Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Trial by Fire
Having his own office in the Academy was a strange experience. It was also an obvious ploy, however necessary. He had been taking over an increasing number of classes as of late, and more recently, the headmaster had been dealing him some administrative tasks. Tasks that necessitated an office, apparently.
Ever since he had taken back the hat, Hiruzen had made it plain that he wanted to be replaced again, but only if the candidate was worthy, and prepared for the duties involved, and had effectively thrown Obito into preparations for the role, with a clear list of conditions to be met.
First, he needed to have the confidence of the village, something had been slowly accumulating since the war’s conclusion. That he had his reputation circulating around the whole of the Elemental Countries had certainly helped. Next, he needed to to be Jōnin. This was less of a hard-set requirement for the office and more a personal stipulation by Hiruzen as a means to better understand the people he would be leading.
The last thing he needed to accomplish was to command a genin cell, and train them to pass the chūnin exams. Or at least perform to the level required.
All of these were tasks that took time and effort to accomplish, and would have to be done before the Hokage would seriously consider passing the hat down.
The Sandiame must be getting restless now that he has a grandchild to dote on, he mused, wryly.
Konohamaru Sarutobi had been born to the fanfare of the tail end of the previous year. Sentarō Sarutobi and his wife, An, had been ecstatic over the event. The Hokage had rather eagerly taken to his role as a grandfather, with what time he could afford to spare spent doting on the baby.
Obito didn’t fault the man for wanting to spend more time with his family. Sentarō’s career in ANBU had kept father and son out of contact for long stretches, and with Asuma out of the village as one of the Twelve Guardian Shinobi, that likely made for an empty house to return to.
How a pair of ANBU agents were going to keep up with their duties, Obito didn’t know, but privately, he hoped one or both would step back to more supervisory or training roles. For their sake, but also for little Konohamaru.
Putting that out of mind for the time being, Obito looked over a write-up he been putting together for the rest of the teachers. A sort of reconstruction effort of some programs that had fallen by the wayside during the second Shinobi War.
There was a bit of a question mark as to exactly why it had been abandoned completely, but it had been chalked up to the high demand of any experienced shinobi for the frontlines, and the subsequent shuffle as their immediate replacements were shunted to other domestic operations, leaving no continuity of the more discrete lessons that had been taught.
But the short of the concept boiled down to the dispersal of small activities. The most common of which were scavenger hunts, often in the form of puzzles. Things to keep the children hanging at the lead of academic studies busy, round out bookworms’ experience, or just giving the dead-ends something to aspire to when they otherwise struggled with classroom learning.
What was more surprising was the name on the original write-up: Yamatō Namikaze.
Of all the things Obito expected to find on Minato’s father, academic restructuring paperwork was not anywhere on the list, and for the life of him, he couldn’t quite piece together why the presumed ANBU agent had been put in charge of anything related to the Academy. Maybe a passing suggestion that the Nidiame had turned into an order. Or perhaps it related to his more public persona’s official operations. Whatever the case, Obito found himself fascinated by it, and had brought it to the headmaster’s office, and then the Hokage, which had resulted in him formally requesting a review of the materials.
So far, the preliminary results were quite promising. There were some things that, presumably, hadn’t been conceptualized at the time of the original writing, but were easily remedied and built upon.
A knock on his door had him putting the papers back in order. “Enter.”
The door swung open, and Kurenai stepped through, casting a glance about the room.
Obito rose to greet her. “Good morning, Kurenai-san. How can I help you?”
She was quiet for a moment, then asked, “You’re familiar with the Kurama clan, right?”
Furrowing his brow, Obito recalled what he knew. “Genjutsu specialists who’ve been unfortunately on the decline in recent years, and I’m passingly familiar with some of their members because they’re in and out of the Hoakge Tower. They have a kid who’s in one of the classes I’ve been substituting for.” His pens and ink ordered, he stepped from around the desk. “Why do you ask?”
“…I’ve been asked to take on their heiress as a personal student.”
Obito blinked once, then twice, smiling broadly. “Really? Sounds like someone else is moving up in the world, doesn’t it? But since you’re here, I imagine there’s a hiccup you need help with.”
“Well, I was the first approached, but I haven’t taken a student on before, and I was…hoping for some advice?”
“And not Mikoto?”
“I believe Mikoto-sensei is more preoccupied with running her clan. And I was asking more after your credentials as a teacher.”
“Huh.” Shrugging, Obito stowed the remaining files away. “Congratulations, anyway. Considering they asked you, that means, at minimum, you’re the second best genjutsu practitioner in the village.”
“That isn’t completely retired or in ANBU, you mean. There has to be others better suited for the task.”
“Maybe. But they asked you, and you answered. That’s got to count for something. But to answer your question, I can come with you.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. Come on. I’ll explain on the way on the way.”
Kurenai pressed her lips tightly, and dipped her head. “If it’s not too much trouble, then I would greatly appreciate your assistance.”
“Don’t worry about it. I need to make some house visits anyway, and having someone from the school might help break the ice.”
[NRE]
After five years and change, the village had recovered marvelously. Broken buildings had been built back up, stronger. Neighborhoods were slowly being refilled, and even expanded upon. It didn’t erase the scars the disaster had caused, or fill the empty gaps at dinner tables and bars. But it was still a massive improvement, and there was still more to come.
As they walked along, Obito noticed Kurenai falling into a sullen silence, only humming or sticking to monosyllabic answers.
“Got something on your mind?” he asked. “Not trying to disparage your multi-tasking abilities, but if you don’t want to screw your pupil up, you’re going to want to have your head in the game.”
Kurenai shrank in on herself. “It’s about Asuma.”
“Ah…”
When the offer had come down from the Daimyō to fill one of the vacant slots for the Twelve Guardian Shinobi, it hadn’t come as much of a shock. Traditionally, Konoha was the first to be approached before other talent was scouted out. The organization had some strict standards for any prospective member, and had a mandated 10-year commitment.
What had caught everyone off guard was that Asuma had volunteered, disappearing to the capitol without so much as a goodbye, and according to Sentarō, Asuma hadn’t so much as sent a letter.
“A rough spot, having the Hokage as your father,” Obito observed, keeping his eye on Kurenai.
“I mean, it’s not like he left me for another woman,” she rambled, “or ran out on me and left me with a child. And it’s not like I would have wanted either. We weren’t even dating, for crying out loud!”
“Have you ever talked to him outside of a professional setting or group? I mean, he was almost as popular as Kakashi, and had plenty people trying to cozy up with him.”
“That’s why I never tried! He had so many girls trying to hang onto him or hook him in for a betrothal or something, and he just walled himself off so he didn’t have to deal with it. And he was still willing to talk to me, so I didn’t want him to think I was taking advantage of our teams training together to get closer to him.”
“I guess the best advice I can give is work on being the best person you can be, and when Asuma comes back-”
“If he comes back. He and the Hokage had a rather…harsh…argument before he left. He might just take another stint to keep away longer.”
“He’ll be back. But as I was saying, when he comes back, maybe he’ll have mellowed out enough and you can talk to him like an equal and tell him what you really want to?”
“And if he comes back as prickly and abrasive as before?”
“Then you’re still one of Konohagakure’s best genjutsu experts. And you can move on with confidence knowing you didn’t waste your time or your talents for someone who wouldn’t give you the time of day.”
Kurenai let out a brusque snort. “Anko said something similar. You both think remarkably alike. A credit to your relationship, perhaps?”
The teasing lilt to her question was promising, though Obito doubted the subject had been completely forgotten. “Nah, I think she came out that way.”
“…I see.”
“Well, as I was saying, classrooms are going to differ greatly from the sort of one-on-one instruction you’re going to be providing.”
“I figured as much.”
“On one hand, that means you can tailor the lesson plan to the students specific needs. On the other, since there’s no one else to distract you or them from one another, you have to be more watchful for accidentally teaching lessons you don’t precisely mean to teach.”
“But what exactly do I teach?”
“What did Mikoto begin teaching you back in the day?”
Kurenai opened her mouth, then closed it again, thoughtful.
“Eh, don’t sweat it too much. You can write the lesson plan after you’ve had some face-to-face with the clan head, or whoever is representing him today. And in all probability, you’re going to have to take it slow anyhow. A weak constitution doesn’t really help with rapid advancement when it comes to jutsu of any kind.”
Sucking a breath through his teeth, Obito took in the sight of the Kurama clan compound.
The place had seen better days, that was certain. It wasn’t decrepit, and it appeared that the Kurama clan took great pains to keep it from falling any further into a state of disrepair. The grounds were kept trim and clean. The trees were kept decently trimmed. The walkway was unbroken from the front gate to the front door. But despite the effort, it still felt like something rotting under the surface. Like an open wound left to fester. The grass was green. Mostly. But it was plagued with patches of brown that neither rain nor shine had any appreciable effect on.
“Sensei?”
Looking down at the spot in front of him, Obito met young Sekiran’un’s metallic grey stare coming back up at him.
“What are you doing here?” the boy asked.
“Don’t worry, I’m not here to berate you for sending your fellow students to the nurse’s office. In fact, I was just making some checks on my students.”
“But you’re only the substitute teacher, sensei. And you have plenty of other classes to mind.”
“That makes you all my students,” Obito retorted, cheerfully.
Murakumo stepped up behind the boy, resting his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Son, could you give us some privacy. There are some matters I would speak of with your teacher.”
“Of course, tou-san.” Sekiran’un eyed him, almost as if sizing him up for a fight, with a suspicious glint to his stare before the budding storm passed and moved on.
The three of them watched the boy scampered off as he was bid.
“That was peculiar,” said Kurenai, “Is that normal for him.”
“Sekiran’un is more observant than he might appear,” Murakumo answered. “There are times I wonder if he is deliberately holding himself back from performing at his best, though I admit a certain relief that he hasn’t faced any overt pressure to accelerate his training.” He sighed, then continued up the footpath, beckoning them to follow. “But I’m certain his performance isn’t what brings you in today.”
It was fairly plain on the interior. Plain, but homey, with a smell of jasmine tea wafting from the front room they were directed to. Once they were seated and tea was served, Murakumo quickly got down to business.
“As I’m sure Namikaze-san is aware, my son started at the Academy recently. This is not an issue in of itself. However, he has taken it upon himself to try and pass those same lessons – unsupervised, I might add – to my daughter, Yakumo.” Murakumo frowned as he sipped at his tea. “I was subsequently informed by the Hokage that he would find someone capable. Forgive me for any insult, but I was not expecting someone quite so young as you, Yūhi-san.” He held his hands up, placatingly. “I have no doubt of your skill; the Hokage would not have sent me anything less than one of his best.”
Obito suppressed a smirk as Kurenai flushed at the praise.
“Before we go into detail,” said Kurenai, “what are your expectations?”
Murakumo slumped, slightly. “Unfortunately, Yakumo’s constitution is not fit for anything strenuous. It is entirely possible she may never be a proper shinobi. It is a duty of any parent that their child grows up safe, healthy, and happy.” He bowed his head before sitting back up. “But in the more tangible and practical? If it is possible ameliorate any deficiencies, whatever you’re willing and able to provide, I would be in your debt.”
Kurenai put a hand to her chin. “Then it might be best we start with the very basics, and move up from there. At least until we have a firm grasp of where she stands.”
It was simple start, but Obito had long accepted that was where the best results were often found.
[NRE]
Kakashi, back under the mask as Dog, meandered through the ANBU barracks.
All things considered, it was quiet and relaxed. No missions in high demand, all the newbies trained up and added to their respective teams, and enough personnel that they were nearly at risk of being overstaffed. Strange as that seemed.
He found his squad, or most them idling in the
“Anything of note?”
Tortoise and Cat exchange a quick look, then turned back to their captain.
“You might want to check in on Crow,” said Tortoise.
That sounds serious. Dog’s flicked between both of his teammates. “Has Owl weighed in on this?”
“He asked us so it wouldn’t be misconstrued as favoritism.”
“Besides that, I think he’s been kind of avoiding Owl.”
So he was worried. “I’ll look into this.”
Stalking down the hallway, Kakashi noted that the traffic was surprisingly sparse for the day. But then the traffic dropped off to virtually nothing when he found one of the supply closets towards the back end of operations. Rapping his knuckles against the door, Kakashi pulsed his chakra to identify himself, and then slowly opened the door.
Crow sat atop a stack of crates, head bowed and his knees pulled up to his face, lines of tension across his shoulders. Warning signs of fatigue seeping into his bones. And if it was showing this much, he was either more worn down than he was showing, or exhaustion had dulled his senses to the outside world that he didn’t notice Dog’s approach.
“Crow?”
Suddenly bolting upright and dropping to land on the floor, Crow was on his feet at attention. “Dog-Taichou,” he answered, voice scratchy and dry.
Unusual, Kakashi thought. And unsettling. “Sit. You look ready to pass out.”
Crow reluctantly complied. “I’m fine. Really.”
“You don’t look it.” Leaning against the space of wall next to the ANBU rookie, Dog crossed his arms over his chest and focused on the empty space in front of him. “Is it anything you can talk about?
“…Not at this time, Taichou.”
“I see. Well, it so happens that our team is going to be operating inside the village for a few days. We have some trainees needing to get acclimated to their patrol routes and routines. I’m going to be recommending you for the task.”
Standing once again, Crow almost wobbled in place. “Taichou, that is not necessary-”
“This is not negotiable, Crow,” Dog stressed, putting a hand on his shoulder. “If you’re not working at your best, you become a liability in the field. I can’t, in good conscience, allow that to happen. You’re too skilled to neglect like that, and I haven’t invested in your training to let it all go to waste.”
A spike of emotion surged in the usually reserved boy. “Please! Don’t take me off of the lists.”
“I didn’t say I was going to.” Taken aback by the sudden vehemence, Dog searched for the right words to say. “But you need to be off anything strenuous.” Dog quietly sighed to himself. “Take it from a fellow prodigy: you’re not going to do anyone any good if you burn out.”
Crow’s shoulders slumped, and there was a twinge of something else. If Dog were to guess, it might be an approximation of a nervous fidget, but with how ANBU was, and with how Crow was away from the mask, reading his body language was a nigh-futile exercise.
“This is not going to be a punishment. And get some sleep until the official orders come down. We can manage a couple of missions in your absence until you’re recovered and centered.” Stepping past Crow, Dog ghosted a pat on his shoulder. “But if or when you need to talk, the door’s open.”
Silence continued, but less oppressive than before.
[NRE]
Obito strolled into the Hokage’s office, stopping short when the doors were shut completely and the secretary waving him down.
“Give them a moment,” she said, returning to sorting through a stack of paperwork. “I believe they should be finished shortly.”
Eyeing the pair of Uchiha clansmen standing off to the side at perfect attention gave him an idea of who was inside, though that was at odds with the muffled shouting transpiring inside. Having studied the seal work himself a number of times, and sensing them active, the conversation must have gotten quite heated to still be heard through the walls, even if only in part.
Presently, the doors swung open, Fugaku Uchiha all but storming out of the room in a temper, only slowing long enough to sneer at Obito as he passed out of sight with his escort. Looking to the secretary for answers, she shook her head and ushered him inside.
“What was that about?” asked Obito
“A petition from the Uchiha that has revealed an oversight.” The Hokage’s mouth was set into a thin line. “Certain stipends for shinobi that can no longer perform combat duties were interrupted without notification. Fugaku was wroth with our neglect, and how it had taken a better part of the year to address the matter.”
Obito blinked owlishly as he processed that particular string of words. “Why not come to us sooner? Wouldn’t that have made things easier?”
“That is a question, isn’t it?” The Hokage heaved a long-suffering sigh. “So we’re going to be going over the accounts. I want to know who has defrauded my people, and who allowed it to happen.”
Already, a pair of chūnin were coming through the doors, laden with crates and ledgers.
[NRE]
Anko could safely say she didn’t particularly like having her emotions put on display without her say-so. Sure, she could be loud, boisterous, and expressive. That was one thing. Losing control of that veil between what she was thinking drop, even around friends was like being stripped naked. Having her every thought dragged out to the surface was entirely another.
That she was given virtually no choice in the matter sparked no small amount of resentment
“What’s the verdict?” Anko drawled. It was a risk, this bout of borderline insolence. But it felt more…real, somehow. That, and Inoichi had practically insisted after the first couple sessions they had managed together.
Inoichi had personally overseen her psychological evaluations ever since Orochimaru’s betrayal, and the sessions had continued ever since. Less for any real official reasons and more as a reassurance to the public. That she was “safe”.
“Either there’s something embedded so deeply and concealed so completely that no one but Orochimaru knows how to detect, activate, or remove it. Or there’s nothing there at all, and we’re chasing our tails. But without a way to completely and unambiguously verify the former…”
“I’m still a liability.”
With a heavy sigh, Inoichi dropped the file onto the desk. “There’s just enough uncertainty to necessitate keeping you under observation, but not enough to keep you under such heavy restrictions.” Relaxing infinitesimally, he sat across from her. “With all that said, I think you’re free to go. I’ll still ask you keep up regular sessions, but we can probably space them out a bit more now, unless you feel otherwise.”
I’d rather they stop completely, Anko fumed, but pasted on a smile and said with a slight cough of laughter, “It only took five years.”
Seeing Inoichi’s face, Anko could tell he picked up on it.
[NRE]
Anko racked out another set of push-ups to Obito holding up some flashcards for her to read from between reps.
“The primary agricultural exports of the Land of Fire are?”
“Wheat and sugarcane.”
“Correct.”
Changing positions to start a set of sit-ups, they ran through the next set of flashcards, Obito frowning thoughtfully as the stack in his hand grew smaller. “Not to detract from your efforts, but what’s the hurry?” he asked.
“I’m getting. Sick. Of languishing. In Chūnin hell. Because of some. Paranoid. Dickbags.”
“And a promotion is going to help with that how, exactly?”
Finishing her set, Anko leaned back. “There’s only so many missions I can do inside the village, and most of them are for Genin, or are dead-end jobs all taken up by Chūnin. Or you need to be part of a specialty, like with medics, R&D, T&I. And ANBU, I guess. If I want any more credible missions, I have to push myself to a higher standard.”
“That makes sense, I guess. As long as you don’t break yourself in the process.” Obito winced, thinking the problem over. “Have you thought of applying for any of those positions?”
“Yes. And apart from T&I, none of them have really given me more than a token consideration. Except for the medics. I’m not that good at chakra control, and I’m not exactly keen of running the same hours Rin does.”
“What did T&I say?”
“Inoichi flat-out told me that I was lacking some key characteristics to make a good interrogator, though he said he’s open to the prospect in the future. Again, I need experience. Time in the field, and at least making Tokubetsu Jōnin”
“Okay. Point.”
“I mean. How hard can it be? Nobu passed.”
“Yeah, but he didn’t exactly have the same problems following him around.”
“Then I’ll just have to keep proving them wrong.” Anko hopped to her feet and stretched. “What are you up to this evening.
“The Hokage has me reviewing ledgers right now, and I have no idea how long that will go. It could be that I’ll be busy for most of the night.”
“Pity. I’ll just have to keep myself occupied with boring textbooks.” Anko gave him a quick peck on the lips, flashing a sultry smile as walked off. “If you end up finished earlier than expected, you can let yourself in.”
Mirroring her smile with on of his own, he shot back, “Looking forward to it.”
[NRE]
Obito could read and re-read ledgers until his eye went fuzzy, but nothing would actually give him the answers he and the rest of the Hokage’s accounting team was seeking.
Because whoever filched the pension owed to the Uchiha had covered their tracks well.
The payments had been physically intercepted, and from there, it could have gone anywhere. The couriers had been questioned extensively, but so far, nothing conclusive had turned up.
“They were reported as paid out, but if the recipients didn’t receive them-” Obito threw the pen onto the table and his hands into the air. “then where did the money go?”
The possibility existed that the couriers were lying expertly enough to avoid being caught, something that was looking less likely than before, especially after Inoichi had gone through all of their heads. No distortions of memories, but nothing that could rule out someone with a henge or some other effective disguise. But who would stand to gain from that kind of subterfuge while having the skills and manpower to carry it out?
Working his jaw, Obito reviewed the possibilities There was only a mere a handful of them, each unsettling in their own way, but conveniently unverifiable without stepping on toes that they really weren’t in a position to step on without a conclusive lead.
An external third-party had infiltrated the village, and could have intercepted the payments at any number of points, but that would have to mean someone had repeatedly managed to sneak into the village, and so close to the Hokage’s office, the Uchiha compound, or any other spot in between. That required a deeply intimate knowledge of exact time tables, personnel, and routes, and they would have had to get that consistently.
That, unfortunately, directed the possibility of the culprit of being a nominal ally. Some Konoha black ops project got the money instead, and the Hokage was bluffing like his life depended on it? Unlikely, as this was driving a wedge between the Uchiha clan and the village itself.
Maybe look into other side projects in the village. Even ANBU has to launder money through legitimate enterprises to mask their operations.
Just because the Sandiame wasn’t at fault didn’t preclude someone else in the shadows subverting his will and commands.
The worst possibility, and the one that currently held the most weight, was that an unknown party within the Uchiha was accepting the payments, but hiding the funds, leaving their own clan to flounder and point fingers at the rest of the village for the slight while enriching themselves.
Or arming themselves.
“Son of a bitch,” Obito ground out, and rested his face into his hands. When had his life become this? Questioning everything for a hidden scheme or agenda, even among allies?
Madara, his mind helpfully supplied. Ever since Obito had met the old coot, it had thrown his entire world into a tilt, where everything was just familiar enough to be comfortable, but everything was just slightly out of place, leaving everyone kicking the furniture.
Either way, the money had gone somewhere into the ether and beyond their reach, and they had to contend with Konohagakure funding an unknown entity that could be working against the village’s interest.
“Would you happen to know where Hiruzen is at the moment?”
Obito idly turned to face Danzō Shimura, keeping his face politely blank. Far from offended by the cold regard, the old man seemed to smile. Or at least an approximation of one. He had seen more comforting smiles on alligators.
“I believe he’s meeting with some of the guild masters.” Obito answered, “Is there something you need right at this moment? Anything I can assist you with?”
“The offer is appreciated, but unneeded at this time, Namikaze. I shall simply return when its more convenient for us both.”
With a purposeful slowness, Danzō left the room, leaving the door open. Asshole.
Leaving aside his treatment of Sen and his family, his own kin, there was something about him that made Obito’s skin crawl.
Whatever. It wasn’t as if the old fart was his problem. For now. He was inclined to hold up Sen’s assessment of the man and wager that Danzō would still be lurking in the wings until the time for Obito take up the hat.
[NRE]
Hitomi effectively lounged on the couch as much as she was able being heavily pregnant. She still made it look graceful. Rin was almost envious.
“Thank you for having us over, Hitomi-san,” said Rin, guiding over to the little gathering Hitomi had put together.
“It’s not as if the Elders have any real control as to whether not I wish to host an informal tea party amongst friends. Not when Hiashi has nothing against it. I’m glad you could make it.”
Yukimi and Naoki were playing games with Karin, with Hinata tentatively watching from Hitomi’s side, curious. By the time Rin had found a seat for herself, refreshments had been served, and she found an opening in the conversation to interject.
“I hope this is not impertinent, but how old are you?” Rin asked. “Karin has to be at least Hinata’s age, if not older.”
“She’s seven, and…” Miyako held a hand to her mouth as she thought the question over. “…I’m twenty-four.”
The math clicked together. “Oh.”
Miyako waved her hands, dismissively. “It’s nothing so horrible. It is rather…embarrassing, admitting it out loud. But it’s far from the most awkward part, and it wasn’t just me raising her at the time.”
Hitomi smirked, impishly at Rin. “Have you and Kakashi-” She suddenly winced, shifting in her seat in bid for comfort, which only seemed to make things worse.
Hinata inched closer to her stepmother. “Hitomi-san?”
“It’s just the baby shifting around. And kicking my ribs.” Hitomi hissed with a grimace.
“She’s going to be a natural shinobi at this rate,” Miyako teased.
“If only my child didn’t find the need to practice at all hours of the day.”
“That just means she’s healthy, doesn’t it?”
Karin looked over from the play corner, “Hitomi-san, did you spill something on yourself?”
A chill ran up Rin’s spine as Hitomi slowly met her stare.
“Rin?”
“Yes?”
“I may need to retract my previous statement.”
Miyako stood, all but instantly at Hitomi’s side. “Hitomi-san’s water broke.”
“Let me through, let me through!” Instantly snapping to medic-mode, Rin all but elbowed her way through the crowd, only stopping once she was next to one of the family’s own medical shinobi that had materialized the moment the words were out of Miyako’s mouth.
The shift from a family friend to a senior doctor in motion was enough that it had the clan guards accompanying Hitomi to back away, just out of arm’s reach.
Rin’s lips pressed into a tight line. “Okay. A little on the premature side, but we can work with this. Now get a bed ready, and we’ll move her there. Bring everything: hot water, towels, the works.”
Sending Hitomi’s attendants scurrying off, Rin addressed her patient directly, nearly freezing when she saw blood staining the front of Hitomi’s dress.
Kneeling down, she ran through her hands seals. The jutsu was giving all kinds of chaotic feedback, but what she could make out gave a grim prognosis.
“Fuck!” Not caring about the indignation of nearby Hyūga, Rin stood and announced, “Change of plans. We need to get her to the hospital. Now!” Turning to the nearest Hyūga clansmen, she pointed them out. “You! Find Hiashi-san. Tell him to meet us there.”
[NRE]
What had been simply premature birth had rapidly spiraled into a nightmare scenario.
From what Rin could make out, the little bundle of joy had made an abrupt movement while in the womb. Not an uncommon occurrence, but a worrying one when it was done via a prematurely active chakra network, and it had resulted in some considerable, pointed damage in the baby’s effort to find a more comfortable position in a steadily shrinking space.
“Steady as she goes,” Rin repeated soothingly in the face of Hitomi’s barely restrained screams. The bit of leather she was biting into was in the process of being split. “Steady as she goes.”
Hitomi should have been sedated, but her blood pressure had dropped too much during transit to the hospital, and with the problems currently at hand, Rin didn’t want to risk another unknown factor making things worse.
Which led to the present circumstances of maintaining equilibrium as Rin and her team worked at the medley of internal chakra burns, stemming internal bleeding, and keeping both mother and child alive through an emergency C-section.
That was a quick job, thankfully, and Rin extricated the newborn, passing the girl off to the nurse while she reached back into the mess of Hitomi’s birth canal. That was one problem dealt with. Only a dozen, more challenging problems left to deal with. There was too much blood everywhere but where it was meant to be, and every moment was going to count for something as Rin fixed whatever damage had been done. The only thing keeping Hitomi alive at the moment was her own willpower and Rin’s stubborn refusal to give up on her.
But with the baby out of the way, that suddenly cleared the way and freed up Rin’s attentions to focus solely on Hitomi. Soothing green light suffused the room, and Hitomi’s pained whimpers began to subside.
Long hours later, Rin threw off her gloves into a sink and ambled into the waiting room where Hiashi sat off by himself, head bowed against clutched hands. He slowly looked up at her, hollowed eyes with bags beneath them.
“Hatake-san?” he asked, rising smoothly from his seat.
Taking a deep breath, Rin began, “I have some good news and bad news. I was able to safely deliver your daughter and save Hitomi-san’s life.” Biting the inside of her lip, she soldiered on to the messier part. “At this point in time, based on the damage done during the delivery, I don’t think she will be able to safely carry another child anytime soon. Maybe ever.”
The words felt like lead on her tongue, but they needed to be gotten out of the way.
Hiashi was stone-faced, but the subtle sag to his shoulders spoke volumes, sorrow and relief clearly warring beneath the surface. Fortunately, he didn’t appear to be on the verge of tears. That would have been embarrassing for both of them.
“I see. Thank you, Hatake-san.” A nigh-overwhelming wave of emotion was quickly quashed, or perhaps shoved into a box for later attention. “Is that everything?”
“For now. We’ll be keeping both of them here under observation for a little while, to ensure both are fully healthy when they return home. On that count, I have every confidence in their chances.”
Letting out a breath Rin hadn’t even noticed Hiashi had been holding, the Hyūga clan head nodded, curtly. “Thank you.”
Finding her way to the washroom, Rin changed out of her bloodied clothes, relishing the relief as fresh, clean clothing settled on her skin, before crashing on one of the empty bed and into blissful slumber, only to be swiftly interrupted.
“Psst! Rin!”
“What time is it?” Rin groaned. Cracking an eye open, she was only spared a stabbing light by Matsuo Akimichi casting a shadow over her.
“Just past dawn’s first light,” Matsuo answered, “but forget about that for the moment. The Hokage is here to see you!”
Sleep, or the lack thereof, forgotten, Rin sat upright, nearly falling out of the bed as Hiruzen Sarutobi stepped forward into the room.
“Hokage-sama?” she sputtered, letting Matsuo help her back to her feet. “What brings you in at this hour? And to the hospital of all places.”
“I heard there was an emergency involving one of my shinobi. So I decided to poke my head in and see how things were proceeding, but it appears that I shouldn’t have been worried at all.”
“It was still a near thing.”
“I have no doubt. You handled this well, and your performance is indicative of your effort and training. I’ve heard no shortage of comparisons between you and your mentor.”
Too tired to feel embarrassed, Rin settled for slouching against the wall. “That is too kind of them, Hokage-sama. I was just doing what anyone else would have.”
“Hardly. Forgive me for being so blunt, Rin-san, but if you hadn’t been here, Hitomi-san would have died, possibly even Hanabi-chan. Your skills have risen more than you’ve realized if I’ve been fielding petitions to see you promoted for years now.”
“Sir?”
Hiruzen stood in front of her, smiling kindly at her. “You will still have to contend with the promotion board for the full step, but it is within my power to promote you to Tokubetsu Jōnin.” He held up hand, forestalling any argument. “This has been a long time coming, Rin-san, a recognition of your efforts.”
Still reeling, Rin struggled not to openly gap, even as the Hokage gently rested a hand on her shoulder, smiling.
“If you need any further proof for my decision, it might be prudent to check on your patients.”
Doing as she was bid, Rin recognized a melody carrying down the hall as she approached, and slowed her pace, stopping at Hitomi’s door.
“Hinata-chan? Do you want to meet your baby sister?” Hitomi asked. She sounded exhausted, but in good spirits, so Rin made sure to keep herself as unobtrusive as possible.
Leaning around the threshold, she could see Hinata gently clamber onto the bed, looking at the swaddled bundle with a gasp of astonishment.
“What’s her name?” Hinata asked.
“Her name is Hanabi.”
The new mother began singing a soft lullaby into the baby’s head as she gently rocked her back and forth.
Rin still thought the promotion was entirely too much, but she could put it out of mind for the moment as she listened to Hinata’s little voice join with Hitomi’s.