Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The smell of grilled fish and miso soup filled the Hatake household long before the boys wandered out of bed. Morning light poured in through the sliding doors, catching on the faint steam that curled from the stove.

Kaori stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, dark hair tied back loosely. Her movements were precise, efficient — habits from years as a jōnin before life had rerouted her into something quieter but no less demanding. She’d once run missions that stretched across borders, but now her battlefield was here: keeping her husband and two sons in line. The kunoichi sharpness never quite left her, though; it was there in the quick snap of her eyes whenever Hiroshi whined or Takeshi tried to get away with something.

“Morning, Kaa-chan…” Hiroshi shuffled in first, hair sticking up worse than his father’s, eyes half-lidded but already sharp. He pressed against her hip without hesitation, cheek resting there like he always did when he wanted comfort.

“Bath after breakfast,” Kaori murmured, smoothing his hair once before nudging him toward the table. “You smell like the forest again.”

Hiroshi puffed his cheeks in protest but obeyed. He was small for his age, his silver hair framing wide brown eyes that hid more than they revealed. At the Academy he was the prodigy who skipped a class, a Genin years earlier than most. At home, though, he was just ten, soft and clinging, stubborn in the way of boys who wanted to prove they weren’t babies anymore.

“Oi, don’t hog Kaa-chan first thing in the morning.” Takeshi’s voice carried from the hall before he even entered. At fifteen, he carried himself with casual confidence, his silver as messy as his younger brothers. The Chūnin vest sat on his shoulders like it belonged there, though he often wore it with the cockiness of someone still learning what responsibility meant. He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, smirk already tugging at his lips. “You’ll wrinkle her uniform.”

“Don’t act like you’re grown, Takeshi,” Kaori replied smoothly, placing bowls of rice and miso at the table. “You slept pressed against your father not two nights ago.”

The grin faltered, his ears reddening before he shrugged it off with a scoff, sliding into his seat. “That was strategy. I was guarding the window.”

From the corner, a low hum broke the rhythm. Kakashi finally appeared, silver hair even wilder than usual, the mask absent in the privacy of home. His scar caught the morning light, but his face was otherwise calm — unreadable, except for the faint tug of amusement in the corner of his mouth.

“Strategic cuddling, huh?” he said mildly as he sat, hand brushing through Hiroshi’s hair in passing. “I’ll make a note of it in the mission logs.”

The table shifted instantly: Hiroshi giggled behind his hands, Takeshi groaned, Kaori sighed as if she’d been living with this circus forever.

For a moment, it was just breakfast — miso soup, rice, fish, and the sound of two brothers bickering over pancakes that hadn’t even been promised. But beneath it all, there was something heavier.

The world outside was not as peaceful as it looked. It had been ten years since the Fourth Great Shinobi War, and though alliances were stronger, scars still ran deep. Old enemies tested borders, spies crept between villages, and in two weeks Konoha would host the largest Chūnin Exam since the war — a ceremony meant to mark peace, but also an opportunity for those who wished to disrupt it.

Hiroshi had been allowed into the Academy at five, promoted early when his chakra control stunned even veteran instructors. Takeshi, mentored under Uzumaki Naruto himself, carried the Rasengan in his arsenal and the weight of expectation on his shoulders. And Kakashi — Hokage, war hero, father — carried all of them, even when he let the mask slip here, at home.

The Hatake household was quiet only on the surface. Beneath the teasing, the warmth, the arguments over pancakes, there was always the unspoken truth: they were a family raised in the shadow of war, living in the fragile space between duty and love.

Hiroshi shoveled rice into his mouth, cheeks puffed like a squirrel. “Kaa-chan, I’m sooo exhausted from training… pancakes would make me stronger.” His eyes were wide, pleading, already gleaming with confidence that she’d fold.

Kaori gave him a look over her teacup. “Eat your miso.”

Takeshi leaned forward, chopsticks dangling from his fingers, smirk sharp. “See? Told you. No pancakes. Should’ve listened to me.” Without warning, he plucked a piece of grilled fish from Hiroshi’s plate and popped it in his mouth.

“Oi!” Hiroshi squeaked, nearly knocking over his soup. “That’s mine!”

“You snooze, you lose, otōto.”

Before the argument could turn into a wrestling match across the table, Kakashi set his chopsticks down with a quiet tap. His tone didn’t rise, but the weight in it cut through the bickering instantly.

“Eat first. Fight later.”

Both boys froze. Hiroshi pouted into his soup, Takeshi muttered something under his breath, but neither dared push further. Kaori hid a smile behind her sleeve — even after all these years, Kakashi’s calm authority could silence an entire battlefield, or just his kitchen.

The tension dissolved in seconds. Hiroshi leaned against his mother again, chewing with exaggerated sulkiness. Takeshi pretended to be unbothered, though his smirk betrayed him. And Kakashi — he just watched them, one hand resting against his cheek, the rare quiet softening his scarred face.

Outside, the village was already stirring, shinobi moving into formation, merchants opening their stalls. The Exams loomed just days away, along with the anniversary ceremony that would draw leaders from every nation.

But here, for now, the Hatake household was wrapped in something ordinary. Teasing. Pouting. Pancake negotiations. The kind of fragile, everyday peace that made all the weight beyond their walls worth carrying.

The sliding door creaked open, claws skittering lightly on the wooden floor. A white blur padded in, tail sweeping the air like a banner.

Shiro — Takeshi’s ninken — was no pup anymore, but he still carried that cocky stride, head held high, amber eyes gleaming with a mischief that matched his partner’s. His fur was thick, snowy, with a gray streak running from his ears down to his shoulder, like a permanent mark of shadow against light.

“Oi, you’re late,” Takeshi muttered, though his smirk betrayed the fondness beneath it. He tore off a strip of fish and flicked it under the table. Shiro caught it midair with the ease of long practice.

Kaori sighed, shaking her head. “Not at the table.”

Shiro sat deliberately at her feet, ears perked, expression the very picture of innocence — a trick he’d learned early on. Hiroshi leaned over, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, “Kaa-chan, he’s better at acting innocent than nii-san.”

Takeshi clicked his tongue, reaching down to ruffle Shiro’s head. The dog leaned into it, tail thumping once against the floor.

Kakashi’s eye followed the gesture, expression unreadable, though Kaori caught the flicker of thought behind it. Shiro wasn’t just a companion. He was the result of Kakashi’s quiet decision — testing whether Takeshi was ready before ever allowing him to sign the full Inuzuka clan summoning contract. A personal trial, one that had grown into something more.

Shiro was family now. Fiercely loyal, sharp-nosed, bold to the point of arrogance — and Takeshi’s mirror in more ways than one. Where Takeshi went, Shiro followed. And though Kakashi rarely voiced it aloud, that bond carried its own weight of risk and pride.

The dog huffed, padding between the brothers before sprawling in the sunlight by the table. His amber eyes slid closed, ears still twitching at every sound. A shinobi in his own right, but comfortable enough here to let his guard down.

Shiro’s place in the household was both simple and complicated. On the surface, he was Takeshi’s partner — raised from a pup at his side, trained to fight, track, and guard with him, sharing meals and mischief like siblings. Their teamwork was seamless, their bond unshakable, and most days it felt as though Shiro belonged only to him.

But beneath that closeness lay the deeper structure of the Hatake-Inuzuka pact. Every ninken born into the pack recognized hierarchy instinctively. Takeshi was Shiro’s handler, his chosen human — but Kakashi, as head of the contract, remained the ultimate alpha. If Kakashi gave a direct command, it would outweigh even Takeshi’s. It was an invisible leash, not often tugged, but always present.

Takeshi hated that truth — the reminder that his father could take Shiro back to the pack with a single order — yet he also understood it. The Hatake ninken weren’t simple pets; they were shinobi, bound by trust and tradition, their loyalty split between personal bond and pack law. That balance was fragile, but it was also what made Shiro’s devotion matter all the more. Because every time he chose to follow Takeshi over the invisible pull of Kakashi’s authority, it wasn’t just instinct — it was choice.

Shiro’s presence in the house was unusual — at least compared to the traditional Inuzuka summons. Most ninken lived with the pack and were called into the field only when needed. But Takeshi’s case was different.

When Kakashi first entrusted him with Shiro as a pup, it wasn’t a simple partnership — it was a trial. A way to measure whether his son could handle the discipline, patience, and responsibility required to one day sign the full summoning contract. Unlike a traditional summon, Shiro wasn’t bound to slip back into the pack between missions. Instead, he lived among the Hatake family day and night.

It meant extra responsibility for Takeshi — feeding, training, and caring for Shiro as though he were another sibling under the same roof. Kaori had been firm about it: if Takeshi was old enough to fight alongside a ninken, he was old enough to clean up after him, too. Hiroshi teased that Shiro was the “better behaved brother,” though he often slipped food to the dog under the table when Kaori wasn’t looking.

Over the years, Shiro’s constant presence blurred the line between shinobi partner and family member. He wasn’t just a summon to be called when convenient — he was woven into their daily lives, into the warmth of breakfast chatter and the quiet of late nights. Yet everyone in the household knew the truth: if Kakashi ever judged the bond unsafe, Shiro would return to the pack in an instant.

That silent possibility hung between father and son, unspoken most of the time, but never forgotten.

Kaori set her chopsticks down with a soft clink, her gaze moving from one son to the other. “Eat properly,” she reminded, tone gentle but firm. “You’ll need the energy. The village is already busy preparing for the anniversary. The exams may be two weeks away, but you don’t get ready the day before.”

Hiroshi puffed his cheeks, clearly less interested in miso and fish than in pancakes, but he obeyed with a grumble. “Mou… training, training, training. Can’t we just rest a little before the madness starts?”

“You rested plenty yesterday,” Kaori countered, brushing a hand over his hair in passing. “Today is about focus. The last stretch is always the most important.”

Takeshi, leaning back slightly with his arms crossed, smirked. “Focus, huh? Then maybe tell tou-san to stop vanishing into his office till late at night. Hard to focus when you’re half asleep at drills.”

Kakashi didn’t even look up from his bowl. “Hmm. Funny, I could say the same thing about certain chunin sneaking out after curfew.”

Takeshi stiffened, a faint color rising in his cheeks, but Shiro’s huff at his feet spared him the need to retort.

Kaori cut across before either could press further. “Enough. You’ll both help tidy the yard after breakfast. Afterwards, Hiroshi will review his taijutsu forms with Shikamaru, and Takeshi—” her eyes flickered to him, steady, “—Naruto’s expecting you for final drills. No detours.”

“Che,” Takeshi muttered, but the corner of his mouth betrayed a grin.

Shiro thumped his tail once against the floor, amber eyes shifting between them all like he understood every word. Maybe he did.

For a fleeting moment, the kitchen was quiet save for the clatter of dishes and the morning sun spilling across the table — a small, ordinary peace before the storm of ceremonies, exams, and guests from every nation arrived. Two weeks might sound long, but everyone in the room felt it ticking closer with every breath.

Chapter Text

The village was already alive when Takeshi stepped out into the morning sun, flak vest half-zipped and hitai-ate hanging loose around his neck instead of his forehead. The chatter of vendors setting up their stalls drifted down the street, the air thick with the smell of grilled dango, grilled fish, sweet mochi, and fresh tatami mats all at once.

Takeshi tugged the cloth of his mask up over his nose, exhaling sharply against the fabric. The scents hit him harder than they would most people — one of the quirks he hadn’t exactly asked to inherit. Kakashi had warned him about it when his sense of smell started sharpening during training. “A gift, but not always a convenient one.”

Crowded streets, bustling kitchens, festivals — they were overwhelming. Too much information at once. The mask filtered it just enough, a trick he’d picked up after one too many dizzy spells trying to sort out burnt rice from drying paint and wet dog all in the same breath.

At his side padded Shiro, white fur bright against the dusty road, tail swishing lazily like he owned the whole street. He didn’t bother hiding his cocky strut — the two of them together were already a familiar sight in Konoha. More than once, villagers leaned down to scratch Shiro’s head or greet Takeshi with a nod that wasn’t for a boy anymore, but for a chunin who had earned his place.

Takeshi had been living this rhythm for three years now. Missions, training, reports. He’d stopped being a wide-eyed genin faster than most, pushed harder under the watch of his team’s sensei, Uzumaki Naruto. Naruto-sensei never went easy, Takeshi thought as his feet carried him toward the training fields. Not on me, not on anyone.

And it showed. His taijutsu was sharp, unrelenting — fast, calculated, relentless like his father’s but tempered with Naruto’s explosive unpredictability. He carried a kunai at his thigh, its hilt wrapped in worn leather from constant use, and the faint hum of chakra lingered around his hands, a reminder of how much time he’d poured into learning the Rasengan.

Shiro brushed against his leg, amber eyes glancing up.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Takeshi muttered, scratching behind his ear without breaking stride. “Naruto-sensei said to be early. I am early.”

The ninken huffed, unconvinced, and trotted ahead. Takeshi clicked his tongue, lips quirking despite himself. Shiro had been with him since a pup — his father’s test turned lifelong partner — and the bond they’d built was unshakable. They moved like two halves of the same instinct, training together, fighting together, arguing like brothers when no one else was around.

Life as a chunin wasn’t glamorous. There were missions that blurred together — guard rotations, patrols, deliveries. But it was the way people looked at him now that weighed heavier. Expectations. Pressure. The Hokage’s son. Kakashi’s son. It followed him everywhere, even here, even now.

He pushed the thought aside as the familiar clearing came into view. Training field three. Naruto’s favorite. And from the sound of laughter — loud, unrestrained, unmistakably his sensei’s — Takeshi knew he was already late.

*Flashback — Market Street, 6 years ago*

The midday crowd in Konoha’s market street was as thick as ever — laughter and bargaining ringing through the stalls, smoke curling from grills, fruit piled high in bright pyramids.

Takeshi wriggled in his father’s hold, small hand locked in Kakashi’s larger one. “Tou-chan, it reeks!” he whined, nose crinkling under the onslaught of spices, fish, grilled skewers, and too many bodies pressed close together.

Kakashi walked easily through it all, his silver hair stark in the sun. His face mask was in place — Hokage or not, some habits never left him — though his hita-ate was gone now, his scar and left eye bare without shame. He gave his son’s hand a light squeeze. “Reeks, hm? Or maybe you just don’t know how to sort it out yet, Takkun.”

“I do! It’s all garbage smell!” Takeshi huffed, squirming at his father’s side.

Before Kakashi could answer, a vendor straightened from his stall of roasted chestnuts, bowing slightly. “Lord Sixth. An honor. Please, accept some chestnuts for you and your boy — fresh out of the pan.”

Kakashi’s eye curved kindly behind his mask. “You’re generous, thank you.” He inclined his head in return.

But Takeshi’s reaction ruined the picture. The boy clamped a hand over his nose and groaned, muffled and dramatic. “Nooo, it’s burning my nose! It’s awful!” His free hand fisted tight in Kakashi’s vest, squirming to escape.

The vendor blinked, startled, though not offended — just bemused at the child’s theatrics.

Kakashi chuckled softly, taking the small paper bag with his free hand. “Not awful, just strong. He’ll learn.” His tone carried apology, but his gaze was amused.

Once they’d stepped away from the stall, Kakashi crouched, still holding onto his son’s hand so he couldn’t bolt. “Alright, Takkun, hold still.” From his flak vest he drew out a folded strip of dark cloth.

Takeshi’s eyes widened. “…What’s that?”

“A mask. Like mine.” Kakashi’s tone was casual, but his fingers were steady as he unfolded it. He tugged the cloth gently over his son’s small nose and mouth, adjusting the straps so it sat snug. His thumb lingered against Takeshi’s cheek, smoothing the fit. “Better. Now breathe slow. Don’t fight it.”

The boy hesitated, then inhaled cautiously. The scents dulled, less sharp, less overwhelming. His shoulders dropped without meaning to. “…Oh.”

“See?” Kakashi’s eyes softened, rare warmth flickering there. “Not garbage. Information. Chestnuts, sandal oil, ink, and—” he sniffed lightly, “—someone forgot to wash their dog.”

Takeshi’s muffled snort broke into laughter despite himself. “Tou-chan, you’re the dog.”

“Mm. Then you’ll fit right in, won’t you, Takeshi-bō?” Kakashi teased gently, straightening and taking his son’s hand again as they moved down the street.

Takeshi tugged the mask once, still sulky but calmer. “It itches.”

“You’ll live.” Kakashi’s thumb brushed over his son’s knuckles again, anchoring him in the chaos. “And one day, you’ll be glad you can smell things others miss.”

Takeshi tugged on Kakashi’s hand once they’d put a few stalls between them and the chestnut vendor. His muffled voice came stubbornly from behind the cloth. “…I want the chestnuts now.”

Kakashi’s brow arched, though amusement tugged at his eye. “Oh? Weren’t they awful a minute ago?”

“That was before the mask! Now I want them.” Takeshi’s eyes narrowed in challenge, the way only an eight-year-old could, daring his father to deny him.

Kakashi sighed in mock defeat, tearing open the little paper bag. The warm, roasted smell drifted up — muted now by the fabric. He held one out.

Takeshi pounced, only to pause with the nut halfway to his mouth. He blinked, frowning. His mask was in the way.

“…Tou-chan.” His voice was muffled again, but now whiny. “How do I eat this?”

Kakashi tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “Tricky. Hokage rule number one: once the mask goes on, food is a puzzle.”

“Tou-chan!” Takeshi squirmed, trying to wedge the chestnut under the edge of the mask, dropping it back into his palm with an annoyed growl. “This is stupid.”

Kakashi crouched again, steadying his son with a hand on his shoulder. With practiced ease, he tugged the mask just low enough for Takeshi’s mouth to show. “There. One bite at a time. Don’t tell anyone I bent the rules.”

Takeshi stuffed the chestnut in victoriously, chewing with exaggerated delight. “Mmm. See? Not awful.”

“Mm. Information,” Kakashi corrected gently, pulling the mask back up when the boy swallowed. He brushed a stray crumb from Takeshi’s cheek with his thumb, voice softening. “Remember that.”

Takeshi’s grin crinkled the fabric now covering his face again. “Hai, tou-chan.”

Takeshi licked his fingers once he’d finished, then blinked up at his father, mask tugged snugly back into place. His little brows pinched.

“…Why do I have to wear this?” His voice was small but stubborn. “Hiroshi doesn’t. He’s younger, but he doesn’t have to.”

Kakashi adjusted the strap behind his son’s ear, smoothing it with a touch that was more father than Hokage. His visible eye softened, though his tone carried that calm certainty Takeshi couldn’t argue with.

“Because you’re you, Takeshi-bō,” he said simply. “Your nose is sharper. Your senses are different. That’s not a weakness. But without the mask, every street, every market, every mission… it’ll hit you harder. Until you learn to control it.”

Takeshi huffed through the cloth, crossing his arms, trying to look unimpressed. “So Hiro gets to be normal, and I get stuck with this.”

Kakashi chuckled low in his chest, ruffling his son’s hair despite the squirm of protest. “Normal’s overrated. Trust me. Better to learn how to use what’s yours.”

The boy fell quiet, chewing on the words. His free hand found Kakashi’s sleeve again, not letting go as they continued through the market.

Kakashi let the silence linger, his hand steady over his son’s smaller one. For all his complaints, Takeshi didn’t release his grip.

And that — the Hokage thought with a faint, private smile behind his own mask — said more than any words ever could.

*End of flashback*

Training field three buzzed with energy. The tall grass swayed under the breeze, scarred earth bearing the marks of countless spars before this one. At the far edge, Uzumaki Naruto stood with his arms folded, orange jacket unzipped and grin stretched wide.

“You’re late!” he shouted, voice carrying all the way across the field.

Takeshi didn’t flinch. He just raised a hand in a half-wave, Shiro trotting at his side like nothing was wrong. “Yeah, yeah. Blame the breakfast table.”

“You always blame the breakfast table.”

Two familiar voices chimed in, teasing in unison. Takeshi turned his head just enough to see his squadmates waiting.

On his right was Kana, lean and wiry, with a head of dark hair cut short and quick eyes that missed nothing. She was sharp with weapons, faster with words — her kunai strikes were as precise as her biting comebacks.

On his left was Daichi, broader and calmer, his movements heavy but steady. He specialized in earth-style ninjutsu, always the shield to Takeshi’s blade. Where Takeshi bristled with restless energy, Daichi grounded the team.

Together, they were Squad Four. Naruto’s squad.

Shiro barked once, ears flicking forward as if to announce their arrival. Kana crouched low, hand on her hip. “Finally dragged yourself here, huh? You’d think Hokage’s kid would have a better sense of time.”

Daichi snorted, folding his arms. “At least he brought the dog. That’s the useful one.”

Takeshi clicked his tongue, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “You’d both be bored stiff without me.”

“Oi, oi!” Naruto cut in, laughing as he stepped forward. “Save it for the spar. We’ll see who’s bored once the three of you actually coordinate for once.”

That grin of his widened. “Today, you’re not fighting each other. You’re fighting me.”

Shiro growled low, like he remembered the last time Naruto had pulled this stunt. Takeshi’s grin faltered for just a moment.

Naruto’s grin only sharpened at Shiro’s growl. “Oi, oi, don’t give me that look. I’ll go easy on you guys—ttebayo.”

Kana groaned, already pulling a kunai free and twirling it. “That’s what you said last time. I still had bruises for a week.”

Daichi cracked his knuckles, steady as ever. “Better a week of bruises than watching Takeshi pout because you flattened him first.”

“Oi!” Takeshi shot back, cheeks warming despite himself. His hand automatically went down to Shiro’s ruff, grounding. “I wasn’t pouting. I was—strategizing.”

Kana smirked. “Sure. With your face in the dirt.”

Naruto clapped his hands together, cutting through the banter. His voice boomed across the field, that familiar mix of warmth and command. “Alright, Squad Four. Same rules as always—come at me with everything you’ve got. If you hold back, I’ll know.”

Shiro’s tail swept once, muscles tensing. Takeshi adjusted his mask higher, the grin creeping back under the fabric. His voice was low, a little cocky, but not without edge:

“Then don’t whine when we actually land a hit this time, sensei.”

Naruto laughed, the sound ringing over the scarred earth. “Good! That’s the spirit. Now—” his stance shifted, eyes narrowing with that old spark— “show me how far you’ve come.”

The air stilled for a breath, grass swaying in the quiet tension before the storm. Shiro’s claws dug into the dirt, Kana’s kunai gleamed in the light, Daichi’s hands already twitched toward a seal—

And then, in a blur, Naruto moved first.

Naruto clapped his hands together once. “Alright, Squad Four — show me what you’ve got! And no excuses today, dattebayo!”

Before anyone could move, his shadow blurred — and in the blink of an eye, he was in the middle of their formation.

Kana yelped, springing back. “Oi! You said we were supposed to start!”

“Never said I’d wait.” Naruto’s grin was sharp, his kunai already grazing her sleeve. “Lesson one: don’t give your enemy the first move.”

Daichi stomped the ground, earth rising to shield her. “You’re ridiculous!”

“And you’re too slow!” Naruto vaulted over the wall like it was nothing, boot heel aimed straight for Takeshi.

Shiro darted in front, growling, teeth bared. Takeshi twisted aside, kunai flashing, only to feel the full brunt of Naruto’s kick crash against his guard. He skidded back, heels digging furrows in the dirt.

“Oi, Takeshi-bō,” Naruto teased, eyes gleaming. “You still slip your footing the exact same way. Didn’t your old man fix that yet?”

Heat flared in Takeshi’s chest — but Kana’s kunai whistled past his shoulder, forcing Naruto to pivot. For a second, the three of them pushed him back in sync: Kana fast, Daichi heavy, Shiro relentless.

Then Naruto stopped laughing.

He slammed a palm into the ground, a wave of chakra scattering their rhythm like leaves in a storm. His voice dropped, no longer joking. “You’re still fighting like three shinobi on the same field. Not one team.”

Takeshi’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding as he pushed back against Naruto’s chakra wave. He skidded into a crouch, hands already flashing through seals, Shiro at his side bristling.

“You’re supposed to be testing the team,” Takeshi spat, lightning flickering faintly along his kunai. “So stop singling me out.”

Naruto’s grin widened. He leaned lazily on one hip, kunai twirling between his fingers. “Why? Hit a nerve?”

Kana shot him a sharp look. “Ignore it, Takeshi—”

But Naruto’s words slid right past her warning. “You always think you’ve gotta prove yourself, don’t you? Hokage’s son, big brother’s shadow, puppy on your heels. All bark, no bite.”

Takeshi’s fingers twitched around the kunai, lightning sparking hotter. His voice cracked with the edge of anger. “Shut up!”

He lunged, faster than before, chakra surging through his legs. Shiro matched his speed, fangs bared, and Kana cursed under her breath as she and Daichi scrambled to cover the opening his recklessness left.

Naruto met the strike without flinching. Their blades clashed, sparks dancing. He leaned in just enough for Takeshi alone to hear:

“Good. Now fight like you mean it. But remember — if you charge off alone, you’ll lose them all.”

And with that, Naruto shoved him back hard enough to send him rolling, before instantly pivoting toward Kana and Daichi, trying to separate the squad again.

Takeshi hit the ground, rolled once, and came up on a knee, breath sharp through his mask. For a heartbeat, his anger pushed him forward — the urge to prove Naruto wrong burned hot in his chest.

But then his gaze flicked sideways. Kana was already darting in, Daichi bracing behind her, earth chakra gathering in his hands. They were counting on him not to lose his head.

He exhaled slowly, the way his father had drilled into him a thousand times. Footwork steady. Eyes sharper than emotion. Don’t let the opponent pull the strings.

“Kana—high left!” he barked suddenly, his kunai sparking again. She didn’t hesitate, pivoting just as Naruto lunged. Daichi slammed his palm into the dirt, raising a wall that funneled Naruto straight into Takeshi’s line.

Shiro growled, and in a blur of white fur he circled wide, forcing Naruto to twist his body for a split second—long enough.

Takeshi was already there. Shadow clone flickering into place, substitution ready, lightning kunai aimed precisely at Naruto’s blind side. Not wild. Not reckless. Calculated.

The strike stopped an inch from Naruto’s ribs, chakra buzzing.

Takeshi’s visible eye narrowed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Bet you didn’t see that coming, did ya?”

For the first time all morning, Naruto’s grin softened — pride flickering beneath the taunt.

Then, in the same breath, he twisted out and knocked the kunai wide, forcing the squad to regroup again.

Naruto’s hand shot out, palm glowing with faint chakra. With a single push, he shoved Takeshi back, the impact forcing the boy to skid across the dirt.

“Not bad,” Naruto called, grin sharp. “But one-on-one? You’ll never land it.”

Kana clicked her tongue. “Tch, he’s right. He’s too fast.”

Daichi’s jaw set. “Then we stop going one by one.”

Shiro barked once, already circling to Naruto’s blind side. Takeshi caught the signal, kunai tightening in his grip. His smirk returned — sharper now, more focused.

“Fine,” he muttered, raising his voice so both teammates heard, “we’ll see how ‘boring’ this gets when we all move.”

Kana’s hands flashed with steel, Daichi’s chakra surged into the ground, and Shiro darted low.

Naruto’s grin only widened. “Now we’re talking.”

Kana’s kunai whistled past Naruto’s ear, forcing him to twist. Daichi’s earth wall erupted beneath his feet, breaking his balance for just an instant. That was all Takeshi needed — he and Shiro were already moving, a blur of boy and hound.

Steel glinted. Takeshi’s kunai stopped just shy of Naruto’s jacket, the edge grazing cloth before Naruto caught his wrist in a vice-like grip.

“Almost,” Naruto said, grin unfaltering.

Takeshi’s breath was sharp, adrenaline burning in his veins. His smirk returned, cocky despite the sweat on his temple. “Heh. Almost’s better than bored stiff, right?”

Naruto barked a laugh, releasing him and hopping back. “That’s more like it. Keep that up, and maybe one day you’ll really land it.”

Naruto’s laugh carried across the field as he flickered out of Shiro’s reach. “Too slow, Takeshi!”

But Takeshi’s lips barely curved. He hadn’t moved an inch.

The shadow clone Naruto had dodged burst into smoke — and from the churned-up earth at his feet, the real Takeshi sprang, mud streaked on his arms, kunai already sparking faint with lightning chakra. The blade carved just close enough to slice the fabric of Naruto’s sleeve before his sensei pivoted away.

Naruto’s grin didn’t falter, but his blue eyes widened for the briefest flicker. He landed light, tugging at the torn thread. “Tch. You actually grazed me.”

Takeshi straightened, kunai spinning lazily in his hand as his smirk sharpened. “Guess even legends trip if you pull the ground out from under them.”

Shiro barked, tail thumping like a drumbeat to his partner’s swagger.

Naruto adjusted his sleeve, that grin never leaving his face. “Heh… not bad. Didn’t think you had the guts to come at me head-on like that.”

But there was no mistaking the glint in his eyes — the one that said he was actually impressed.

Takeshi’s smirk deepened, reading it for what it was. “Guess I don’t need guts if I’ve got brains.”

Kana groaned from the sideline, rolling her eyes. “Great. He’s going to be impossible to deal with all week now.”

Daichi just chuckled low, arms crossed. “At least he earned it this time.”

Naruto clapped his hands together, voice booming across the field. “Oi! Don’t start bickering yet. You three aren’t done until you land something together.”

Kana jabbed a finger toward Naruto, sharp grin cutting across her face. “Oi, you said we had to land something together. Technically—” she tilted her chin at Takeshi, “—he set it up, we backed him up, and it hit. That’s teamwork.”

Daichi gave a single nod, slow and deliberate, like the point was ironclad. “Yeah. If one part fails, the rest collapses. We all moved for him. That counts.”

Takeshi smirked wider, smugness dripping as he added, “You heard them. Can’t argue with logic, sensei.”

Shiro gave a sharp bark, tail thumping against the ground as if he, too, agreed.

Naruto froze, grin twitching wider — half exasperation, half amused. “Tch… You brats are starting to sound like Shikamaru.”

Naruto rubbed the back of his neck, grin turning sharper now. “Heh. Nice try. But you think one lucky graze means you’re ready?” His blue eyes flashed, voice rising with energy. “C’mon! Show me you can really fight together — not just hide behind excuses!”

Before they could blink, Naruto blurred forward, shadow clones bursting into existence around him like a wave. Five of them circled the squad at once, each moving with the same unpredictable speed.

Kana hissed, kunai flashing. “Tch—he’s going all out now!”

Daichi slammed his palms to the ground, earth rising to shield them. “Form up! Takeshi—left!”

Shiro growled, darting ahead as Takeshi slid in low, lightning sparking at his kunai. Kana pivoted to cover their flank while Daichi reinforced the wall, their movements sharper now, flowing into each other’s without hesitation.

“Good!” Naruto’s voice rang out through the clones. “That’s more like it!”

The clash carried on — shadow clones popping under coordinated strikes, Shiro snapping at ankles, Kana’s blades weaving through Daichi’s walls while Takeshi darted in and out like a live wire. They were panting, scraped, their teamwork messy but undeniably improving.

Finally, as the last clone vanished in a puff of smoke, Naruto stood across the field, hands on his hips, chest heaving only slightly. His grin was proud, but edged.

“Not bad,” he said. “You’re finally looking like a squad. But don’t forget—” his tone grew serious, his smile fading into something more grounded— “out there, one mistake costs more than a bruise. Got it?”

Naruto clapped his hands together, breaking the tension. “Alright, that’s enough sparring for today. I’d keep drilling you brats until sundown, but—” his grin softened into a lopsided smirk, “—the old man’s got me stuck at the Hokage’s office. Paperwork no jutsu, y’know?”

Kana groaned dramatically. “So we suffer, and you run back to your desk?”

“Exactly.” Naruto winked at her, then his tone grew a little more official. “But I’m not letting you slack off. Squad Four, you’re on patrol today — eastern market and main road to the southern gate. Standard D-rank, but don’t treat it lightly. With the exams coming up, every extra pair of eyes matters.”

Daichi nodded seriously. “Understood.”

Kana smirked, flipping a kunai. “Market patrol, huh? Guess we’ll get to see Takeshi gag on all the smells again.”

Takeshi tugged his mask higher, eyes narrowing. “A D-rank? Seriously? You drag us across this field like rag dolls and then stick us on watch duty?” He let the pause linger a second before adding, sharper, “What’s wrong, sensei — all the genin already taken?”

Kana snorted, Daichi tried not to laugh, and even Shiro gave a huff that sounded suspiciously like amusement.

Naruto didn’t miss a beat. He grinned wider, jabbing a thumb at his own chest. “Don’t flatter yourself, brat. I’d give this to genin if I trusted them not to miss what matters. This one’s on you because I expect better.”

Takeshi’s jaw set tight at that, but he didn’t argue further. Shiro nudged his leg, tail swishing like he agreed with Naruto more than with his partner.

Naruto chuckled, softer now. “Listen. Habits get built in the small things. You want higher ranks? Show me you can handle the low ones without whining.”

With that, he puffed away in a swirl of chakra — leaving Squad Four sweaty, scraped, and with Takeshi’s irritation hanging heavy in the air.

The smoke cleared, the grass swaying in the silence Naruto left behind.

Kana let out a low whistle, spinning her kunai lazily around her finger. “Wow. Did you hear that? ‘I expect better.’” She deepened her voice in an exaggerated imitation. “‘Takeshi, you’re sooo special.’”

Daichi smirked, arms folded as his gaze slid toward Takeshi. “Guess he just promoted you from whiny brat to whiny brat on patrol duty.”

Shiro barked once, short and sharp, like he was laughing with them. His tail thumped against Takeshi’s calf.

Takeshi scowled, tugging his mask down just far enough to bare his teeth at all three. “Hilarious. You’re all comedians now?”

Kana grinned wide. “Hey, don’t blame us. You’re the one who asked if genin were all taken. Looked like you were begging for the mission downgrade.”

Daichi’s smirk softened, more practical than mocking. “Patrol’s still something. Better than cleaning cat pens.”

“Barely.” Takeshi huffed, crossing his arms. “If I wanted to stroll the market, I’d go shopping with kaa-chan.”

Kana nudged Shiro with her foot, ignoring Takeshi’s glare. “At least Shiro won’t complain. Bet he loves market patrol.”

The dog barked again, tongue lolling, as if to confirm it.

Takeshi groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Traitor.”

Market Street was already bustling when Squad Four reached their patrol post. Vendors shouted over each other, kids darted between stalls, and the scent of grilled meat, spices, and roasted chestnuts tangled thick in the air. Takeshi tugged his mask higher, muttering under his breath, but Shiro padded forward eagerly, nose twitching at every new aroma.

Kana walked with her hands behind her head, unimpressed. “Patrol, huh? Exciting.”

Daichi shrugged. “We’re supposed to watch for anything unusual. That’s the job.”

Takeshi clicked his tongue. “Tch. Unusual? The only unusual thing is how boring this is.”

And then, like Naruto once had, he went from sulking to bounding. His head turned this way and that, eyes sharp, as if the crowded street were suddenly full of mysteries only he could solve.

“Look at that guy,” he muttered, pointing at a merchant with a wide cart. “Shifty eyes. Bet he’s hiding something under those sacks.”

Kana groaned. “Or maybe he’s just squinting at the sun.”

“And her—” Takeshi gestured at a woman tucking something into her sleeve. “Suspicious movement. Classic smuggler move.”

Daichi deadpanned, “She just bought a sweet bun.”

But Takeshi wasn’t listening. He strode ahead, Shiro trotting proudly at his side like a loyal detective’s partner. His finger shot toward another vendor. “Oi! That stall’s scales are off by a gram. Totally rigged.”

Kana dragged a hand down her face. “Kami help us, we’ve got another Naruto.”

Shiro barked once, tail wagging furiously, like he approved of this new “mission.”

Market Street was already bustling when Squad Four reached their patrol post. Vendors shouted over each other, kids darted between stalls, and the scent of grilled meat, spices, and roasted chestnuts tangled thick in the air. Takeshi tugged his mask higher, muttering under his breath, but Shiro padded forward eagerly, nose twitching at every new aroma.

Kana walked with her hands behind her head, unimpressed. “Patrol, huh? Exciting.”

Daichi shrugged. “We’re supposed to watch for anything unusual. That’s the job.”

Takeshi clicked his tongue. “Tch. Unusual? The only unusual thing is how boring this is.”

And then, like Naruto once had, he went from sulking to bounding. His head turned this way and that, eyes sharp, as if the crowded street were suddenly full of mysteries only he could solve.

“Look at that guy,” he muttered, pointing at a merchant with a wide cart. “Shifty eyes. Bet he’s hiding something under those sacks.”

Kana groaned. “Or maybe he’s just squinting at the sun.”

“And her—” Takeshi gestured at a woman tucking something into her sleeve. “Suspicious movement. Classic smuggler move.”

Daichi deadpanned, “She just bought a sweet bun.”

They wove through the market street like they owned it — or at least like Takeshi thought they did.

“Seriously,” Takeshi muttered, pulling his mask higher against the overlapping stench of grilled fish, perfume, and wet straw. “We’re chunin. Chunin. And they’ve got us babysitting stalls like the genin brats. What’s next, cat retrieval?”

Kana smirked, hands tucked behind her head. “Don’t give them ideas.”

Daichi grunted. “Could be worse. At least we’re not scrubbing graffiti off the Hokage Monument.”

Takeshi shot him a look. “Oh, so we’re just supposed to smile and nod? ‘Yes, Hokage-sama, we’ll protect the village by making sure no old lady drops her cabbages!’”

Kana laughed at that, though she covered it with a cough. “Maa, maa, Hokage’s kid, better keep your complaints down. Someone might think you don’t respect the system.”

“System’s flawed,” Takeshi shot back with a cocky tilt of his head. “If we’re supposed to prove ourselves, we should be out there hunting spies, not counting radishes.”

Shiro barked once like he agreed — or maybe just because a nearby dumpling vendor dropped a skewer.

It was Kana who stopped first, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Speaking of spies…” She jerked her chin at a man slipping through the crowd. Cloak too heavy for the weather, eyes darting too much.

Daichi frowned. “Not our mission. We’re supposed to stay in the market.”

Takeshi’s grin spread under the mask. “Which means if we follow him and he is trouble, we’ll have technically succeeded and proved the mission was beneath us. Win-win.”

Kana raised an eyebrow. “And if he’s just cold?”

“Then we’ll… walk him to a blanket stand. Teamwork, right?”

Daichi sighed, long-suffering, but he still cracked his knuckles. “Fine. But if Naruto chews us out, you’re taking the blame.”

Takeshi already had Shiro moving, the dog’s nose twitching with focus. “Yeah, yeah. You can yell at me later. For now—let’s do a real mission.”

Shiro led the charge, nose low, weaving past baskets and startled shoppers. Takeshi followed right on his heels, Kana and Daichi groaning but jogging after him anyway.

The cloaked man ducked into a side alley, and Takeshi didn’t hesitate. He grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around, kunai flashing to his throat. “Got you,” Takeshi hissed.

The man froze — wide-eyed, clutching… a sack of leeks.

Kana nearly doubled over laughing. “Seriously?”

Daichi pinched the bridge of his nose. “You dragged us off mission for a farmer.”

The man stammered, “I–I was just going home—my wife makes soup on Tuesdays—!”

Takeshi blinked, kunai lowering a fraction. The blush under his mask was invisible, but his ears burned red. “…Tch. Suspicious outfit for a farmer.”

Kana leaned on her knees, tears in her eyes. “Yeah, nothing screams spy like a leek delivery.”

Takeshi muttered something into his mask and jerked his head. “Fine. Go home. Enjoy your soup.” He released the man, who bolted without looking back.

Shiro sneezed, like even he was mocking Takeshi.

Before the bickering could start again, Shiro’s ears shot up. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he turned west. Takeshi straightened immediately, all joking gone.

Kana’s laughter died at the look on his face. “What is it?”

Daichi shifted, dropping into a ready stance.

Takeshi’s voice was quiet this time, serious. “That one wasn’t it. But something else is.” His eyes cut toward the edge of the market, where two figures moved just a little too carefully through the crowd, their attention locked on the road leading out of the village.

The two men slipped past the last row of stalls, their cloaks brushing together as they cut toward the narrow path that led behind the granary.

Takeshi’s eyes narrowed. He tilted his head, a wordless signal, and Shiro padded closer at his heel.

Kana hissed, “Market grounds. Sensei said don’t leave the market grounds.”

Daichi’s sigh was heavier. “Which means Takeshi’s about to do exactly that.”

Sure enough, Takeshi hopped up onto a fencepost, balancing there with a cocky grin behind his mask. “Oi, we catch these guys, that’s basically an upgrade to C-rank. You want to spend the day sniffing cabbages, be my guest.”

Kana’s lips twitched, torn between irritation and amusement. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm. But I’m right,” Takeshi shot back, already vaulting over the fence.

Shiro barked once — sharp, decisive — and bounded after him.

Daichi rubbed his temple, muttering, “This is how we all get lectured.” Still, his feet carried him forward, solid as ever.

Kana groaned but followed, muttering under her breath, “If we’re getting dragged into another one of your disasters, you better be ready to share the blame, Takeshi-kun.”

Beyond the fence, the noise of the market dulled into silence. The path narrowed, hemmed in by tall grass and the shadow of the granary. The two cloaked men glanced over their shoulders once, then quickened their pace.

Takeshi dropped low, mask tugged tighter. His voice was barely audible. “Told you. Not leek-soup delivery.”

The two cloaked men broke into a jog. Takeshi’s eyes lit with the chase.

“Now!” he hissed.

Kana cursed but flicked two shuriken wide, pinning the thieves into a sharp turn. They barreled straight into Daichi, who slammed a wall of packed earth up from the ground, blocking the alley.

Shiro lunged from the side, teeth bared just enough to snap the air by the men’s arms, herding them back toward Takeshi.

Takeshi leapt from the rooftop above, landing with his kunai angled down — mask pulled low enough to hide the wild grin breaking across his face. “Caught you.”

The thieves froze, cornered by kids who moved with way too much confidence to be just kids. One muttered, “They’re brats,” but his hand twitched toward his pouch.

“Don’t,” Kana warned, kunai already in her palm, her voice edged like steel.

Daichi grunted, holding the earth wall steady. Shiro growled low, teeth glinting.

It ended fast — faster than it should have. The thieves crumpled under a trio of coordinated moves: Kana’s shuriken nicking their sleeves, Daichi’s wall pressing closer, Takeshi shoving them to the dirt with Shiro at his side.

Takeshi exhaled hard, standing over them, heart pounding. “See?” he said, cocky again, mask sliding down enough to flash his smirk. “Better than counting turnips.”

Kana threw her hands up. “You know what else it is? Off orders.”

Daichi groaned, already anticipating Naruto’s voice in his head. “We’re dead.”

Takeshi snorted, crouching to tie the thieves’ wrists. “Nah. We’re heroes. Totally different.”

Shiro huffed like he agreed, tail sweeping the dirt.

Dragging two grumbling thieves through the market streets wasn’t exactly subtle. Shoppers parted like waves, whispering behind hands. Shiro padded smugly at Takeshi’s side, occasionally baring his teeth if one of the men twitched.

“Eyes front,” Takeshi snapped at them, tugging the rope binding their wrists. His tone was more triumphant than professional.

Kana pinched the bridge of her nose. “Do you have to strut like that? We’re already a spectacle.”

Daichi sighed. “We’re lucky we didn’t get chased out of that warehouse for ‘accidentally collapsing’ the outer wall.”

“Not my fault they built it like paper,” Takeshi muttered, conveniently ignoring that it was his lightning-charged kunai that split the support beam.

The guard post was all business.

The duty chunin took one look at the tied thieves, then at the three sweaty kids and the smug white ninken, and sighed like his soul left his body. “Names. Where. What did they take.”

“Two pickpockets skimming coin purses and warehouse tags,” Kana rattled off, already handing over the bulging pouch of lifted items. “We recovered most.”

“‘Most’?” the chunin echoed.

Takeshi coughed into his mask. “Couple got trampled when they… panicked.”

Daichi added, steady as a drum, “There’s also… a small breach in the granary’s outer wall.”

The chunin stared. “Small.”

Takeshi held his fingers apart maybe two inches. “Tiny. Barely a crack.”

“Half a panel,” Daichi corrected.

The chunin slid them a form. “Hokage’s office. Now.”

⸻

Walking up Tower Street, the whispers followed them.

Takeshi kept his chin up like none of it stuck. “See? Efficient. We stopped losses and returned property. Patrol plus interdiction. That’s… what, a C-minus?”

Kana didn’t even look at him. “We left the market perimeter.”

Daichi: “We broke a wall.”

Takeshi: “Technically, the wall broke itself when my kunai encouraged it to make better life choices.”

Shiro chuffed. Even that sounded like a laugh.

They reached the broad steps of the Hokage Tower—right as Naruto jogged out from a side corridor with a folder under his arm and a grin he was clearly using to hide the “I already heard” tone in his eyes.

“Ohhh, Squad Four. Heard you upgraded a D-rank to ‘D-rank with a meeting.’” He bent to scritch Shiro between the ears. “At least somebody here is blameless.”

Takeshi went for the spin. “Sensei, we executed proactive deterrence measures adjacent to the assigned patrol corridor—”

“English,” Naruto deadpanned.

“We caught two thieves,” Takeshi said, flat.

“And?” Naruto prompted.

Kana folded her arms. “Left the market. Breached a wall.”

Daichi nodded once. “Returned most stolen property.”

Naruto pinched the bridge of his nose, then couldn’t help a crooked smile. “Brats. C’mon.” He tipped his head at the doors. “Couple tips before you go in. One: say the assignment out loud first. Two: say where you deviated. Three: say why. Four: don’t try to skip to four.”

Takeshi grumbled, but he did it under his breath like a catechism. “Assigned market patrol. We left the perimeter. We pursued suspects based on observed behavior. We… broke a wall.”

Shiro wagged like that was perfect.

The ANBU at the door slid it open. Paper rustled inside, pens scratching to a stop.

“Enter,” came Kakashi’s voice—calm, masked, Hokage-flat.

Naruto clapped Takeshi on the shoulder as they stepped through. “Remember, you did do good work. Just… also the other thing.”

Takeshi lifted his chin, mask hiding the flicker of nerves. “Got it.”

Inside, Kakashi looked up. “Report.”

Kakashi sat behind the desk, both eyes fixed on them, uncovered and sharp in a way that made the air heavier. The paperwork at his side was neatly stacked, untouched now. He didn’t speak again, just waited.

Kana stepped forward first, chin up. “Two petty thieves. Coin purses and warehouse tags. We intercepted, subdued, and turned them in to the guard post.”

Daichi followed, steady as ever. “Property recovered. No civilians harmed.”

Kakashi’s gaze shifted—finally landing on Takeshi. He hadn’t moved since they entered, Shiro pressed against his leg like a shadow.

Takeshi cleared his throat. “Mission success. The thieves were… careless. We tracked them down and stopped them.”

Kakashi hummed, barely audible. “Careless, hm?” He leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Funny. The report that reached my desk says they were intercepted outside the market patrol zone. And that a structure was—let me find the word—‘compromised.’”

Kana’s lips pressed thin. Daichi’s jaw clenched.

Takeshi shifted his weight, tugging at his mask like it might hide him from his father’s stare. “…That may have happened.”

“Mm.” Kakashi’s visible eye narrowed just a touch, voice still calm. “So. Three chunin, sent to patrol the market. Instead, you left the assignment perimeter, pursued suspects without confirming orders, and damaged property. But you caught your thieves.”

He tapped a pen against the desk once, softly. “Tell me. Was the damage to the wall worth the risk of leaving your post?”

The question wasn’t rhetorical. Both eyes were on Takeshi now, unreadable but pinning him in place.

Shiro’s tail gave one small thump, as if nudging him to answer.

Takeshi’s arms crossed almost before the words left his father’s mouth. His brows knit tight, and when he finally spoke, it was with that rough edge that came when his pride had already been poked.

“Of course it was worth it,” he said flatly. “What else were we supposed to do? Pretend not to see them? That’s not a shinobi’s job, that’s babysitting.”

Kana shot him a quick look — half warning, half agreement — but he ignored it.

“We’re chunin,” Takeshi pressed, his tone sharpening. “And you’ve got us running these stupid D-rank errands like we’re genin. Patrol the market, sweep up the streets, watch the stalls — it’s a waste. The thieves were a real threat. We stopped them. That’s worth a crack in a wall.”

His hands shoved deeper into his pockets, jaw tight. “Better than sitting around watching the fruit stand for the tenth time this week.”

Both of Kakashi’s eyes stayed locked on him. Calm. Too calm.

Naruto, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, let out a low whistle. “…He sounds like me.”

Kana leaned forward on the balls of her feet, arms folded but her grin sharp.
“Honestly, Hokage-sama, he’s not wrong. It was worth it. If we hadn’t chased them, they’d still be running loose. Damage can be fixed — stolen goods, not so much.”

Daichi, slower to speak, gave a small nod. “We did complete the mission, technically. Just… not exactly how it was written.”

Naruto laughed outright at that, pushing off the wall. “See, Kakashi-sensei? Classic teamwork! They bent the rules, sure, but they got results. That’s the ninja way, isn’t it?” His grin widened as he shot Takeshi a wink. “Not that I’m saying you should always follow my example.”

Kakashi didn’t move at first, both eyes still unreadable, the silence stretching long enough for Takeshi’s stomach to knot. When he finally spoke, it was soft, almost casual — but it carried weight.

“…And when bending the rules puts your whole squad in danger? What then?”

He let the question hang there, gaze sliding from his son to Kana, to Daichi, before back to Takeshi again.

Kakashi stood with both eyes fixed on them, no hita-ate hiding his stare, his posture deceptively casual with his hands sunk in his pockets. The criminals had already been taken away, but the air in the Hokage’s office was still taut.

“You caught them, yes,” he said at last, voice even, almost mild — which only made the words land heavier. “But if those ‘petty thieves’ had been rogue shinobi instead of street scum, what would’ve happened?” His gaze sharpened on Takeshi, though he didn’t raise his tone. “Collateral damage might’ve been the least of your problems.”

Naruto shifted beside him, grin still faintly tugging at his mouth as if ready to smooth things over, but Kakashi lifted one hand just enough — a quiet signal, silencing him without words.

“You’re chunin,” Kakashi went on, eye sweeping over all three but lingering longest on his son. “You’re trusted to think beyond the immediate result. Don’t confuse recklessness with strength. Don’t mistake success for good judgment.”

The words hung in the stillness. Then his head tilted the slightest bit, voice quieter but edged enough to cut.

“That goes double for you, Takeshi.”

Takeshi’s jaw tightened almost instantly, shoulders squaring as if he could block the weight of his father’s stare with posture alone.

“They weren’t rogue shinobi,” he fired back, voice quick, sharp, the edge of his irritation cutting through. “They were just petty criminals. Thieves. If we hadn’t stepped in, they’d still be running loose, and someone else would’ve gotten hurt.”

Kana’s elbow nudged his side — subtle but firm — her sharp eyes flicking toward him in warning. “Not here,” she hissed under her breath, not because she disagreed, but because even she knew better than to bite at the Hokage in his own office.

Daichi stayed quiet, gaze down, but the tension in his jaw said he was braced for the fallout.

Kakashi didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. The silence stretched, his steady look on Takeshi saying more than any reprimand yet.

Kakashi leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of his face. Both eyes were steady, sharp, and far too clear for Takeshi’s comfort.

“Petty criminals, hm?” His voice was calm, almost light, but the weight underneath pressed down hard. “And tell me, Takeshi… how many rules did you break chasing petty criminals?”

Takeshi opened his mouth, but Kakashi kept going, his tone never rising. “Boundaries you weren’t supposed to cross. Collateral damage you didn’t need to cause. Orders you were very clearly given.” He tilted his head slightly, gaze not leaving his son. “Was it worth compromising your team’s safety just to prove you could do more than the mission asked?”

The words hung heavy, sharper than a shout could’ve been. Kana’s lips pressed into a thin line, Daichi shifted uncomfortably, and even Shiro whined low at Takeshi’s side, ears folding back.

Kakashi let the silence breathe, then added softer, but not any less serious:
“You think being a chunin makes you ready to decide which rules matter and which don’t? That’s not strength, Takeshi. That’s recklessness. And recklessness gets people killed.”

Takeshi’s jaw worked as if he were grinding his teeth. The heat of a retort rose in his throat — they weren’t rogue shinobi, just petty thieves; they weren’t in real danger, he had it under control; he was sick of these stupid D-rank missions — but the words never made it past his lips.

Because he knew. This wasn’t about criminals or even the mission. This was his father talking to him, not the Hokage addressing a squad.

His fingers curled tighter into Shiro’s fur at his side, grounding himself. He kept his eyes low, face half-hidden behind his mask, saying nothing. Silence was safer — and in its own way, it stung more than shouting ever could.

Kana darted a glance at him, then at Kakashi. She shifted uneasily, about to speak — but thought better of it, lips pressing into a line again. Daichi scratched the back of his neck, murmuring under his breath, “We still got the job done…”

Kakashi’s gaze flicked over to him, and even Daichi shut his mouth.

The office settled into a tense quiet, every tick of the clock louder than it should’ve been.

Kakashi let the silence stretch, heavy enough that even the distant tick of the wall clock seemed loud. His elbows rested on the desk, hands steepled in front of his chin. Both of his eyes — uncovered, sharp, impossible to read — moved from Kana to Daichi, then finally to his son.

“You completed the mission,” he said evenly. “But you broke the assignment’s boundaries, caused collateral damage, and then tried to downplay it here.” His tone never rose, never sharpened. It was cool, calm, matter-of-fact — the kind of tone that always cut deeper than yelling.

Kana bowed her head immediately. “Hokage-sama, it won’t happen again.”

Daichi followed suit, a stiff nod. “Understood.”

Kakashi’s gaze didn’t leave Takeshi. “For now, I’ll file the mission as completed. But next time — petty thieves or not — you follow orders. You’re chunin now, not hot-headed genin. That means you lead by example.”

At that, Naruto, lounging casually against the far wall, chimed in with a grin that didn’t quite mask the steel underneath. “Y’know, I was a hothead too at your age. Difference is, I was a genin. You’ve already been trusted with more. Don’t waste that trust, Takeshi.”

Kakashi’s voice cut back in smoothly, “Dismissed.”

Kana and Daichi didn’t hesitate. They bowed again, then moved quickly for the door. Kana, with the faintest tilt of her head toward Takeshi, silently urged him not to push further. Shiro padded after his partner, but his ears swiveled back, sensing the tension still hanging thick in the room.

Takeshi shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, clicking his tongue. He started toward the exit too — not bowing, not looking back — but just as he reached the door, Kakashi’s voice snapped through the air, low and firm.

“You. Stay.”

Kana and Daichi froze for a heartbeat at the threshold. Naruto gave them an easy wave. “Go on, I’ll be here.”

The two chunin slipped out quickly, shutting the door behind them.

The office fell into silence again. The weight of it was different this time — personal, inescapable. Naruto crossed his arms, expression easing into something more serious. Kakashi leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze never once leaving his son.

Now it was just father, son, and the Hokage’s right hand.

Takeshi didn’t turn when the door clicked shut. His fists were already tight in his pockets, shoulders rigid.

“We did more than the mission asked,” he said, voice sharper than he meant it to be. “And we succeeded. No one got hurt — except the thieves. You act like we’re still small genin chasing cats, but we’re not. We can handle more than that.”

He finally glanced over his shoulder, jaw tight. “You trusted me in a war zone simulation training with Naruto-sensei last year. Kana and Daichi have been in missions where the stakes were higher than some D-rank patrol. We aren’t kids anymore.”

Shiro huffed from where he sat by the desk, tail thumping once — the faint sound grounding, even as Takeshi’s words hung sharp in the office air.

Naruto’s grin had faded, arms crossed as he studied the boy. Kakashi hadn’t moved at all. Both of his eyes were steady, unreadable.

For a long moment, silence filled the office. Only the tick of the clock and Shiro’s steady breathing broke it.

Kakashi leaned back slightly, hands folded in front of him on the desk. “Confidence is good,” he said at last, voice low and even. “Overconfidence gets people killed.” His gaze sharpened, both visible eyes cutting through the space between them. “I won’t mistake one for the other, Takeshi.”

Takeshi’s shoulders twitched, but he didn’t drop his eyes.

Naruto shifted then, pushing off the wall with his usual restless energy. “Oi, easy,” he said, looking between father and son. His grin was softer this time, almost sheepish. “I get it. Really. I used to say the same thing — thought every D-rank was a waste of time. But I learned more chasing cats and pulling weeds than I did in half the flashy fights I picked.”

He tilted his head toward Takeshi, blue eyes earnest. “You’re not wrong that you’re stronger now. But missions aren’t just about flexing jutsu. They’re about teamwork, patience… knowing when to follow rules, even if they feel small. That’s what makes the difference later, when the real fights come.”

Kakashi didn’t argue the point. He only let Naruto’s words hang, his steady gaze never leaving Takeshi’s face.

Takeshi’s jaw tightened, and before the silence could smother him, the words tumbled out sharp.
“We’ve done missions way more dangerous than this,” he snapped, arms crossing over his chest. “We’ve succeeded. Every time. We’re not small Genin anymore, running errands and playing babysitter while you all laugh behind our backs.”

His voice cracked at the end, not from weakness but from the raw frustration threading through it. He hated how young it made him sound, even now.

Shiro let out a quiet whine at his side, ears flicking as if sensing the tension.

Kakashi didn’t so much as blink. “And yet you still broke the parameters of a D-rank,” he said evenly. His tone didn’t rise, didn’t scold — but the weight in his words pressed down like a stone. “You think your strength gives you the right to choose which rules matter. That’s exactly what makes you sound like a Genin.”

The words landed heavier than any shout could have.

Takeshi’s chin lifted stubbornly, but his arms tightened across his chest like a shield.

Naruto stepped forward, scratching the back of his head with a sigh. “Look, Takeshi, no one’s saying you’re weak. Honestly, your squad’s ahead of where I was at your age.” He gave a grin, but his voice carried weight beneath it. “But being strong doesn’t make you grown. You think I didn’t hate rules? I broke them all the time. Sometimes it worked out — sometimes people nearly died because of me. Rules exist for a reason, even the ones that feel stupid.”

His grin faded, and his finger jabbed toward Takeshi. “The fact you can succeed isn’t the same as proving you’re ready for everything. If you want to act like you’re above Genin work, then you need to show you understand the difference.”

Kakashi leaned forward slightly then, both eyes fixed on his son.
“And until you do,” he said, voice low, final, “you’ll keep getting missions like this. Not because you’re weak. But because I refuse to send you into a fight you don’t understand yet.”

The office felt heavier in the quiet that followed. Naruto’s expression softened, but even he didn’t break it this time.

It was just Takeshi, his father’s words pinning him harder than any jutsu, and Shiro nudging at his leg, as if reminding him to breathe.

Takeshi’s mouth worked, but for once no clever retort came out. His chest burned, the words echoing too loud in his head — like a Genin. He hated how much it stung. Hated that he couldn’t shake it.

Finally, his chin tipped up, the bitter smirk not reaching his eyes.
“Very well… Hokage-sama,” he said, the honorific sharpened deliberately, like a weapon. His voice carried just enough edge to make clear he knew it would cut.

Kakashi didn’t flinch, but the silence that followed was heavier than any shout. Both eyes were steady on him, cool and unreadable — too calm, too quiet. That was worse than anger. Shiro pressed against Takeshi’s leg, sensing the charge in the air.

Naruto shifted awkwardly, lips parting as if to defuse it, but even he stayed quiet under that weight.

“Dismissed,” Kakashi said at last. Nothing more.

Takeshi’s smirk faltered, but he gave a stiff nod, turning on his heel. Shiro padded after him, nails clicking against the polished wood.

The air outside felt thinner, easier to breathe — but his jaw was still locked tight as he stalked down the steps of the tower. Kana and Daichi were waiting at the base, leaning against the railing. Kana’s eyebrow arched at the storm still written on his face, but she didn’t tease this time. Daichi straightened, glancing between him and the ninken.

“Well?” Kana finally asked.

Takeshi shoved his hands deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched. “Let’s just go home,” he muttered, voice flat. Shiro whined low in his throat but kept pace at his side, tail brushing his shin with every step.

The three of them fell into silence, the hum of the village returning around them as lanterns lit the evening streets. They were stronger than Genin, Takeshi knew it — but the Hokage’s words followed him all the way home, heavier than the weight of any mission scroll.

By the time Takeshi reached the Hatake household, the sharp burn of his father’s words had dulled into a heavy knot low in his chest. He slipped his sandals off at the door, Shiro padding in after him, shaking his fur like he’d been carrying the tension too.

The smell of miso broth lingered faintly in the air — Kaori’s cooking still warm on the stove. Hiroshi’s laughter rang faintly down the hall, the younger boy already settled in with a book spread across his lap, feet kicking idly against the tatami.

“Welcome back,” Kaori called from the kitchen, her tone light but laced with that mother’s intuition that picked up what Takeshi didn’t say.

He muttered a low “tadaima,” though his voice lacked its usual bravado. Shiro brushed past him, trotting straight into the kitchen to nose at Kaori’s leg, tail wagging like nothing was wrong.

Kaori glanced at her eldest as she stirred the pot, but didn’t press — not yet. “Wash up. Dinner’s still hot.”

Hiroshi peered up from the floor, eyes wide and curious. “You’re late, nii-san.” He grinned, oblivious to the weight Takeshi carried. “Tou-chan said you’d probably end up in trouble again.”

“Shut it,” Takeshi said automatically, but the bite in his voice wasn’t there. He moved past, crouching to scratch the top of Hiroshi’s head before disappearing into the washroom.

When he returned, Shiro had already claimed his usual spot under the low table, curled at Hiroshi’s feet. Kaori set out bowls, her hand lingering a little longer on Takeshi’s shoulder as she placed his in front of him.

He sat quietly for once, chopsticks poised over his rice. Hiroshi chattered on about some training exercise with Konohamaru, Shiro snored softly below, and Kaori steered the evening like she always did — gentle, steady, unshaken.

It wasn’t until Hiroshi was already nodding off against Kaori’s arm that Takeshi finally broke his silence. His voice was low, almost drowned out by the quiet of the house.
“…Kaa-chan, do you ever think Tou-chan’s too hard on me?”

Kaori didn’t answer right away. She smoothed Hiroshi’s hair back from his forehead, gaze steady on her eldest. “No. I think he knows exactly how much you can take.”

Takeshi looked down into his bowl, lips pressed tight. Shiro nudged his knee gently, as if seconding her words.

Later that night, Takeshi lay on his futon, Shiro curled along his side like a warm, stubborn weight. Moonlight banded the tatami. He stared at the ceiling, replaying the office in loops he couldn’t shut off.

You broke the parameters of a D-rank… Don’t mistake success for good judgment… That goes double for you, Takeshi.

His jaw tightened; the words still stung. Shiro nosed his wrist. Takeshi’s hand dropped into fur, fingers kneading absently.

“…We still caught them,” he muttered to the dark—more to himself than anyone. Shiro’s tail thumped once, a neutral heard you. The fight went out of him by degrees. Breath steadied. The day finally unhooked from his shoulders.

Sleep took him while his palm was still buried in Shiro’s ruff.

Later

Kakashi slid the bedroom door shut with a soft click. Kaori looked up from where she’d been sitting cross-legged, a folded towel in her lap, eyes already asking.

“How bad?”

Kakashi loosened his robe, set the Hokage cloak over the chair, and sat. “They deviated from a market patrol. Pursued suspects outside the perimeter. Put a crack in a granary panel. Then tried to sand the edges off in my office.”

Kaori’s mouth tugged—equal parts of course they did and motherly dismay. “Anyone hurt?”

“No.” A beat. “That’s not luck I’m willing to lean on.”

She reached, resting her hand over his. “And Takeshi?”

Kakashi’s gaze softened a fraction. “Bristly. Defensive. Then quiet, which is worse.” He let out a slow breath. “He wants to be taken seriously. He is getting stronger. But he’s skipping steps because he hates the small ones.”

Kaori’s thumb smoothed the edge of his knuckles. “He’s fifteen. He thinks the straightest line is the bravest one.” A tiny smile. “You might know the type.”

Kakashi’s eyes crinkled. “I’ve met him.”

They sat in the quiet hum of the house.

“You were right not to escalate,” Kaori said. “Make him feel the weight, not the volume.”

“He’ll get D- and C-ranks a while,” Kakashi said, deciding it aloud. “Clear success criteria. Zero wiggle room. And Naruto will keep the leash short.”

She nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on his edges at home.” Then, softer, “He asked me tonight if you’re too hard on him.”

Kakashi’s answer was barely above a breath. “I’m trying to be exact.”

Kaori tipped her head onto his shoulder. “Then be exact—and warm. He hears both.”

Kakashi let his cheek rest against her hair, that rare, unguarded stillness settling between them. In the next room, a boy and a ninken breathed in tandem.

Tomorrow would be training. And rules. And room to try again.

Chapter Text

The breakfast table still smelled faintly of grilled fish and chestnuts, though the plates had already been cleared. Takeshi’s sandals had clattered down the porch only minutes ago, Shiro padding after him, and the house felt quieter for it.

Hiroshi sat perched on the bench, pack hugged close to his chest, mask tugged halfway up his nose but not fully. His feet swung, heels bumping lightly against the wood as though he couldn’t quite keep still.

Kaori came back in from the kitchen, drying her hands on a cloth. She crouched in front of him, adjusting the strap of his pack even though it was perfectly straight. “You’ve got everything?” she asked gently.

Hiroshi nodded, quick and firm. “Hai!” Then, after a pause, softer: “…I think so.”

Kakashi leaned against the doorframe, one hand still wrapped around his morning mug. His silver hair caught the light, both eyes steady on his son. “Lunch?”

Kaori gave a small smile. “Already packed. Double portion.”

That made Hiro perk up, cheeks rounding under the mask as his grin pushed against the fabric. “Arigatou, kaa-chan!” He threw his arms around her neck suddenly, nearly tipping her over. She laughed quietly, hugging him back, pressing a kiss to his temple.

When he pulled back, Kakashi bent low enough to tap his forehead with two fingers. “Remember, Hiro — observe first, then move.”

“I know, otou-chan…” Hiro mumbled, though he tilted his head into the touch for a second longer. Then he hopped off the bench, pulling his mask high over his nose in one practiced tug.

“Ganbatte,” Kaori called softly as he padded toward the door.

The boy turned at the threshold, one hand lifted in a small wave. His voice was muffled but clear: “I’ll do my best!”

And then he was gone, sandals slapping against the wood of the porch, carrying him down the path toward the village.

Perfect — here’s the walking scene, weaving in Hiroshi’s appearance, character, and little details that make him stand out as Kakashi’s younger son while keeping that sweet, shy energy of a ten-year-old.

Got it — Hiroshi will wear his hitai-ate on his forehead instead of around his neck, giving him a more “official” genin look while still showing his childlike side. Here’s the revised walking scene with that detail changed and polished in:

The morning air was cool, carrying the faint smell of damp earth and fresh rice bread from the stalls setting up along the street. Hiroshi’s sandals scuffed lightly against the stone path, each step quick and purposeful but with that tiny bounce of someone too small to slow himself down.

He adjusted his mask again — habit, comfort — until it sat snug over his nose. Beneath it, his cheeks were still round with youth, though already sharpening at the edges. His hair, a soft dark brown like Kaori’s, refused to stay flat, sticking out in uneven tufts that curled slightly over his forehead protector. The shiny plate of his hitai-ate sat proudly across his brow, tied too tightly at times, but he refused to wear it anywhere else — he wanted to look like a real shinobi, not a kid playing dress-up.

At ten years old, Hiroshi was noticeably smaller than the other students in his year — a little leaner, a little shorter — a fact that made him bristle when pointed out, even as it gave him that sharp, foxlike quickness his family had learned not to underestimate. His eyes, though, were unmistakably his father’s: cool, steady gray, carrying an attentiveness far older than his age.

A vendor sweeping his doorstep raised a hand. “Off to the academy already, Hiro-kun?”

Hiro gave a small nod, polite as ever, though his ears went faintly pink. “Hai.”

Another woman leaned out of her stall, smiling. “Tell your mother the pickled plums are ready.”

He ducked his head quickly, mumbling a shy “Hai!” before hurrying his pace, embarrassed by the attention. His fingers curled into the straps of his pack, clutching it tight. He wasn’t used to being greeted so openly — not when so many eyes lingered just a moment too long on “the Hokage’s son.”

Still, his steps quickened more out of excitement than nerves. He was already picturing the academy gates, the faces of his teammates, the tall figure of his sensei waiting there. His chest tightened with that same mix of dread and thrill — today wasn’t just another day of drills. It was two weeks before the exams. And he’d already skipped a class to stand alongside kids older than him.

“I’ll show them,” he whispered to himself, voice swallowed by the street noise. His hand tugged at his mask again. “I’ll keep up. I can.”

Perfect — here’s the continuation, blending Hiroshi’s arrival at the academy grounds, introducing the team members with full descriptions, and the sensei laying down why training comes first:

The academy courtyard was already alive with chatter by the time Hiroshi arrived, sandals crunching on the gravel path. The familiar red-painted gates loomed over him, and beyond them the training grounds stretched wide — dirt circles worn smooth by countless sparring matches, a scattering of old logs and posts lined up like sentinels.

Three figures waited there.

Boruto Uzumaki leaned against one of the posts, arms folded tight across his chest, blonde hair messy as ever, blue eyes scanning the yard with the easy impatience of someone who wanted to be anywhere else. He spotted Hiroshi and straightened. “Finally. Thought you were gonna hide behind your mom all morning.”

Mitsuki stood not far off, calm and pale in the morning light, his snake-like eyes following Hiroshi with quiet curiosity. His posture was relaxed, but there was always that faint stillness about him — as if every move he made was deliberate, nothing wasted.

And crouched on the fence rail was their sensei, Konohamaru Sarutobi. Scarf draped casually over his shoulder, dark eyes sharp despite his easy smile. He was slouched in a way that mirrored his grandfather’s gentle warmth, but the confidence of his stance marked him as a shinobi who’d long since stepped out of his elders’ shadow.

“Good, you’re all here,” Konohamaru said, hopping lightly down. “We’ll start with drills today.”

Boruto groaned immediately, throwing his head back. “Drills again? C’mon, sensei, we should be out on missions! Two weeks until the exams, and you’re having us run laps like little kids.”

“Yeah,” Hiroshi found himself murmuring — softer than Boruto, but with that flicker of defiance all the same. “Shouldn’t we… practice real missions?” His gray eyes darted up, uncertain, then away again.

Mitsuki tilted his head. “Missions wouldn’t sharpen our teamwork. They’d just test what we already know.” His voice was calm, almost flat, but it carried weight.

Konohamaru’s grin widened. “Exactly. Mitsuki gets it.” He folded his arms, tone turning serious. “Listen — drills aren’t punishment. They’re how we make sure you don’t freeze, or trip over each other, when things get real in the exams. If you’re too busy thinking about how to counter, you’re already too slow.”

Boruto scowled, but his foot scuffed the dirt like he’d already accepted it. “Tch. Fine. But if we’re doing this, then I say we spice it up. Make it a real challenge.”

Konohamaru arched an eyebrow. “A challenge, huh? Alright. Let’s see if Team Seven is ready to push themselves harder than yesterday.”

Hiroshi adjusted his mask again, nerves buzzing in his stomach. Harder than yesterday… that always meant bruises. But it also meant growth. He squared his shoulders, small frame set in determination, and stepped closer to his teammates.

Perfect — here’s the continuation with sparring, a glimpse of Hiroshi’s shy-but-sharp style, and the team heading into lunch before dismissal.

Konohamaru-sensei clapped his hands once, pulling their chatter to a stop.
“Alright, enough complaining. If you’ve got the energy to whine, you’ve got the energy to spar. Exams are in two weeks, and you won’t pass without tightening your teamwork. Pair off.”

Boruto groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the grass. “Again? We’ve been sparring all week.”
“Exactly,” Mitsuki said mildly, already sliding into stance. “And you still leave your left side open.”

Hiroshi suppressed a smile behind his mask. He always let Boruto and Mitsuki’s banter run first — it gave him time to think.

Konohamaru’s eyes flicked toward him. “Hiroshi, you’re with Boruto this round. Show me you’re not just hanging back like you usually do.”

Hiroshi’s cheeks warmed at the call-out. He nodded anyway. “Hai.”

The spar started quick — Boruto bounding in with the same reckless energy as always, kunai flashing. Hiroshi’s small frame let him duck under the swing, sliding to Boruto’s blind side. Instead of countering with a strike, he pivoted and swept Boruto’s leg, forcing him to stumble.

“Oi!” Boruto barked, catching himself with a roll. “Cheap!”
Hiroshi’s eyes crinkled faintly. “Tou-chan says nothing’s cheap if it works.”

Konohamaru’s laugh rang out across the field. “Good! That’s what I want to see.”

They cycled partners, Mitsuki’s calm precision cutting neatly through Boruto’s impatience, Hiroshi forced to adapt and push harder than he liked. By the time Konohamaru called it off, sweat plastered Hiroshi’s hair to his forehead protector, chest heaving but eyes bright with focus.

“Lunch break,” Konohamaru announced, lowering himself onto the grass with his pack. “Eat up. You’re dismissed after.”

Boruto collapsed onto his back, groaning. “I’m starving!”
Mitsuki produced neatly wrapped onigiri from his pouch, serene as ever.
Hiroshi sat cross-legged, unpacking the bento Kaori had tucked into his bag — rolled omelet, rice, and pickles, everything neat and tidy. He hesitated, then pushed the little pack toward Boruto. “Kaa-chan made extra.”

Boruto lit up instantly, grabbing a piece. “You’re the best, Hiro!”
Mitsuki tilted his head, smiling faintly. “You always share.”

Hiroshi shrugged, cheeks pink. “…We’re a team.”

Konohamaru watched them quietly from his spot in the grass, a faint pride tugging at his features. Two weeks left. They weren’t ready yet — but they were getting there.

The academy grounds thinned out as students drifted home. Boruto and Mitsuki split off with quick waves, and Hiroshi tucked his half-empty bento back into his bag.

“Kaa-chan’s probably shopping,” he murmured, and sure enough, when he reached the market street, Kaori was there — basket on her arm, comparing vegetables with the same calm focus she once carried into missions.

“Kaa-chan!”

She turned at the call, face lighting instantly. “Hiro.” Her hand brushed his hair flat as he bounded up, and without a word, he slipped his smaller hand into hers.

The market buzzed, scents of grilled fish, chestnuts, and cut herbs thick in the air. Hiroshi’s nose wrinkled beneath his mask — he always wore it here, too many smells crowding at once — but he squeezed his mother’s hand tighter instead of pulling away.

“What did you train today?” she asked as they moved past the stalls, her voice warm but curious.

“Konohamaru-sensei made us spar,” Hiroshi replied softly, swinging their linked hands once. “He said I can’t always just stand back and watch. So I…tried. Even against Boruto-nii.”

Kaori smiled at that. “And how did it feel?”

Hiroshi thought a moment, brows furrowed. “…Scary. But good, too. Tou-chan always says observing is important. But… maybe using it is important, too.”

Kaori’s squeeze of his hand said more than words. “That’s right.”

They stopped at a stand, the vendor bowing politely to the Hokage’s wife and son. Kaori began picking through vegetables, while Hiroshi leaned against her hip, amber eyes scanning the flow of people with quiet alertness. Despite his age, he never quite let go of that instinct.

Still, when Kaori held up a bundle of chestnuts, asking, “Should we get these?” — his whole face brightened.
“Yes! Please, Kaa-chan!”

Her laugh slipped out soft and low, almost teasing. “Just like your brother.”

Hiroshi tilted his head, mask tugged down enough to show his grin. “Takeshi-nii will eat all of them if we don’t hide some first.”

“Mm. Then we’ll buy two bags.”

They walked on, sunlight slanting through the market banners, his small hand still firm in hers. For all the noise, all the scents, the moment was simple — a boy and his mother, the weight of shinobi life waiting just far enough ahead.

Kaori shifted the basket higher on her arm once they had finished at the last stall. Hiroshi trotted a half-step ahead, chestnuts clutched proudly in his hands like treasure.

“Ne, Hiro,” Kaori said lightly, “what do you think about stopping by the tower before we go home? We could bring your father a surprise.”

Hiro’s head turned instantly, eyes brightening. “Tou-chan?” he asked, hopeful. The excitement flickered almost at once though, shoulders hunching. “…But the ANBU are there.”

“They’re just doing their jobs,” Kaori reminded him gently, brushing her hand across his hair. “Nothing to worry about when you’re with me.”

Still, as they crossed into the Hokage tower’s grounds, Hiroshi instinctively tugged closer to her side. The ANBU stationed by the gates didn’t speak — they simply moved aside, masked faces unreadable. Hiro tried not to look at them, clutching the chestnuts tighter, his other hand gripping Kaori’s fingers.

Inside, the corridors were quiet but busy. Hiroshi’s sandals scuffed against the polished floor, and each time an ANBU flickered into view — silent and sharp in their movements — his eyes darted down, shoulders rising like he could make himself smaller. He wasn’t afraid of seeing his father, but all the masked shinobi with no faces unsettled him.

When they finally stopped before the doors to Kakashi’s office, Hiro let out a soft breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He held the chestnuts up toward Kaori, his voice lower now. “…Do you think he’ll be happy? Even if it’s just chestnuts?”

Kaori smiled, squeezing his hand. “Of course. He’ll be happiest because they’re from you.”

Kaori slid the door open, Hiroshi padding in at her side.

Kakashi’s head lifted from the paperwork, both eyes visible now, softened instantly when they found his son. The mask was still in place, but the warmth in his gaze carried easily across the room.

Hiroshi faltered just a little when he noticed the ANBU stationed in the corners. His grip on Kaori’s hand tightened.

Kakashi noticed. With a flick of his wrist, the shadows emptied — ANBU gone as if they’d never been there. “Better?” His voice was calm, low, just for Hiroshi.

The boy gave a small nod. He shuffled forward, holding the small paper bag close. “…We brought you something.”

Instead of waiting, Kakashi pushed his chair back and stood, rounding the desk with unhurried steps. When he crouched down in front of his son, the Hokage was gone — only Tou-chan remained.

“For me?” he asked gently.

Hiroshi’s ears turned red as he held out the bag. “Chestnuts. From the market. I thought… you’d like them.”

Kakashi set the bag aside without even opening it. One hand rose, resting on Hiroshi’s small shoulder. The next moment, Hiroshi was folded against his chest, Kakashi’s arm firm around his back.

“Not just like them,” Kakashi murmured into his son’s hair. “I love them. And I love the one who thought of it.”

Hiroshi’s face burned against the cool fabric of the vest. He gave a token squirm, then gave up, fingers curling into Kakashi’s sleeve. Kaori’s quiet laugh slipped into the room, warm as tea.

Kakashi didn’t let go right away, only eased his hold enough to stand, keeping one hand resting on Hiroshi’s shoulder as though anchoring him. He guided him gently toward the small couch near the window — not the Hokage’s desk, but the quieter corner he always used when family slipped in.

Kaori followed, setting the paper bag on the low table. “I told him you’d be buried in work again,” she teased softly, “but he insisted.”

Kakashi sat down, tugging Hiroshi down beside him. The boy perched close, practically folded into his father’s side. Kakashi pulled the bag open and the familiar roasted scent filled the air. “You remembered.” His visible eye creased faintly — a rare, honest smile.

Hiroshi ducked his head. “Tou-chan always eats too fast when kaa-chan makes them. So… I wanted to get extra.”

“Smart,” Kakashi murmured, plucking one chestnut free. He cracked it open with practiced ease, held the half-shell out not for himself, but for Hiroshi.

The boy blinked, then grinned, taking it quickly and popping it into his mouth. “Mm. Perfect.”

Kaori shook her head, but she was smiling too, watching the quiet domesticity replace the heavy air of the office. Kakashi took another for himself, leaned back, and let the silence linger — soft, unhurried, warm.

It was a rare sight: the Sixth Hokage sitting in his office, papers forgotten, with his youngest curled up at his side and roasted chestnuts in hand. For once, it wasn’t a mission, or ANBU reports, or endless duties. Just Tou-chan, kaa-chan, and Hiroshi.

Kakashi leaned back, letting his arm rest across the back of the couch while Hiroshi sat snug against his side. He cracked another chestnut, passing it wordlessly to his son.

“So,” Kakashi asked, voice calm, “what did Konohamaru put you through today?”

Hiroshi perked up a little, swinging his legs. “We sparred, then drills again. He said we have to sharpen everything before the exams.”

“Exams,” Kakashi echoed, his eye narrowing faintly in thought. “Two weeks away. That’s soon.”

Kaori lowered herself onto the armrest, brushing her hand through Hiroshi’s hair. “How did it feel?”

Hiroshi toyed with the metal plate of his hita-ate. “Okay, I guess… Boruto kept complaining we should be doing missions instead of training. And Mitsuki said it’s ‘inefficient’ to repeat the same exercises. But—” his voice dropped softer, more thoughtful, “—I think sensei’s right. If we mess up in two weeks, there’s no retry.”

Kakashi’s hand ruffled his hair lightly, careful not to displace the headband. “That’s called perspective. Not bad.”

Kaori chuckled softly. “He’s getting more like you every day.”

“Mm.” Kakashi hummed, but his gaze lingered on Hiroshi a moment longer, quiet pride in his expression. Then he straightened, stacking the scrolls on his desk into a neat pile. “Go on, you two. Head home before it gets late. I’ll finish here.”

Hiroshi’s face fell a little. “You’re not coming for dinner?”

“Not tonight,” Kakashi admitted, adjusting his cloak. “Too much to finish before the exams.” He bent just enough to press a hand to his son’s shoulder. “But I’ll try not to be late.”

Kaori gave him a long look — half exasperation, half understanding — before reaching for Hiroshi’s hand. “Come on, Hiro-chan. We’ll save him some.”

The boy clung to Kakashi for one last squeeze before letting himself be led out, his small voice drifting back over his shoulder: “You better come home, Tou-chan. Or kaa-chan will be mad.”

Kakashi’s quiet chuckle followed them out the door.

The walk home was quiet, Hiroshi’s small hand tucked into Kaori’s as the market lamps flickered to life one by one. By the time they reached the gate, the scent of simmering broth and fresh rice already drifted from their home.

Inside, Kaori set the groceries down with practiced ease. Hiroshi, eager to help, darted forward to unpack, lining up vegetables in uneven rows on the counter. “See? I can do it faster than nii-san,” he said proudly.

Kaori laughed softly, smoothing his hair. “You’re not in competition, Hiro. But… thank you. That helps.”

Together, they moved around the kitchen — Hiroshi carefully washing carrots under her watchful eye, Kaori chopping with steady rhythm. The boy hummed under his breath, leaning on tiptoes to peek into the bubbling pot. “Kaa-chan, can we make tamagoyaki too? Takeshi-nii likes it… even if he won’t admit it.”

Her smile warmed. “We’ll make some. He’ll know it’s from you.”

When the rice cooker finally clicked and the kitchen filled with soft steam, Kaori tapped Hiroshi’s shoulder. “Bath first, or dinner first?”

“Bath!” Hiroshi decided instantly, puffing his chest out. “Because then I can be extra clean for dinner.”

The ofuro’s warmth wrapped around him like a blanket. Hiroshi sank down with a blissful sigh, cheeks pink from the heat, Kaori sitting at the edge to scrub his hair with gentle fingers. “Tou-chan works too much,” he mumbled, eyes half-lidded. “But… it’s okay. We’ll eat with him tomorrow.”

Kaori’s heart softened. She kissed the crown of his head. “Mm. Tomorrow.”

By the time Hiroshi padded back into the kitchen, hair damp and sticking up in every direction, the table was set. He helped light a single lantern, proud of the small glow it cast over the room. He was halfway through piling rice into bowls when the sliding door creaked open.

Boots at the threshold. A heavier step, familiar.

Takeshi.

He didn’t announce himself. Just dropped his pack by the wall and let out a quiet huff — the sound of a boy still carrying the weight of the day, shoulders tight, sulking even before words were exchanged.

Shiro padded in right behind him, tail sweeping low, as if sensing the mood already.

The door slid shut behind him, wood rattling in its frame.

“Takeshi-nii!” Hiroshi bolted across the room, hair still damp from his bath, grin wide. “You’re home!” He flung his arms forward, eager for a hug.

But Takeshi’s shoulders were stiff, his jaw tight from the weight of the day. He didn’t even slow down — just shifted his arm and nudged his little brother aside, not hard, but enough to make the boy stumble back.

“Not now,” he muttered, pulling his mask higher as though it could hide the storm brewing on his face. His eyes didn’t linger. He didn’t want them to.

Hiroshi blinked, stunned for a second. His smile faltered, dropping into a small frown.

Before the quiet could stretch too long, claws clicked on the floorboards. Shiro trotted up, tail wagging once before bumping his head gently against Hiroshi’s side. A low, friendly whuff escaped him, the kind he never wasted on anyone else but the boy.

Hiroshi’s face softened again. He knelt to wrap his arms around Shiro’s neck, burying his pout into the thick fur. “At least you missed me,” he whispered, the dog’s steady presence already mending the sting of his brother’s brush-off.

From the kitchen, Kaori’s voice drifted in, calm but carrying:
“Takeshi.” Just his name. Enough weight in the syllables to remind him she’d heard every sound at the door.

Takeshi froze halfway out of his sandals, his mother’s tone snagging sharper than any kunai. He didn’t look up, didn’t want to — but he could feel her gaze even through the wall.

“…What?” he muttered, shoulders tense, hand buried in Shiro’s fur for an anchor.

Kaori appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on a towel. Her eyes softened at the sight of Hiroshi clinging to Shiro, but her voice didn’t waver when it shifted back to Takeshi. “You don’t shove your brother away like that. I don’t care what kind of day you had.”

Hiroshi peeked up, lips parting to defend his brother — but Shiro’s warm huff against his ear kept him quiet.

For a heartbeat Takeshi’s jaw worked, ready to snap back. But the sight of Hiroshi still crouched on the floor, small hands knotted in Shiro’s fur, pulled the words out of him before he could bite them back.

“…Gomen.” He said it low, dragging his hand over his face. He crouched down too, awkwardly ruffling Hiroshi’s damp hair. “Didn’t mean it.”

Hiroshi’s pout cracked into a faint grin. “You’re grumpy.”

“Always,” Takeshi muttered, but his lips twitched, the edge of his sulk softening.

Kaori exhaled, towel dropping over her shoulder as she crossed to them, her hand brushing both boys’ heads in one sweep. “Alright. Enough. Dinner’s almost ready. Both of you wash up again — and don’t you dare trail dirt into my clean floors.”

“Yes, kaa-chan,” Hiroshi chirped, springing up with Shiro right behind him.

Takeshi rolled his eyes but followed, mask tugged down just enough to hide the small, tired smile he didn’t want them to see.

The house settled again, warm and whole — the weight of the day slipping into the quiet comfort of family.