

“I think Zabuza will come after us again,” Kakashi held up a hand to stop their questions, and sighed, “that Kiri hunter-nin seemed off. I’m confident they are working together. Once Zabuza recovers, he’ll finish his contract.”

“We should just kill Gatō,” Umeko muttered before she could help it. Naruto startled and looked at her, eyes wide and mouth open. Perhaps killing had never crossed his mind before in this line of work.

“Defending the mission is one thing, Ume-hime, and completing an unsanctioned assassination is another — in foreign territory no less.” Kakashi’s tone was light. Still, Umeko took it for the admonishment it was. She shrank in on herself and tried not to notice how Naruto still looked at her.

Kakashi continued, “The next two days, I’m pushing you hard in your training. After, we’ll accompany Tazuna to the bridge and focus on easier skills. Now, let’s get some sleep; we’ll be waking up early.”

“Do you think this is revenge for something?” Umeko panted from where she had fallen onto the grass, Sasuke out of breath and sweaty next to her. They both glared at Naruto across the way as he badgered Kakashi for their next exercise.

Umeko glances at Sasuke just as he looks at each other, their eyes meeting, and Umeko feels a sense of camaraderie over their shared exasperation. Maybe this is the team spirit Kakashi keeps trying to instill in them, and Umeko almost smiles at him. Almost.

Sasuke’s cheek twitches, and he grunts out, “If it makes me stronger, I don’t care.”

The deluded scene of kinship is shattered in her mind. A swell of annoyance takes over Umeko, and her pride smarts at the rejection. Her head snaps forward, and she glares at nothing. Without thinking it through, she snipes back, “Is becoming strong all that you think of?”

From the corner of her eye, she can see Sasuke’s unimpressed and flat stare. Of course, strength is all that matters — something that Umeko knows well. Someone strong doesn’t need a team; someone strong doesn’t need anybody. Still, for a brief moment, Umeko thought maybe being a team was nice, too.

To cover her severe lapse in judgment, Umeko adds in her haughtiest tone, “There’s more to being a shinobi than brute forcing your way through problems.”

“Like sabotage?” Sasuke scoffs, his retort quick and with a tinge of heat behind it.

In the dirt, her hands curl into fists, and she pushes herself up into a sitting position. There isn’t really anything she can say to that, because Sasuke is right. Umeko did try to sabotage him — not try, did. And there’s a still-healing cut on his cheek as evidence.

“I’m—” Umeko doesn’t know what she’s going to say before she opens her mouth. Perhaps that she’s sorry? But Umeko doesn’t know if she is sorry. There’s a pit in her stomach when she thinks about it, and she knows Sasuke deserves a better teammate than her. Naruto, too. Yet, a big part of her is still scared, still quivering under her grandfather’s thumb. Sentimentality will get her nowhere, she knew that, and Sasuke even confirmed her suspicions just now — teamwork means nothing.

So why is there something that feels a little bit like regret in the back of her throat?

“Train harder, I don’t want you to hold me back.” Sasuke walks over to Naruto’s jumping form, still a little breathless.

A beetle scurries across the grass near her, and Umeko stares at it for a second. She lifts a fist, hovering it over the wriggling bug, and stops. Uncurling her fist and sighing, Umeko rises from the ground and joins the rest of her team.

Chapter Text

“Kakashi, are you training us like dogs?”

Yes.

Kakashi uncrossed and recrossed his legs, his sandals scraping against the branch he perched on. He flinches when the movement irritates the wound on his leg that stubbornly refuses to heal. Umeko watches the movement with an annoyed squint.

“Hm? What makes you say that?” Kakashi replied lightheartedly, cognizant of how his levity rakes across Umeko’s nerves.

As predicted, Umeko’s nose scrunched, and her lips formed a petulant pout — an adorable, childish expression that Kakashi doesn’t think Umeko is aware of. It’s that innocent face that reminds Kakashi of her age, even when she spits poison as deadly as someone twice her years. Adorable expression or not, Umeko had quite a temper on her, and it would get her in trouble sooner or later. Her temper didn’t come like Kushina’s did, a hot and fast flash that was burnt out just as quickly as it came. Umeko’s temper flared like a storm with no warning, refusing to wane until a tithe of blood and ruin sated it. As her sensei, Kakashi should weed it out of her, but he doesn’t even know where to start.

“You’re giving us treats whenever we accomplish something,” Umeko said flatly, holding up a wad of paper bills as evidence, “like dogs.”

“Am I not allowed to give my hardworking students gifts?” Kakashi smiled down at his book, flicking a page over even though he hadn’t read a single word for the past hour.

Across their little spot in the woods, Naruto whooped loud enough to startle the birds as he reached his next milestone. His tan hand enclosed around the steaming cup of ramen Kakashi had balanced on one of the branches. “Look, Sasuke, it’s not even cold yet!”

Kakashi had to admire Naruto’s comedic timing, no matter how coincidental and inconvenient it may be.

“Shut up, loser.” Sasuke stared up at his own awaiting prize — a worn book of shurikenjutsu exercises. It had been harder picking a treat out for Sasuke, who was not motivated by food or praise. Kakashi’s youngest summon, Bisuke, had been much the same, and Kakashi enticed Sasuke the same way he had with his ninken: a new toy.

“I don’t see the similarities,” Kakashi says when Umeko arches a brow at him following Naruto’s outburst.

“Stop messing around already!” Umeko’s voice rose like the swelling of clouds, and Kakashi’s smile dropped as he observed the brewing typhoon. “You said you’d help me get stronger, not waste my time with stupid seals and childish prizes!”

Kakashi tucked Icha Icha into his back pouch, settling the full weight of his observant gaze on Umeko’s tiny twelve-year-old shoulders. “Becoming stronger doesn’t happen in a few days, Ume-hime. I made you a promise, and I plan to keep it — but it will take time and hard work. Right now, my job is to make sure you three survive this mission.”

The tenseness in Umeko’s shoulders faded slightly, the storm dampening even as her face stayed scrunched in annoyance. Kakashi could relate — powerlessness itched at the mind and body like a sickness. Kakashi made sure he wouldn’t feel like that ever again, and he suspects that, of this team, Umeko might be like him in this aspect the most. Not the drive for power that Sasuke has, nor the push to protect that affects Naruto. It’s a survival instinct that can’t be quelled, even when the shadows beckon you closer.

“You’ve made a lot of progress in two days, and your chakra is mostly steady,” Kakashi compliments in an offhanded manner, and is rewarded with Umeko’s bashful glance. “When we return to Konoha, I’ll teach you a few suiton jutsu before we move on to the next chakra nature.”

Umeko looked down and scuffed her foot against the dirt shyly. The first thing Kakashi learned about training ninken was that each dog is different, but their motivations all fall into three neat categories. Like Bull, Naruto is easily pleased by offerings of food and treats. As was Bisuke, Sasuke needs a focus, an entertainment almost — where it was rubber balls for Bisuke, shiny shuriken and old technique books suffice for Sasuke.

Umeko is motivated the same way Pakkun was — praise. Naruto and Sasuke have been starved for attention for the longest time, and praise works, but only in moderation. It settles on their shoulders like a weight, words believed to be false that they will never measure against. Umeko spent so much of her life with attention of the worst kind, where affection was canings and castigations. She accepts Danzo’s judgments as truth, quick to shed her pride under his authoritarian thumb. The positive words come easily to Kakashi’s mouth, a small price for the timid smile Umeko tries to hide.

Kakashi expects Umeko to distance herself now that she’s calmed down, but she surprises him by kneeling under his low branch. She pulls out the seal Kakashi gave her, a modified storage seal filled with powder bombs Gai gifted him for another made-up competition. For a moment, Kakashi observes her, before taking out Icha Icha again. None of his genin needs his direction right now, but he’s here if they need him. For now, that will have to be enough.

Kakashi makes it a chapter in his book before he’s interrupted.

“Why did Zabuza defect?”

Umeko swiped a smudge of pink powder from her cheek, nose scrunching as she cringed at the clumpy texture on her skin. Kakashi hums at the question, praying skyward for a quick explanation and an hour’s peace.

“He led a coup against the Mizukage. It failed,” Kakashi settled on. Sweet and succinct — now where was he?

“Obviously.” Umeko deadpans, and Kakashi holds back a sigh. It looks like this is a conversation now. He did say he would be here if they needed him…but the male lead was just about to kiss the love interest. Kakashi stared mournfully at his book.

Movement below drew his eye as Umeko successfully channeled her chakra. Her eyes flicked upward at him before averting, an aborted look for approval that didn’t go unnoticed. Kakashi dug into the dregs of his pouch and found a stray piece of wrapped candy that he never bothered to remove. A year old, he suspects, but probably good. He drops it in her lap and commends, “You’re getting better at this.”

Umeko scoffs at him, but stuffs the candy in her pocket.

“After the coup failed, Zabuza defected with the remaining members of the rebellion,” Kakashi shrugged, “that’s the extent of my knowledge, I’m afraid.”

“But you have suspicions.” Kakashi waits, expectant eye resting on Umeko’s hunched form. After a beat, Umeko continues, “You think they’re planning another coup.”

Politics is an area that Umeko excels at more than Naruto and Sasuke possibly ever could. In the future, if Naruto does become Hokage, Umeko could be a valuable asset to him in navigating diplomacy. That is, if Kakashi can keep her violent temper at bay. Kakashi suspects her knowledge is more from watching Danzo scheme and plot than from him teaching her directly.

“It makes the most sense, since they stuck together. They have a common goal,” Kakashi confirms, “They must’ve taken this job to raise money for a second attempt.”

Umeko doesn’t say anything else, and Kakashi finishes a chapter.

Umeko is the smartest person Naruto ever met — except for maybe Kakashi-sensei and Iruka-sensei. Definitely smarter than that bastard Sasuke, though. Umeko might even be smarter than Sakura, even if Sakura is the prettiest and cutest girl from their graduating class.

“What is it?” Naruto asks in awe, leaning over Umeko’s crouching form as she inspects a basket full of gleaming blue rocks.

“It’s reigane,” Umeko answers with a hum, turning over one of the rocks in her hand, “it’s the metal that shinobi tools are made of. It can conduct chakra ten times better than regular old iron.”

Umeko is so smart, but she’s different now, too. Naruto watches her impassive face from the corner of his eye, and can’t recall the last time he saw her smile. Mostly, she seems tired — drooping eyelids, sluggish movements, and a lifelessness that sets Naruto on edge. Umeko has always been a little bit lifeless, in the way her smile never reached her eyes, and how cold her stare could be sometimes. She had eyes like Mizuki — not full of hatred or malice, but calculation and cruelty.

“We should just kill Gatō.” Words said so confidently, as if taking a human life was so easy.

 It makes Naruto shudder thinking of it.

But Naruto understands more than most the importance of having a mask to protect oneself from the world. This cruel and cold Umeko is just another mask, just like the attentive and kind Umeko had been. Underneath, Naruto knows the real Umeko is even better. Maybe not nice, and maybe not strategic, but loyal and protective.

“That’s so cool, Ume-chan!” Naruto says instead of commenting on the dour look on her face.

Umeko glances at him with that one look — the look that says he doesn’t understand something underneath, but she doesn’t want to explain it. Naruto hates the way it makes him feel — pathetic, stupid, worthless. Kakashi-sensei and Sasuke look at him like that a lot, too.

The market square, big and empty except for rickety stalls and merchants that have seen better days, reminds Naruto of the pit in his stomach. A hollow hole right beneath his heart, veins and sinew the only thing keeping it from falling into that dark chasm. Maybe that is where the Kyuubi resides, right beneath his chest, where the anger and hatred stews like a volatile concoction. 

As if! Naruto doesn’t need hatred — he has Iruka-sensei, Kakashi-sensei, Umeko, and even that bastard Sasuke. 

“How bad did Kakashi get hurt?” Umeko asked as she stared at the few coins in her palm. The sun reflected off the metal, copper gleaming like gold even in the dreary village.

“Well,” Naruto started, scratching at his neck as he thought back to it. Kakashi-sensei had gotten pretty banged up. Zabuza’s sword cut his leg pretty badly when Kakashi jumped to save Umeko’s slumped body from his indiscriminate swings and jutsu. “He hurt his leg a bit, but Kakashi-sensei said it’s all fine now! Why?”

Standing up and stepping away from the market vendor, a fisherman of some sort selling that weird, special metal and sickly-looking fish, Umeko ran a hand through her curls. “It looked like he was hurting earlier, so I was going to buy him some medicine. We don’t have enough, though, so the idiot will just have to tough it out.”

Naruto forces a big grin and stands to his full height, “I’m sure we can find something in Sasuke’s first-aid kit. Did you see it? He has so much, it’s ridiculous! I mean, you have to be a real loser to get hurt that much, right? Right?”

“Sure, Naruto.”

“Well, we got everything that drunk asked for. We should head back so we can train, dattebayo!”

He punches his fist into the air, and the bag crinkles in his grip. The vendor gives him the stink eye, but Naruto doesn’t care. Stronger, stronger, stronger. Naruto needs to get stronger!

That way, Umeko’s idiot grandfather will never lay hands on her again!

Sasuke didn’t want to listen — he didn’t care about Umeko. She was just another weakling like Naruto, just another person to hold him back. Even worse, everything about her reminded him of the Uchiha clan. He despised it. Home-cooked meals that tasted like safety and smelled like family, clothing that was silky to the touch — Sasuke knew that from a glance because he had spent his entire childhood grasping onto his mother’s belt.

Umeko was a snake within the team. Every kind word, sweet gesture, innocuous invitation was just venom dripping from her fangs, waiting for Sasuke to get close enough to bite. Umeko’s lucky he didn’t behead her like the vermin she is.

So, no, Sasuke didn’t want to listen. He wanted to train until his bones ached and his blood dried. Naruto was too damn curious, though. Even as he protested, Naruto had pulled him to the door, and Sasuke reluctantly pressed his ear to the wood.

Not because he was curious! But because Naruto wouldn’t leave him alone until he did.

“You're going to tell the Hokage that his most trusted advisor is beating his granddaughter? He’ll probably just puff on his pipe and say ‘just like old times’.”

Sasuke shouldn’t have listened, shouldn’t have eavesdropped. Now, he’s been living with this cursed knowledge in his head for two days — and it’s torture. Torture like home-cooked meals and silk clothing.

He despises her.

He understands her.

It pisses him off!

“Hey, hey, Sasuke, where’s your pills and stuff?” Sasuke tilts his head to see Naruto around the tree, Naruto who currently has his travel bag upside down and is shaking all of his supplies out.

“What are you doing, idiot?” Sasuke is around the tree before he can think, his mood souring even further. He yanks the gray bag from Naruto’s hands — now empty — and tosses it on the ground. “Did I tell you that you can go through my bag?”

“C’mon, Sasuke, don’t be like that, this is for sensei!” Naruto waves him off and crouches down to sort through the items lying in the dirt. Sasuke’s jaw clenches and his brow twitches.

“Kakashi-sensei asked you to go through my stuff?” Sasuke hates this team, and he hates Naruto, Kakashi, and Umeko. 

“Well, no, but—” Sasuke had his hand around Naruto’s jacket collar before he could finish his sentence. Instead of backing off or diffusing Sasuke, Naruto rises to the challenge like always. His tan hand fists in Sasuke’s shirt, until they’re glaring at each other. “I need pills ‘cause Kakashi-sensei is in pain, you selfish bastard!”

Kakashi would never admit to being in pain, most shinobi wouldn’t, and Naruto wasn’t observant. The idiot is probably lying to snoop through his shit, maybe even because Umeko put him up to it. “And how would you know that?”

“Ume-chan!” Naruto responded immediately, and Sasuke scowled as his suspicions were proven true.

“So? Your precious Ume-chan isn’t always right, moron.” Sasuke pushes Naruto away and doesn’t bother trying to hide the satisfaction when Naruto trips over his own feet.

“You’re just mad that she’s smarter than you, prick!” Naruto hisses out, on his feet and bristling like a threatened cat. Sasuke’s lip curls, and he plants his hands on his hips.

“Whatever, idiot,” Sasuke’s words are all smug and arrogant, armed with the knowledge that the best way to get under Naruto’s skin was to dismiss him. He kicks a small pouch from his emptied pack towards Naruto, and it rattles as it skids across the dirt, “Painkillers are the round blue ones.”

“Don’t act all high and mighty, bastard!” Naruto shouts, but Sasuke’s back is already turned and he is heading back to his tree. He can hear Naruto rustling around in the pouch, and Sasuke calls over his shoulder, “Don’t forget to clean up the mess you made, loser.”

Naruto huffs but doesn’t say anything. Sasuke considers this a victory, but it doesn’t do anything to lift his spirits. 

Umeko this, Umeko that, Umeko Umeko Umeko. Sasuke was getting sick of it. He rushes the tree, feet planting against the bark as his feet carry him up the trunk. Umeko already knows how to do this. Sasuke clenches his teeth, and his chakra wobbles until his feet lose their grip on the tree.

A kunai sank into the wood with a deep thunk, and Sasuke pushed off the trunk to land smoothly on his feet. Almost there, almost to the top—! Umeko is a distraction, a liability, but he can’t stop his eyes from drifting to her lone form across the clearing. The tall trees behind her dwarf her in stature like an ant, just a small smudge of color differentiating her from the high noon shadows.

Her eyes lift, and Sasuke stares into the light brown. In the academy, his classmates called her cute — not as pretty as Sakura or as beautiful as Ino, but cute. Sasuke has never found anyone attractive before — appearances are deceiving, and shallow. All he needs is power, and for girls to stop following him around. But Sasuke gets what his classmates mean when they say cute. Attractive in an innocent, childish way, and Sasuke can see that in Umeko.

Large tan eyes, rounded cheeks, and curly dark brown hair cut short enough to brush her shoulders. Innocent.

Except when she gazes at him, and Sasuke can see himself reflected in her irises and her soul. The ravenous hunger that they would do anything to sate — even if it meant breaking their bonds, and betraying their morals.

Sasuke looks away first with a sneer and runs at the tree again.

He makes it to the top.

When Kakashi opens his eyes, it is well into the afternoon. He feels uncharacteristically groggy, eyes crusted and mouth dried, and he doesn't think he has slept this long since he was a toddler. The futon rustles as he sits up, and he stares at the empty room for a second. It takes a minute for the gears in his brain to start turning, something else unlike him. Was he poisoned? A headache forms as his body protests hard thinking this early after waking up. Still, he forces himself to focus: when would someone have the opportunity to poison him? Ah, that's when - not poisoned, or at least, not intentionally. It must have been those pain pills Naruto gave him last night. Kakashi had been so touched, he hadn't stopped to think about it before swallowing the recommended dose. 

The door creaks open, and his eye feels heavy as he drags it to Tsunami's entering form. She startles before smiling, "Oh, you're awake! Lunch has been over for a while, but I have some leftovers if you don't mind cold soup. You shouldn't work on an empty stomach, it's bad for your health."

Work? Kakashi forces himself to his feet, arms trembling and legs cramping. It takes him a second longer to stand than he's used to - man, he hates sleeping aids. Stretching, Kakashi tries to think of what work Tsunami is talking about. Training his students counts as work, he supposes. Except that's not right.

Ah, the bridge.

Today is the day he negotiated for Tazuna to begin working on the bridge again. Kakashi scratches his chin and allows himself to hope as he asks, "I don't suppose Tazuna waited for me before leaving?"

"No," Tsunami shrugs helplessly, even though her eyes shine in admiration, "he was determined to go this morning. Your students went along to protect him. Not that he gave them much choice!"

Well, this isn't great news. Kakashi is a jounin, and a simple thing like sleeping pills won't stop him from completing the mission. He sighs, making his body comply with his demands, and moves towards his equipment. He straps everything efficiently and quickly, knowing he has no time to spare.

"Sorry, I won't be able to eat before I go," Kakashi says with a forced apologetic tone, "I need to make sure my students stay out of trouble."

Trouble is unlikely, not on their first day back at the bridge. From the wounds he dealt Zabuza, he won't be up and ready for a fight just yet. Still, Gatō could hire other mercenaries who would be a pain to deal with.

Kakashi is out of the small house, running towards the bridge before Tsunami can make any protests. His body moves like he's stuck in molasses, and it takes a few seconds before he's sprinting at his usual speed. Once he gets there, he'll have to give his students a long lecture on proper mission protocols: aka, don't go off without waking your sensei, and don’t mistake sleeping pills for painkillers. Kakashi pushed down his budding irritation and pumped chakra into his feet, charging forward at an even faster pace. 

It's not long before the bridge comes into sight — and the mist hanging over it.

"Shit," Kakashi curses when the smell of blood filters into his nose.

He's too late.

Chapter Text

“I told you the round ones, idiot!”

Kakashi groaned when Umeko pressed her foot into his side, but otherwise didn’t stir. She didn’t bother with the argument between Naruto and Sasuke — really, Sasuke should’ve figured that Naruto doesn’t know the difference between a pill and a capsule. Those must have been strong sleeping aids if they managed to knock Kakashi out this badly.

“Why do you even have medicine like that!” There’s a scoffing sound at the question that strongly implies exactly what Sasuke thought of Naruto’s intelligence.

“It helps when a teammate is critically injured,” Umeko answers, nudging Kakashi again — this time for fun rather than trying to wake him, “and a nonlethal way to dispose of enemies.”

“Dispose—” Naruto makes a strangled sound, whether from outrage or confusion, Umeko isn’t sure.

“To poison them, Naruto,” Umeko clarifies, just in case. “I’ll tell Tazuna that his bridge will have to wait a few hours until Kakashi wakes up.”

Umeko leaves Sasuke and Naruto to their argument and steps into the kitchen area. Tazuna sips peacefully at his soup, a rucksack next to the chair ready to go. She cringes at the sight, at the way Tazuna is less restless than he has been for the past two or three days. And, when she explains the situation to Tazuna, she cringes as the awkwardness becomes even more palpable.

“No.” Tazuna says, tone resolute and lip curling downwards, “I gave your sensei the two days he requested. I’m leaving in ten minutes with or without you.”

The center of her forehead pulses with a nasty headache, and she swivels on her feet to tell Naruto and Sasuke. They react predictably, meaning Naruto yelled and Sasuke scoffed, but both arrogantly agreed that Kakashi wasn’t needed. Umeko had her doubts, but Kakashi still wouldn’t budge from the bedroll.

“Stop worrying, Ume-chan!” Naruto had exclaimed when she stalled at the downtrodden path toward the bridge, pushing on her shoulders until she was dragging her feet in front of him, “If anyone tries anything, we’ll kick their asses! That Zabuza guy doesn’t stand a chance against us now!”

Sasuke looked over his shoulder, meeting Umeko’s eyes, and they exchanged equally exasperated expressions. Umeko doesn’t fight Naruto on it, though, even when Sasuke started slinging his typical insults, and Naruto rose to the bait. Tazuna led them, shoulders taut and steps hurried.

For the most part, watching Tazuna build a bridge is rather boring. All of his workers had dwindled down to an absolute zero, so Naruto and Sasuke started helping him out. Umeko pointedly did not, a petty protest on leaving Kakashi behind. Any time they asked her to do something, she stuck up her nose and made a dismissive hmph!

Considering how bad-tempered Tazuna is, he surprisingly lasted the whole morning before deciding to go head-to-head with her.

“Y’know, we’d get this done a lot faster if you got off your lazy ass and helped us, brat.” Tazuna spat, his arms cradling thin metal poles meant to reinforce the concrete. “Or, if you’re not going to help, run along to go wait for your precious babysitter instead of sulking around here!”

“I’m not the one being babysat, old man!” Umeko immediately fired back, crossing her arms and glaring at him, “You hired us to watch your precious behind and lame bridge. So sorry if trying to do my job is inconvenient for you!”

“Yeah, you’re right! I am the one who hired you, so you do what I tell you to!” Tazuna balanced the rods in one arm so he could jab a finger into her face, “And I’m telling you to help build my fuckin’ bridge!”

Umeko could’ve hit that old man — really, she could’ve. It would have been the most unprofessional, gratifying thing she’d ever done. To see the imprint of her fingers on his weathered face, to violently shake into him the very real danger they were in without Kakashi, to scare and dominate him in this stupid, irrational argument.

And she would have, if not for the gray, hazy vapor turning her vision fuzzy at the edges.

A thick mist descends upon the bridge, Umeko’s vision getting foggier and foggier. A chill rattles her spine, and the instinct all animals carry forces her heart to beat doubly — the instinct of a prey being watched by a predator. Her hand locks around Tazuna’s wrist, yanking him behind her, and flinches at the clatter of his steel rods. She startles further when Sasuke’s shoulder presses against her, her teammates closing ranks around Tazuna.

“Naruto, where is he?” Umeko demands, falling to her knees and folding her hands into a familiar seal.

The sound of Naruto’s foot shifting on the concrete is a boom in the silence. “What? Why are you asking me—”

“You have the best hearing!” Umeko hisses impatiently, trying in vain to sense the hunter in the thick mist. “Like when you saw that rabbit!”

Silence, and then a quiet, understated conviction. “Right.”

Umeko senses Sasuke’s position more than sees it, his movements more silent than Naruto’s, but the nudge of his knee against her back is sudden and undeniable. Umeko holds her breath, not for any strategic reasoning, just a fear response to being hunted by the unseen. The silence stirs, long and unbearable, then —

“Get down!” Naruto yells.

Zabuza’s presence bears down on her, his chakra a malevolent entity of its own at her back. The mist whistles as his sword cleaves the air — Umeko condenses chakra into her feet, propelling forward just as his sword clashes into the cemented spot she just occupied.

“Umeko—”

She cuts Naruto off. “Protect Tazuna!”

Umeko can’t say anymore, not when Zabuza’s sword relentlessly follows her movements. She jumps and leaps, sightless in the mist, and Zabuza doesn’t let her rest. Her feet barely touch the ground before she’s forced to dodge again. 

She grits her teeth, her hands contorting into a different seal. The next time her toes touch the bridge, she pulses the recognizable concoction into her fingers. The mix of her kinton comes easier and quicker this time, but fūton and doton chakra are slower to mix than suiton.

“Kinton: Shōhō-jin!” Umeko bellows, roots of mycelium expanding from where she steps. Umeko dodges the next strike just as her fungi roots spit out poisonous spores into a cloud where she just was.

Her feet slide against the concrete, and silence spreads like a thick oppressive weight. He’s herding her away from the others, Umeko realizes. While Sasuke and Naruto are stronger than her, her jutsu gives her control over the battlefield. Zabuza is separating her from the team and Tazuna so his associate can battle them unhindered.

In the distance, Umeko hears a clang and then the sound of something sharp impaling something soft — flesh, Umeko’s mind supplies even as she tries not to think about it. Time slows as she waits, unsure if Zabuza landed in her miasma, and then she feels her spores shift directions.

Instead of jumping away, Umeko turns and sprints down the bridge, dodging steel beams and scattered tools. The mist must end somewhere; not even the Rikudō Sennin would have enough chakra to cover the entire bridge. She senses her spores moving, the small fungi clinging to Zabuza’s clothes as she hoped. He’s hopelessly faster than her, so Umeko pivots left and slides under unused beams propped at an angle on a stack of pallets.

His sword swings before she fully disappears, the tip of the blade cutting into the back of her calf. The smell of blood saturates the air, his blade cutting clean through her muscle. Umeko crawls further under the beams. Zabuza runs alongside the beams, unable to fit into the small crevice that Umeko lodged herself into.

She pauses to catch her breath, her panting disgustingly loud in the air. Umeko snags her hitai-ate off her head, tying it tight above the gash in her leg as an improvised tourniquet. The beats of battle have become distant, but relief still settles in her chest. If she can hear the fight, then Sasuke and Naruto are still alive.

“You think you can hide under there forever?” Zabuza taunts. His voice is ice, and the effect on her nerves is frostbite. Umeko grits her jaw to prevent her teeth from chattering with anxiety. “Your sensei isn’t here to protect you now.”

A talking Zabuza isn’t a killing Zabuza, though.

“You plan on chasing down a little girl forever?” Umeko throws back, her hands forming another seal. “It’s a bit pathetic, don’t you think?”

Zabuza chuckles, as if her words are something to laugh about. “Maybe, but a contract is a contract, money is money.”

She needs to keep him talking — surely Kakashi will be here soon, he has to be. Kakashi has to come. He has to.

Just ten more seconds, another ten more seconds, and he’ll be here. Umeko wills it, scrunching her eyes and sending a prayer, nevermind that she’s faithless.

“Money for another coup, right?” Umeko says. Her back is starting to hurt from how she hunches under the slanted beams.

Zabuza pauses, and his tone is thoughtful when he finally speaks, “You’re smart, but also very stupid if you think these hunks of metal will keep you safe forever.”

Umeko’s hands leave the seal, moving sluggishly as she digs the heels of her palm into the ground. “Isn’t Kiri bloody enough without you being Mizukage?”

“When I take over, the mist won’t be so bloody anymore.”

Umeko makes a mocking sound, concentrating on the spots of spores in front of her. The small cluster only clung to a single spot of his clothes, and Umeko doesn’t trust her ability to estimate his exact location. She’ll have to spread her chakra, then.

“Ah, so you want Kiri to stop killing little kids, then?” Umeko jabs, the irony not lost on her. 

It’s not lost on Zabuza, either. “You’re a means to an end. Another shinobi tool to be used and discarded by a village.”

A steel beam creaks and groans as Zabuza begins to lift it away. Umeko doesn’t respond in words, but with an explosion of chakra. Her fungi strands spread out from her hiding spot, crawling in a wide semi-circle to suck out any chakra it touches. A zing of chakra returns to her, her roots having leeched from a chakra source — Zabuza. Umeko doesn’t stick around, just disconnects from the white lines and slides out from under the steel beams.

She runs again, her feet pounding against the concrete as she eats up distance. The mist starts to thin until it's finally gone; the beginning of the bridge spared his oppressive mist jutsu. Zabuza arrives behind her, leaping from the foggy depths of the mist and into her direct exit off the bridge.

“You done with your tricks?” He hefts his huge sword onto his shoulder, his body slouched as he stares at her with that deadly gaze.

Umeko responds by forming a familiar handseal, planting her hands onto the ground. Mycelium roots expand beyond her again, creating a field of fungi surrounding her. The chakra drain is immediate, and Umeko grits her teeth.

Ten more seconds. Just another ten more seconds. Then, Kakashi will be here. He has to be here.

“Is this all you can do?” Zabuza jeers, and then his sword pierces the concrete in her field of mycelium. He swings his body with the momentum, using his sword as leverage to avoid her roots.

His feet connect with her chest, and Umeko skids across the ground. Her back burns, and she can’t breathe when she stops dragging across the ground. Her roots disintegrate as her connection snaps, and this is the end for her. Umeko has no more chakra to spare, not enough to defeat Zabuza anyway, and her injuries debilitate her movement.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Umeko wheezes, holding her side as she forces herself to sit up, “but this dog only knows one trick.”

Zabuza takes a threatening step forward, his shadow falling over her in a shroud of death. “And you’ll die like a dog, for a village that never cared about you.”

Her calf throbs now that the adrenaline is fading, and it's bleeding uncontrollably. Zabuza is right, of course. Konoha doesn’t care about her, Danzō doesn’t care about her, and her own father despises her. And her mother, her brother —

“SASUKE!”

The blood-curdling scream breaks the despair around her heart, replacing it with dread as a vile, sickening chakra detonates. Umeko gags, the malicious presence more sinister than Zabuza himself. A roar echoes down the bridge, and a pulse of vicious chakra shatters the mist.

Zabuza tenses, his muscles locking as both of them stared down the bridge in horror. Sasuke slumped on the ground with a sickening amount of red pooling around him. Not red like the sharingan, never red like the sharingan. And Naruto — no, he’s no longer Naruto. He’s the monster her grandfather always described, a cloak of boiling chakra and a feral edge to his movements.

The masked boy, the one who had saved Zabuza from Kakashi, cries out as Naruto’s fist connects with his gut. He slides across the cement, and Naruto chases him down. Zabuza starts forward, and Umeko can’t allow that — she can’t —

Because Naruto cared, he cared so much about everyone all the time, despite it all. He cared enough to become a demon for his rival, cared enough to befriend the girl who manipulated and used him, and cared enough to die defending a village that hated him. Despite it all, he cared.

“Hypocrite!” Umeko screams at Zabuza, shifting onto her knees even as it hurts. Her fingers dig into the ground, but no chakra comes. Her words, then. She has to stop him by talking, and Umeko has always been good at that brand of poison. “Look at you! Jumping to save a tool after preaching to me!”

Zabuza stops, his head swiveling to stare at Umeko. His wide and bloodshot eyes pierce her soul, a madness in them that didn’t feel malicious or evil. Just desperate. She pushes forward one last time, her arm locking around his leg and her hand driving a kunai deep into his thigh.

“Let him die like a dog!” Umeko demands, glaring up at him, “Or take it all back! Take back everything you said to me!”

He does neither. His hand tangles in her hair, pulling hard enough to sting her scalp, and his foot connects with her stomach. Umeko’s hand slips, and she bows forward, clutching her gut.

“Pathetic!” Umeko cries, even as tears stream down her cheek. Zabuza ignores her, accelerating forward, and his sword is already in his hand — ready to cleave Naruto in two.

It’s been more than ten seconds, more than twenty, more than more than more than. She never realized how much she didn’t want to see Naruto dead until now. No, both of them. Umeko never wanted them both to die, and Sasuke’s collapsed form is ingrained in her mind like a nightmare. Dead, they’re all dead, and ten seconds have come and gone.

But Kakashi was always late.

Zabuza dodges as several kunai thunk against the ground. Kakashi lands onto the ground, his body wired like a hound on the hunt. His hitai-ate is already up, the gifted sharingan spinning and spinning.

“Kakashi-sensei,” Umeko sobs, horror and a desperate, desperate relief in her chest, “you’re late.”

Kakashi’s foot moves against the ground as he blocks Zabuza’s path to the wild Naruto and the injured boy. “I know, Ume-hime. I won’t be late again.”

Another angry pulse of chakra has Umeko snapping her attention to Naruto, hunched over a supine boy, his mask in thin slices of porcelain around his head. Relief churns and roils into something else entirely when Sasuke’s body twitches, his shoulders heaving upward. Umeko finds herself on her feet, trying to sprint toward Sasuke even as she limps and stumbles on her injured leg.

“Umeko, don’t!” Kakashi yells, but he can’t stop her without exposing his back to Zabuza. Umeko dashes by Kakashi, desperation fueling her steps even as she draws nearer and nearer to the repulsive leaking chakra.

Sasuke’s eyes are open when she collapses to her knees beside him, but he’s blinking, and that means he’s alive. His head swivels sharply toward her, and he tries to push himself up on his elbows again. Umeko’s hands are on his shoulders, overpowering him with an ease that should be frightening.

“Lay down,” Umeko snaps, annoyed that her mind is slow to catch up with her body.

Blood gushes from his inner thigh, a large, frightening slash that must have barely missed his femoral artery. The stream sickens Umeko, and she doesn’t know how he’s still alive with this much blood rushing out of him. It drips down his thigh, staining his pants and her own clothes, and between his legs she spots the bloody shard of ice that had perforated his muscle and skin. When he tries to get up again, she’s rougher than she intends to be, his back hitting the concrete as he grunts.

“Stop, Sasuke,” Umeko says through gritted teeth, and when she meets his eyes, they’re red. She hadn’t even noticed until now, the spinning and whirling red irises staring at her in a glazed over daze. A colder fear freezes her heart, and she pushes this knowledge away — because it’s not important, it’s not going to save Sasuke, it’s not going to stop Naruto.

Umeko tears off Sasuke’s hitai-ate, knotting it tight above his thigh. She’s yanking his leg onto her lap, forcing it straight even as he cries out. He moves his arms to sit up again, and Umeko glares at him. “Knock it off, or you’re going to die!”

“Naruto — “ Sasuke starts, his voice needle-thin and reedy. He stops trying to sit up, though, and Umeko always appreciated the small wins.

“He’s fine.” Umeko rotates his knee and foot outward. “We need to keep your leg elevated. We have to slow the bleeding, okay, Sasuke?”

His eyes are distrustful when he looks at her, but he’s weak and bleeding out and dying, unless Umeko stops it. Sasuke nods, slumping, and all the tension in his muscles leeching out.

Ten more seconds, twenty more seconds, thirty more seconds. However many seconds she needs, Umeko prays she has them.

She flinches at the burst of chakra behind her, the sound of crunching bones louder than the gasps of pain and Sasuke’s labored breathing. Talking, she needs to keep Sasuke talking and awake.

“You unlocked the sharingan.” Bad choice. Even bleeding out, Sasuke manages to send her a look full of attitude and reproach. New topic. “I’m a terrible cook. Sometimes I stay up until dawn trying to make those bento boxes for the team. I waste so much food, y’know? It must take me four or five times to get it right.”

Sasuke’s eyes drift behind her, whether to the battle between Kakashi and Zabuza or Naruto entrenched in Kyuubi’s chakra, Umeko isn’t sure. His eyes slide back to her, and he croaks out, “I never eat your food.”

“I know.” Umeko rips off a strip of her own shirt, pressing it against his wound. It will need to be disinfected later, but right now it just needs pressure. “Tell me what you want to eat. I’ll make it for you next time.”

Sasuke doesn’t look away from her now, and Umeko almost hates that more than his drifting, glazed eyes. “Focus on getting stronger, not baking.”

The next noise isn’t the boy’s echo of agony, but a gravelly roar of pain from Naruto. Umeko squeezes her eyes shut for a brief second before she blinks her eyes back open to meet Sasuke’s. She can’t stop Naruto, she can’t help Kakashi, but she can do this. Umeko can save Sasuke.

“Karaage.” Sasuke finally mutters, and maybe he’s trying to distract her just as much as she’s trying to distract him. “And shokupan.”

A forgotten life and phantom scorch travel across her chest. “I can do that. It’ll be the first thing I make when we get home.”

Umeko doesn’t point out that Sasuke hates sweet things like shokupan, and she doesn’t mention seeing him eat karaage before. She does remember, though, when her mother cooked her meals to take to class. Umeko remembers always putting her foot down when it came to bragging about her mother’s cooking being number one, even against Ino, whom Umeko always acceded to and conformed to. Her mother’s cooking wasn’t even that good, but it was cooked for her, and that made it the best food ever made. That had been long ago, before needy babies, resentful dads, and callous grandfathers had gotten in the way.

What an odd thing for Sasuke to remember, too.

Gravel shifts underfoot, and a kunai is in her hand even though she knows it won’t do anything. But it’s just Tazuna, standing over them with terrified eyes, as if a bunch of twelve-year-olds have the answers to this horror. Another shout of hurt, unmistakably Naruto’s. Tazuna falls to his knees next to Umeko, his hands curling around Sasuke’s ankle, and she lets him pull Sasuke’s leg into his lap.

“Keep him awake,” Umeko orders, before she’s limping to her feet and turning around to face the carnage.

The two fights had converged. The boy and Zabuza are pressing in on a wild, feral Naruto. Kakashi sluggishly intercepts each attack, but Naruto can’t tell friend from foe. His claws scrape down Kakashi’s skin each time his back is exposed, snarling as Kakashi endures it to block blow after blow. Zabuza’s sword bares down on Kakashi, and senbon slip between each swing of his sword blindly and sloppily. Some needles impale into Kakashi’s vest, others thunk into Naruto’s flesh. He tears them out and drops them to the ground.

It’s a battle of attrition, not skill, as each side tries to wear the other down. Kakashi is flagging from the relentless attacks, each rend of Naruto’s nails slowing him down more and more. Something has to give soon.

Umeko can’t run anymore, her own leg wound slowing her down. It’s not as severe as Sasuke’s, only the muscle having been torn, but it’s enough to incapacitate her from the fight. Still, she shuffles and wobbles toward the heart of it.

Kakashi barely dodges another swing of Zabuza’s sword, and Naruto’s claws catch him at the nape of his neck for it. She can’t fight against Zabuza and the boy, but Umeko can stop Naruto. Her hands form the seal of the dragon, and kinton chakra forms more easily and quickly than it ever has. She slams her palms once more on the concrete, and the mycelium strands travel straight for Naruto. 

“Kinton: Shokune no Jutsu!” The words bring a boost of concentration that Umeko desperately needs as her chakra drains rapidly.

Naruto steps backwards, and the ends of the fungi roots suck up his chakra greedily before evaporating from the influx of chakra. Umeko doesn’t give up, pushing forward, forward, forward. Doggedly, the roots follow Naruto’s every movement, draining him bit by bit by bit. It doesn’t go unnoticed, even in his wild state, and red eyes whirl on her.

It’s terrifying, staring into the eyes of such a sweet boy, and the eyes of an animal bearing back at you. There’s no hint of recognition as he steps towards her, and he moves like a predator. Umeko layers more roots over her path of mycelium, replacing each root destroyed by his poisonous chakra. Naruto starts running toward her, his pace hindered by the terrain of her fungi. Bloody claws on this bloody battlefield extend toward her, his roiling chakra blanketing her until it burns. It burns so intimately, so familiarly, and Umeko finds comfort in the recognizable pain.

Over Naruto’s shoulder, she can see Kakashi try to pivot on his heel to his wayward student. Zabuza doesn’t let him, his large blade splitting the air, and Kakashi can do nothing but block with a kunai.

A single claw scrapes across her cheek, splitting the skin from her ear to the corner of her lip, and Umeko expects four more slashes to rake down her face. In a burst of heat, the chakra disperses, and she doesn’t have a moment to think before she catches Naruto’s unconscious form in her hands. The roots disintegrate when her hands disconnect, her arms cradling Naruto’s torso as his chin thumps against her shoulder.

And, as Naruto collapses into her arms, Kakashi drops onto his knee with a ragged, panting Zabuza towering over him. The boy’s body lies still behind Zabuza, except for the slow rise and fall of his chest. Umeko almost closes her eyes in acceptance, knowing they lost, but Naruto twitches in her arms.

Naruto wouldn’t have given up, so Umeko needs to at least try for him. Because no one had shown her such unconditional kindness before, and that has to mean something. In a world so tainted by her grandfather and her murderous hands, there is still someone so good and pure, even with a monster in his belly.

She’s out of chakra. She can’t move. Sasuke will bleed out if he tries to fight, Naruto is unconscious, and Kakashi is seconds away from death. Just ten more seconds.

Umeko does what she does best. She talks.

“Reigane!” Umeko shouts, and Zabuza pauses at the outburst. Maybe it's from surprise, maybe it’s curiosity. It doesn’t matter. “That’s what’s so important about Nami no Kuni. It’s abundant here, and it used to be cheap, but Gatō controls the ports. He’s been restricting trade, trying to drive up the prices. Konoha has to rely on Suna just so we have enough for our forces.”

Umeko’s arms tighten around Naruto’s body, and her breathing is shallow. She makes herself swallow and catch her breath. Zabuza tilts his head, regarding her. “And what does that have to do with me?”

“If you freed them from Gatō, if you spared them,” Umeko swallows again, her heart beating too fast to hear anything as she hinges everything on this one gamble, “I bet they’d be grateful enough to arm your rebels, at no cost. Why do the dirty work of someone so crooked for money that would barely feed you, let alone fund your coup, when you could get right to the source?”

“And I’m expected to trust your word?” Zabuza straightens from his hunched form, and the emaciated dip of his stomach becomes more pronounced. Of course, a starving man covets food above all, but Zabuza is more than a starving man. The boy in a heap behind him seems lean, but not with the same sharpness hunger brings. Despite his callous words, Zabuza truly is a hypocrite — he can’t see his precious ones as tools any more than Umeko can. He’s not a starving man; he’s a revolutionary.

“Does it look like I’m in a position to lie? We’re out of the fight; none of us can even stand. I have nothing to lose anymore. Do you?” Umeko lays Naruto on the ground, gentle and careful of his head. She hobbles to her feet, swaying under the strain of her calf.

“No, I don’t.” Zabuza’s eyes flick down to Kakashi at his feet. Kakashi, who has been quiet from his bent over form, silent acceptance of Umeko’s bartering. Even if he attempted a surprise attack, Zabuza would undoubtedly overpower him. “Hm, you have that quality.”

“That quality?”

“Yeah, that quality that kage have. The ability to exploit people’s hearts, not their fears.” Deeming Kakashi no longer a threat, he turns and picks up the limp boy in his arms. The way he cradles the boy, like some twisted type of father, irritates Umeko — a feeling that crawled under her skin, and she couldn’t scratch it out.

“Not the Mizukage.” Umeko bites out, “He uses fear, like you.”

“Yeah, he does.” Zabuza inclines his head, not even refuting her hurled insult. “I’ll be back tomorrow, after I handle Gatō. Whether your team lives through the night or not, I’m still collecting on our deal.”

Umeko’s voice is resolute when she replies, “They’ll live.”

Zabuza says nothing, just disappears as swiftly as he had appeared.

The tacky blood under Naruto’s nails doesn’t wash out easily, and Umeko whittles away her hours scrubbing them clean. She listens to Sasuke’s even breathing, her hand finding its way to his pulse every so often. Kakashi watches her from across the room in silence, his chest hitching with each painful intake of air. In the end, Naruto did more damage to Kakashi than Zabuza or that boy did.

“Naruto doesn’t need to know,” Umeko says, leaning over Naruto’s head in her lap as she scrapes away at the blood.

“No, he doesn’t,” he acknowledges, his voice holding that weariness that reflects Umeko’s very soul, “but he should know.”

“Yeah. He deserves the truth.” Even if it’ll break his heart. “The whole truth.”

“I suppose so.”

The room descends into quiet, and it doesn’t smother Umeko like it usually does. Sasuke’s heart beats, Naruto breathes, and Kakashi watches. And Umeko cleans.

“It’ll scar,” Kakashi mutters hours later when he sees Umeko scratching at the bandage on her face.

“That’s okay,” Umeko responds, running a wet washcloth across Naruto’s skin. The flaky blood smears with the moisture, but she’s careful not to scrub too hard. She wonders if this is her blood, Kakashi’s blood, or that boy’s blood. “I’m different now. This is proof.”

Umeko breaks the silence next, assessing her sensei as his spoon clings against the bowl of food in his hands. He hasn’t taken a bite, and neither has Umeko.

“Leave it out of your report,” Umeko requests, and her hands run through Naruto’s hair. Does he count as her first friend? “I’m scared of what my grandfather will do if he knows about Naruto, about the kyuubi.”

Kakashi doesn’t say anything, just spins his spoon around the bowl until the soup dangerously sloshes against the sides.

Umeko doesn’t even know when she fell asleep, still sitting and bent over Naruto’s form. The door clicks open, and the simple sound flips her mind from drowsy to alert. Her fingers find their way to Sasuke’s pulse first, sighing in relief when it’s steady under her fingers. The best doctor in this tiny island country had treated him, but Umeko won’t be satisfied until an iryō-nin inspects him.

Tazuna steps into the room, and Kakashi shifts against the wall where he kept vigil. Umeko doesn’t look at Tazuna, but stares rigidly at the weird grooves along Naruto’s cheeks. The bridge builder just sighs and crosses his arms. “We gathered all the metal we have, enough to arm a hundred shinobi.”

“That’ll be enough,” Kakashi assures, and Umeko nods to herself. It has to be enough, because she refuses to think about the alternative.

Tazuna hesitates, and he opens his mouth like he wants to say something. He doesn’t, though, and the door clicks shut behind him. Umeko sighs, her hands carding through Naruto’s hair. It’s unhealthy, brittle, and rough under her palms. She’ll buy him some products when she gets back, and she’ll make karaage for Sasuke. It doesn’t begin to wash away her sins, but Umeko can live with her sins if her team is happy.

“The Hokage gambled on this mission,” Umeko says, voicing the thought that has been running through her mind since they first entered the country. “He knew the possibilities, the dangers, but he still assigned us this mission. He hoped you would be enough to handle this on your own.”

Kakashi flinches at her words, and it’s not what Umeko meant. She didn’t mean he didn’t do his best, didn’t mean that he failed her. The Hokage gave him an impossible task, and she won’t hold her sensei accountable for how awry it went. She’ll blame the Hokage for that.

“He wanted Sasuke to awaken the sharingan, was betting on it.” Kakashi didn’t disagree with her, so Umeko continued, “He risked the lives of three genin and one of his strongest jounin to unlock the sharingan. Smart, seems like something my grandfather would do.”

Something Umeko would do.

Kakashi runs a hand over his face and says tiredly, “Go to sleep, Umeko. I’ll watch over Naruto and Sasuke.”

Umeko tries to stay awake, but she doesn’t last thirty minutes until she’s slumping over Naruto again. Sleep comes in unsatisfying waves, a distant awareness hovering around the edges of her disturbing dreams. Dreams of death and fire. She’s thankful when Kakashi stands up, stirring her from awful sleep.

He’s still weak, his hand on the wall as he hobbles to the floor. Kakashi pauses at the door, turning to look at Umeko. “Go back to sleep.”

Dawn light filters through the window, the day beginning — and their deadline looming. Umeko swallows down her fear, hands clutching around the material of Naruto’s jacket. The fibers are stiff with sweat and dirt, uncomfortable but real under her fingers.

“I should come with, I was the one who made the deal.”

Kakashi limps away from the wall, a slow and painful walk across the room until he’s kneeling at her side. A hand, heavy and hesitant, touches her head. “Naruto and Sasuke need you, Ume-hime. You did great with Zabuza, but I’ll take it from here, okay?”

Umeko tucks her chin and nods. “Okay, Kakashi-sensei.” His fingers twitch in her hair before his hand drops, and he leaves the room.

Sasuke’s heart beat is still steady, Naruto’s breathing is still strong. Umeko slumps against the wall and pulls Naruto with her so his head is still comfortably in her lap. Her hands tangle in his hair again, and she stares at the closed door — waiting for Kakashi to come back.

There’s a hitch in Naruto’s breath, and Umeko looks down in alarm. Blue, tired eyes gaze right back. Other than a noticeable lethargy and a distressed sheen to the blue, Naruto is fine. His wounds are already healed, though he’s dirty and his clothes will need to be mended. 

“Naruto,” Umeko sighs in relief, “you’re awake.”

His hand lifts from his chest, a blunt finger brushing against the bandage on her cheek. Naruto’s voice is torn and raspy, a thick croaky sound when he finally speaks. “I did that.”

It’s not a question.

Umeko gently grabs his hand, pressing it back to his chest. “We’re alive because of you, Naruto.”

He doesn’t seem to believe her. His eyes are cloudy, and his brow pinches together. Umeko doesn’t have the words to reassure him, to soothe him. “You don’t understand, Ume-chan. I’m—” Naruto’s fingers curl into a tight fist under her grip. A monster. The words he doesn’t say, but Umeko hears them loud and clear — because her grandfather had called him that, she had called him that.

“I know, Naruto, I’ve always known,” Umeko confesses, and her fingers force his fist open. His palm bleeds from where his blunt nails pressed against the skin. “I’ve always known what you are, and that’s not a monster. You’re just a boy.”

Naruto’s exhale is shaky and loud and rattled. His blue eyes look wide and pained, and Umeko thinks she must have said the wrong thing. Why is it that she can only use her words to hurt and manipulate?

“Did I kill him?” Naruto asks, and Umeko’s mind moves slowly from one topic to another. Her confusion must show because he clarifies, “That guy, Haku.”

Umeko doesn’t know who Haku is, but she can guess. This, at least, she can reassure him on, and lay his worries to rest. Her hands smooth Naruto’s forehead, pushing back his hair so she can tangle her fingers in the roots. “No, he’s fine.” Except, Umeko doesn’t have the heart to lie. Not right now, at least. She corrects herself, “He’ll be fine.”

Naruto nods, blinking sluggishly. There’s a tightness to his features, a tension that hurts to look at. Umeko can’t take away his pains or his worries, so she just pets his hair and waits for him to fall back asleep.

“Thank you, Naruto,” Umeko murmurs when his eyes close and don’t open back up, “for being my friend.”

Kakashi arrives two hours later, sullen and withdrawn, but unharmed. It’s over. This hellish mission is finally over, and the way Kakashi slides down the wall, she knows he’s relieved, too.

Chapter Text

The scratch of a pen on paper drowned out the insistent and obnoxious beeping from the machine beside her. A blot of ink flooded the thin sheet, a cheaply made pen perfect for the cheaply made legal pad. The hospital-loaned material was more a testament of Konoha’s medical funding than any possible stinginess from the nurses. 

Umeko sighed, ripping the page off and balling it up. It joined the other misshapen lumps of abandoned ideas in the trash can. She started from scratch again, this time beginning with the easiest part:

Weaknesses:

• Small chakra pool

• Bad at taijutsu

• Rudimentary knowledge of first aid

• Bad at genjutsu

• Limited jutsu arsenal

• Bad at close-range fighting

• Predictable

• Weak

• Weak

• Weak

• Low stamina

The callused pads of her fingers scraped across her skin when she dragged her hand down her face. Writing down where she needed to improve was meant to give her clarity, direction. Umeko just felt hopeless. She dashed a line across the paper, separating it in half, and continued scratching underneath it.

Strengths:

Ink bled into the paper, spreading like a rot from where she rested the fountain pen. Umeko tried to think of something to write down, if only to stop the flooding of ink, but her mind stayed blank.

“Control of the battlefield.”

Umeko startled, the pen slipping out of her hand and clattering onto the overbed table. Sasuke’s chest rose up and down, and the machine didn’t stop its rhythmic beeping. He stared down at the pad of paper, reading her sloppy scrawl.

“Sasuke, you’re awake.” A little embarrassed, Umeko flipped the legal pad over and rushed to her feet. Her legs had gone a little numb from sitting for so long, and she bumped into the bed when she tried to get around it. “Let me get you some water.”

Sasuke didn’t say anything, just traced her path across the room to a jug of water with his eyes. She fumbled with a cup before twisting the knob, filling the thin paper cup. Sasuke accepted it without a word when she returned to his side.

“How are you feeling?” Umeko asked awkwardly, mostly because that seemed like the thing to ask people in the hospital.

“Fine.” He didn’t elaborate, and Umeko didn’t know how to ask. “Where’s Naruto and Kakashi?”

Umeko knew how to respond to that question, and she sat back in the chair with a tentative smile. “Naruto got kicked out for being too rowdy. Kakashi-sensei is still on bed rest a few doors down.”

Sasuke didn’t reply, just settled back against the pillows. His eyes strayed to the notepad she left on the table, and Umeko laughed uncomfortably. “Just thought I should find ways to improve.” Sasuke hummed into his cup of water.

Umeko fidgeted, hands twisting in her shirt and on her lap as she tried to find words. She never had to make conversation with Sasuke before. Naruto led most of their conversations, starting many of them when no one else felt particularly talkative. Her inadequacy lingered in the silence, a block in her throat that stopped every sentence before she could speak it.

The door haunted her as an escape route, but she didn’t want to leave Sasuke alone. Iruka had dragged Naruto from under his armpits to get ramen when the nurses demanded that Naruto leave. Another jounin, the taijutsu master that Umeko’s grandfather always ridiculed, barged into Kakashi’s room earlier, and Umeko stopped visiting him every hour after that. The man’s voice had a way of filling up the room, like water in a balloon, except the only thing that threatened to burst was her eardrums.

“What happened after I—?” The end of Sasuke’s question hung unfinished, Umeko’s mind automatically supplying the words he left out: passed out. 

Maybe it’s her imagination, but the tops of his cheeks seem a little pink. Embarrassed he went comatose? No matter. Umeko brushed away the shyness and awkwardness, focusing on catching Sasuke up to speed. She informed him that he’s been asleep for five days now, and that Naruto got kicked out of the hospital after Sasuke had been in his bed for two hours. She told him about the two days they dawdled in Nami no Kuni, helping Tazuna with the bridge as a doctor stabilized his condition.

“You know what they named the bridge?” Umeko scoffed, leaning back into her chair and twiddling her fingers in her shirt, “Great Nanahan Bridge. What a dumb name.”

Sasuke’s face contorted into several different expressions before settling on its usual cool indifference. Umeko’s conclusion: he found it equally weird. In some roundabout way, it possesses some sense to name the bridge after them, since it wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for them. It itches at her skin, though, to know something monumental has her bearing, has her mark on it, and that the villagers there are telling stories about them. Almost an annoyance, an irritation, as if their hardship had been reduced to a tale to regale.

On the other hand, not even her grandfather had something named after him, and her spine shivers like a cool breeze caressed her back on a hot day when she thinks about it.

“You think we could do it again?” Umeko asks with a hum, and Sasuke quirks an eyebrow at her. The conversation feels lopsided, with her throat hurting from all this talking. “Get something named after us, I mean. Don’t you think it’d be funny?”

The corner of Sasuke’s lip twitches, and Umeko seizes the minor encouragement with both hands. Straightening up, Umeko adapts the persona of a tourist, “Oh, look over there, it’s the Nanahan Palace. Let’s cross the Great Nanahan Bridge to go see it, and after that we'll visit the Nanahan onsen.”

Her stoic teammate doesn’t laugh at her lame joke, but his nose slightly scrunches like he wanted to. Like a punch to the gut, Umeko is stricken with the memory of a photo album, pushed into the corner of her room like a shameful vice. The sharp slant of Sasuke’s cheeks, even with the slight roundness of boyhood, the severe pull of his mouth, the nearly permanent wrinkle between his brows — none of it lines up with the younger boy in the photo, soft and joyful and grinning. Still, Umeko sees the similarities, and it’s shocking and frightening and sobering: the scrunch of his nose, the relaxed edges of his eyes, the twitch of his lips. The boy suffocated and stifled underneath, buried under the bodies his elder brother lay on his chest.

Hot shame burns in her stomach, and Umeko stands up so quickly she rattles the frame of the hospital bed. “I have to go! My mother is waiting for me!”

Umeko hovers, unsure and out of place, before throwing up a hand and stuttering out, “Later!”

Confused and a little startled, Sasuke mimics her gesture, and it’s almost endearing. “Later?”

The gossip mill works against Umeko, and the next day, she has the displeasure of running into old classmates. 

Tired and a little cranky, Umeko opens the door to Sasuke’s hospital room after dropping off a meal for Kakashi, and meets the long-suffering stare of her teammate. Ino and Sakura stand off against each other, each on a side of the bed and Sasuke proverbially and physically in the middle. Umeko slides the door shut behind her, startling the two girls, who turn to glare at the newcomer.

“Oh, it’s you,” Ino mutters, hands on her hips, and long hair swishing behind her. Sakura doesn’t say anything, but her jaw sets, and her head tilts down.

“Yeah,” Umeko says, holding her bento box and glaring at the two intruders, “it’s me. If you two plan on arguing the entire time, take it outside. It’s obnoxious, and Sasuke needs his rest.”

Umeko strides to the bed, pulling out her chair that she had been sitting in for the past four days, and sets the bento box on the overbed table. The room smells like antiseptic and warm food, a clash of the senses that gives Umeko a headache. Maybe she should burn incense or spray perfume.

“It’s karaage, like I promised,” Umeko tells Sasuke when he eyes the box suspiciously. She spent another sleepless night cooking, trying to get it perfect based on a recipe unearthed in a recipe book she bought.

He opens it without a word, cracking his chopsticks and starting to eat. Umeko’s mind flashes through several potential conversation topics — the weather? training? — but her train of thought is interrupted by a metal scraping sound. Sakura and Ino both drag chairs to the bed, sitting on the opposite side of Umeko, like they banded together against a common enemy.

Umeko finds it ironic and very annoying.

Sasuke must find it annoying, too, since he doesn’t say anything and eats mechanically. His jaw is clenched, and his dark eyes are staring at the far wall. Umeko deduces that any conversation would be moot right now, his hackles raised by the presence of Sakura and Ino. Umeko sighs through her nose, leaning back in her chair.

The air is thick and awkward, silent except for the clank of chopsticks on lacquered wood and teeth biting into chicken. Ino opens her mouth to say something, and there’s a sharp swell of something in Umeko’s chest — protectiveness, maybe.

“Sakura,” Umeko says, interrupting Ino before she could even get started. Sakura jolts in her chair, attention snapping to Umeko. Another breath escapes Umeko’s mouth as she casts around for something to say. In the end, she settles on, “I heard your team failed the genin test.”

Sakura glares at her, and Umeko cringes. She hadn’t meant it as a criticism, but her words always fail her when she needs them most. Umeko clears her throat, trying to salvage the situation, “What do you plan on doing now? Trying again or…?”

Sakura hesitates, her glistening lips opening and closing for a moment. She’s wearing chapstick, and her lips look smooth and soft-looking. Umeko’s tongue darts across her own lips, the ridges of chapped skin unpleasant to the touch. If she asked Sakura about her lip balm, would she tell her?

“I’m apprenticing,” Sakura answers carefully, shifting in her seat, “Promotions will be harder, and I won’t be able to enter the chūnin exams until I find another team, but it’s better than returning to the Academy for a year.”

Umeko hums, not disagreeing. If her team had failed the genin exam, Umeko would’ve done the same.

“Who’s your master?” Ino asks, curious despite the heated rivalry between the two girls.

“Uzuki Yūgao, she’s a master in kenjutsu,” Sakura says, and the name is familiar to Umeko. A woman in the Anbu who had earned her grandfather's ire more than a handful of times. Anyone who pissed off her grandfather, Umeko considered impressive, so she let out an appreciative whistle. Sakura blushed, smiling and seeming pleased.

Sasuke closes the lid of the bento box, leaning back in his bed and staring at the ceiling. He makes no move to join the conversation, and Umeko doesn’t try to include him. Instead, she runs interference, asking Sakura when the girl’s eyes shift to Sasuke, “What kind of lip balm are you wearing? It looks smooth.”

An hour continues like that — Umeko keeping Sakura and Ino busy while Sasuke rests. She finds that she doesn’t hate the conversation, despite the circumstances. Ino is much more tolerable when Umeko isn’t playing the part of a blind follower, and Sakura is way more interesting when her focus isn’t on Sasuke.

They leave, eventually, and Sasuke is asleep by then. She’s seen him asleep a dozen times by now, but it never stops fascinating her the way his face transforms. Umeko doesn’t linger, grabbing her bento box and preparing to leave to give him rest.

She’s about to walk out the door when she sees it — the pad of paper she had left yesterday. A bright red flush hangs on her cheeks, and she picks it up with the intention of disposing of the evidence. The first page is filled with a scrawl that isn’t hers, though. A careful penmanship of kanji that Umeko recognizes as Sasuke’s hand, writing out a full page of Umeko’s strengths.

Umeko smiles softly at it, at Sasuke having sat there and carefully laid out everything she was good at. It was considerate and kind and wholly unlike him.

Her smile drops when she flips the next three pages, all filled with her weaknesses and flaws. Umeko leaves the pad, stomping out of the room with a pout.

“Why do I hafta come!”

Naruto has gotten whinier, Umeko noticed. Before, he would’ve jumped at the chance to be dragged along the streets by Umeko’s whims. He would’ve lied and pretended to love shopping if it meant Umeko indulged his affections. Now, he’s planting his heels into the dirt of the road and pouting at Umeko’s demands.

Some would consider it backsliding; Umeko calls it progress.

She doesn’t want a sycophantic follower, even if Naruto’s stubborn whines were starting to irritate her. Naruto isn’t a boy meant to be caged and controlled by the expectations of a wretched girl like her. He’s meant for bigger and better things.

“Stop being stubborn!” Umeko snaps, hands tight around his wrist as she fights his unyielding body. “I’ll buy you three bowls of ramen if you just behave!”

Umeko doesn’t want a sycophant, but she’s also not above bribing.

“Eight!” Naruto returns, his free arm curling around a wooden post lining the street. Umeko grunts, planting a foot against the post and pulling with all her weight.

“Eight? Are you insane?” Umeko grits her teeth, her foot on the ground sliding as she leans backwards for leverage. People are starting to stare, and it itches at Umeko’s skin — do any of them work for her grandfather? Will they report back to him? “Five! Five bowls! And dessert!”

“Fine! I want taiyaki!” Naruto unhooked his arm from the post, sending Umeko flying backwards, and he landed on top of her stomach in a heap. “And you have to convince the nurses to let me see Sasuke and Kakashi-sensei.”

“Okay, okay, I will, so get off me, you’re heavy.” Naruto relents.

The clothing store is just around the corner, and they arrive within minutes now that Naruto cooperates. It’s one of the higher-end stores that clan heirs and heiresses tend to shop at. Umeko bought every article of clothing here since Ino brought her in the early years at the academy. The shop never had a wide selection and was dominated more by bolts of fabric than racks of clothes. It was a status thing.

Brass chimes rang in a deep soothing timbre as the tubes clanged together above the shop door, and the interior smelled of jasmine and cypress. The shopkeeper sat behind a desk, a long purple fabric in front of him as he embroidered delicate cream flowers on the hem. He glanced up at the sound of the chimes, sunlight from the window glinting off the spectacles perched on his nose.

A nose that wrinkled at the sight of Naruto, obnoxiously orange and dirtied behind Umeko.

“Afternoon, Maruboshi-san,” Umeko said with a tight politeness, her arm settling around Naruto’s shoulders, “how is your brother?”

The old man huffed, waving his hand in their direction and returning to his stitching. His snub of Naruto was the best Umeko could hope for, so she didn’t press her luck. Naruto didn’t see it that way, and it took a pinch of his ear to steer him toward the back of the store.

“Hm, they don’t have my favorite color in stock, but maybe I should change things up,” Umeko said to Naruto, thumbing through the racks of clothes. There was purple, and there was red, but there wasn’t the purplish red that Umeko liked. “Do you think I’d look good in blue?”

Umeko glanced up when Naruto said nothing to see him leaning over a display table filled with braided cords of varying combinations of colors. Umeko placed the blue shorts she had been looking at back on the shelf and came to stand behind Naruto.

“What would you need a kumihimo for?” Umeko asked curiously, bending to stare at the yellow and cream one he had his fingers on.

“What?” Naruto startled, turning wide eyes on her before realizing he had been distracted. He scratched at the back of his neck, chuckling to himself with a dusting of pink on his cheeks. “Oh, so that’s what those are called! Um, what did you say again?”

Umeko’s hand closed around a kumihimo cord herself, staring at the mulberry and taupe threads under her fingers. The craftsmanship was fine, the material strong and silky, and a purchase of such would be absolutely unnecessary. Umeko wondered why Naruto had been drawn to them. Maybe he was like a magpie, vision tunneling on soft and beautiful things.

“I said they don’t have my color, so we can go,” Umeko lied, dropping the kumihimo cord. Her palm found the flat of Naruto’s back, and she pushed him forward. “I have something to ask Maruboshi-san, so wait outside for me.”

Umeko had only a scant few bills left in her wallet when she stepped out of the store, a bag in her hand. She threw a kumihimo cord at Naruto’s face and ignored him when he cheered and cooed over his unnecessary gift.

Sasuke stared at the kumihimo cord like it would grow sentience and strangle him — or, maybe, like Umeko would strangle him. The meter of her patience rapidly decreased with every second that passed, so it was entirely possible.

“If you don’t want it, then throw it away,” Umeko scowled, crossing her arms over her chest.

Sasuke picked up the cord with a gentle touch, his thumb running along the smoky indigo and muted charcoal thread. The braid remained strong under his touch, not fraying or pulling in the slightest, and the expensive dye evenly coated each thread. For a moment, Umeko watched, wondering where he was going to wear it.

From across the room, sitting cross-legged on an empty bed, Umeko can see the light ochre and soft cream kumihimo cord looped around his wrist several times. He secured it with cut shinobi wire tied around the ends.

Hunched over by the window, his body slumped against the wall with his crutches propped next to him, the moss green and faded slate braid was haloed by sunlight where it had been clipped to the band of his back pouch. The location is more discreet, but the edges are visible to Umeko’s warm eyes.

Sasuke twisted the cord in his hands, watching the sunlight from the window dance across the braid. His wrist, then, Umeko decided. He would wear it around his wrist like Naruto.

Sasuke tossed it, the kumihimo braid making a thudding sound as it thunked into the trash can.

The room went quiet, Naruto no longer babbling to a semi-listening Kakashi, and then—

“You bastard!”

Naruto scrambled onto the bed, grabbing at Sasuke’s shirt collar to shake him. Umeko couldn’t form words, something tightening in her chest, so she turned in her seat and humphed.

“Now, now, kids,” Kakashi started, but Umeko had already decided this was the path she would commit to.

A peaceful and content hospital room burst into noise as Sasuke and Naruto argued, Kakashi tried to tame them, and Umeko loudly made her displeasure known by tapping her foot with her nose turned the other way. Until he tied that stupid cord around his stupid arm, Umeko had no words to spare for him — of that she was sure.

The hospital room door slid open, the quiet click of it hitting the frame, and it took a moment for the inhabitants to notice the new presence. Umeko opened her eyes, meeting a familiar brown gaze.

“G-Grandfather,” Umeko stuttered out, standing to her feet and bowing at the waist, “you’re back from the capital, already.”

“Hm, I am,” her grandfather replied, and he didn’t tell her to stand up straight, so Umeko didn’t.

She couldn’t hear Sasuke and Naruto arguing anymore, couldn’t hear Kakashi’s pacifying words anymore, and her eyes burned in humiliation. This was on purpose, Umeko knew — to show her team the control he has over her, to show them she was just a little girl playing at shinobi.

An agonizing beat passed until Danzō clacked his cane against the linoleum floor, and Umeko flinched. “Stand up, Umeko.”

Umeko did, though her eyes remained on the ground.

“Don’t be rude, and introduce me to your friends,” her grandfather wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her around to face her team.

A ritual in humiliation, and a reminder of her place.

Before she can speak, Kakashi steps forward, hands in his pockets. When she glances up through thick curly strands of hair, he’s smiling politely at Danzō.

“We’ve met, Danzō-sama,” Kakashi says with that levity Umeko usually hates — she doesn’t hate it now that it’s turned on her grandfather. “This is Uzumaki Naruto, and Uchiha Sasuke — Ume-hime’s teammates, as you know.”

“Hm,” her grandfather grunts, and Umeko ducks her head, knowing he’s displeased with Kakashi’s edged friendliness. His attention pivots, body turning to the boy on the bed, and Umeko’s head straightens up with wide eyes. “That’s a beautiful kumihimo, Naruto-kun. The wire does it a disservice. I have the perfect thing to hold it together.”

Umeko’s hands clench at her sides, staring at Naruto with her lips pressed together. An item from Danzō isn’t a gift, isn’t a kindness — it’s ownership. It’s a collar around Naruto’s neck that could be used as a noose, a poisoned offering riddled with seals, traps, and tricks. And it’s a fire-hot brand, one that Umeko feels every day.

Danzō did, after all, gift her with his blood — blood passed down from daughter to daughter, poisoned with the power Danzō desired more than anything. If Umeko died, would he harvest her body — try to force her kekkei tōta into his genes, taking back the gift Umeko never wanted?

“Umeko, you could give it to him the next ti—” Danzō is cut off, for the first time in a long time. Or, alternatively, the first time ever.

“I don’t want it.” Naruto crossed his arms, eyes pinched as he glared at her grandfather, and he looked like a displeased fox in that moment. Like a trickster plotting the fall of her grandfather. If only.

“Naruto-kun, don’t be so rude,” Kakashi places a hand on Naruto’s head, and it’s protective in the way it curls into his hair. “Don’t mind my student, Danzō-sama, I promised him something of my own, and it seems like he’s set his mind on it.”

His hand tightened on Umeko’s shoulder, curling into her shoulder until she bruised like a fruit. The message had been delivered, wrapped in faux politeness and a rejection that greatly displeased her grandfather. This didn’t bode well.

“Naruto really looks up to Kakashi-sensei,” Umeko cut in before Naruto could open his mouth. She sent him a warning glare, even as her cheeks flushed with a cold dread and her throat dried up.

“I see,” her grandfather said, which spoke to the lengths of what he sees, “well, Umeko and I have plans to attend, so we’ll be going now.”

Naruto almost leapt to his feet, and Umeko furrowed her brow. Her grandfather tends to give off that odious feeling, though, that makes one’s skin crawl and heart beat double time. Naruto’s unease is palpable, but understandable, in the face of an apex predator like her grandfather.

“We have training early in the morning, Ume-hime, so make sure not to overdo it tonight,” Kakashi says lightly, hand pulling at Naruto’s hair and keeping him seated. As he says it, though, his eyes are on Danzo and not on her.

“Of course, Kakashi-sensei,” Umeko mutters, and lets her grandfather steer her out of the room.

Sasuke meets her eyes through his bangs, and it’s intense. It’s a familiar stare, the one he possessed when they introduced themselves to Kakashi. The one where he spoke of killing his brother.

Her grandfather didn't use his cane to discipline her that night. Umeko stood on the engawa with her arms extended in front of her as one of his lackeys placed rock after rock in the buckets, balancing on the top of her palms. He called it strength training, but she knew what it was.

“You’ve become weak,” Danzō says, puffing his pipe and nodding his head to the ROOT shinobi next to her. Another rock is placed in the bucket, and her arm trembles with it. “I expect better, Umeko.”

Two more rocks, clattering into the buckets, and Umeko’s arms almost buckle.

“Report on your latest mission.” His one visible eye is cool, the edge dragged down and lined heavily. Her grandfather possesses no laugh lines on his cheeks, something she notices on the Hokage’s face every time she sees him.

“We ran into Zabuza, Demon of Kirigakure,” her voice comes out in a pant, her chest feeling tight like she can’t suck in enough air. “We were disadvantaged in the fight. I…convinced him to spare the bridge builder in exchange for metal, to supply his rebellion.”

Danzō puffed on his pipe again, blowing out a smoke ring at her face. It hit her in the eyes and nose, and it stung unbearably. He didn’t tell the ROOT member to add another rock. “And why would you do that?”

“It’s important that a trade route is established to Nami no Kuni, reconnecting to our original suppliers before Gatō had driven up the prices. Supplying our troops with reigane from Kaze no Kuni is too expensive with the marked-up prices, and too long for travel distance.” Danzō said nothing, so Umeko quickly tacked on, “We’re the closest to Nami no Kuni, which means we can monopolize their exports.”

“And what benefits us by arming that insurgent?”

Umeko wants to shout at him, yell that it kept her alive — that it kept her teammates alive. The desire wells so suddenly in her chest that she thinks for a moment she might say it, might confess that it’s a tiny bit easier to look at herself in the mirror. That maybe, possibly, she could be something more than he wants her to be. Someone good like Naruto, someone righteous like Sasuke, someone protective like Kakashi.

The words burn on her tongue, and scald her throat when she swallows them down.

“If his second attempt fails, then Kirigakure will be destabilized. If it succeeds,” Umeko grunts as another set of rocks thunk into the wooden buckets, “we will have leverage over the new Mizukage.”

The hardened brown stone of his eye drifts away, overlooking the severe stone garden at the center of his estate. He meditates sometimes, staring at the rock gardens in pursuit of spiritual enlightenment. When he does, Umeko’s forbidden from the engawa. 

That hadn’t always been a rule.

When Umeko had been younger, her grandfather dragged her out by her ear and made her join him. If her chakra control hadn’t been perfect that day, if her technique had been sloppy, he would force her to sit there for hours. After, he’d send her to bed without food, telling her that fasting would teach her discipline, starving would teach her obedience.

Around the time she was eight, when Umeko’s father refused to let her home, she interrupted Danzō’s meditation. The bandages over his eye had been undone, sagging around his neck, and she caught the slightest glint of something red before he closed it. Danzō forbade her from joining him on the engawa, then, unless he explicitly invited her.

He invited her tonight to teach her discipline, to teach her obedience.

His silence cuts at her now, and he lifts a finger from his pipe in a small gesture. The ROOT member dumps the rest of the rocks he had into the buckets, one heavier than the other. Umeko grunts, her eyes scrunching up and her arms shaking with exhaustion. 

Umeko just wants it to stop, just wants to go inside and curl up in a ball. He knows this information anyway — he’s testing her, seeing if she’ll betray her teammate to him.

“Sasuke unlocked the sharingan,” Umeko can barely get the words out, sweat pouring down her temple and her curls clinging to her cheek.

Danzō hums in acknowledgement, and she knows it was information he already knew. Information that the Hokage had already imparted to him. “Anything else?”

Yes. The word is on her trembling lips, in her arching lungs, echoing in her exhausted brain. If she told him about Naruto, if he knew, if she proved her loyalty to him — maybe this would stop. Maybe he’d let her put the buckets down. Maybe he wouldn’t ever hit her again.

“No, that’s it.” The lie comes easier than she expects, but maybe it’s driven by fear. Fear of betraying Naruto and having to look at herself in the mirror. Of seeing eyes just as stone-hard as her grandfather’s, as her father’s.

Umeko doesn’t want to be stone. She wants to be wind, she wants to be water.

“The chūnin exams will commence in a month. I expect great results from you then.” Danzō stands on steady legs, his cane nowhere to be seen. Always pretending, always scheming. “You may stop once the sun dips below the horizon.”

The door closes behind him, and his puppet, and Umeko chokes down a cry. Sunset isn’t for a few hours, and the rocks in her hands and on her shoulders are too much to bear.