Sensei Trap
Kakashi felt bare.
Uncomfortable. Exposed.
The world smelled too much without his mask filtering the air, and he had to actively stop himself from rubbing his eyes where the paint made them feel stiff.
He bit absently down on the scarf wrapped around his neck, worrying the fabric between his teeth as he skulked through the village. His mask usually stopped him from doing it in public, but now, there was nothing between him and the bad habit. He told himself it was just to ease the dull ache of the tooth that had been bothering him all morning, but really, the pressure was grounding.
Still, he had a mission to focus on.
And that was exactly what this was. A mission.
Sukea had framed it as one.
Told him to try infiltrating team Choza for the day. See if he could keep up, and maybe even convince Choza-sensei to finally start letting his team also take on real missions.
So Kakashi marched in like he belonged there, shoulders squared, posture steady.
Genma was the first to arrive after him.
The older boy gave him a long, slow once-over, assessing him in a way that made Kakashi second-guess himself for half a second. But he steeled his resolve—confidence is key, Sukea had emphasized. Just act like you’re supposed to be there, and people will believe it.
Then—
“Ah-ha! A most youthful morning to you all!”
Kakashi barely had time to brace before Guy burst into the clearing, eyes immediately zeroing in on him.
“Sukea! My ever-burning comrade-in-arms! Let us engage in a brief spar to ignite the flames of our passion for training!”
Kakashi almost recoiled.
No. Absolutely not.
His first instinct was to shut it down immediately. Say no. Walk away. Escape.
But then—
He remembered.
He wasn’t Kakashi right now.
He was Sukea.
And Sukea… pretended to be nicer than that.
So, clenching his teeth into what he hoped was a smile, Kakashi forced himself to soften the refusal.
“Not right now. Training’s going to start soon.”
He kept his voice carefully neutral, lifting it into that slightly higher pitch Sukea used around others. He’d been practising the day before.
For a moment, Guy faltered.
His face flickered—almost surprised, almost devastated—before he quickly recovered.
“Ah! You are most diligent in your discipline today! How admirable!”
He clapped Kakashi firmly on the shoulder, nodding sagely.
“Very well! We shall not allow our youthful flames to disrupt team training! Another time, then!”
Kakashi exhaled. Crisis averted.
Or so he thought.
Because Genma was staring at him like he’d grown a second head.
Kakashi had no idea what was supposed to be weird about any of this.
He’d done everything exactly as Sukea had instructed. He was even late!
…Well, five minutes early.
But that was late for him, and it still grated on his nerves.
He didn’t have long to dwell on it, though, because Choza-sensei arrived next.
The man’s sharp gaze flicked over the gathered team—then landed squarely on Kakashi.
There was a moment of hesitation.
Kakashi resisted the urge to stiffen, trying to figure out if he had done something to specifically draw the sensei’s attention.
Was it his expression?
He never had to think about what his face was doing. The mask made it easy—neutral, blank, unreadable. But now? Now, he was hyper-aware of every muscle, every twitch.
He caught himself chewing absently on the cloth at his neck and quickly spat it out. Was he not smiling enough? He tried to fix his face into something friendlier.
Whatever had made Choza pause, he didn’t comment on it. The man clapped his hands together, preparing to start their drills.
Kakashi let out a slow breath.
Good. The hardest part is over with. Now all I have to do is—
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
"A word, Sukea."
Choza didn’t wait for permission. His grip was firm but not forceful as he steered Kakashi away from the others, out of earshot.
Kakashi forced himself to stay calm, running through possible reasons why Choza might be pulling him aside. Did he slip up already? No—impossible. He’d done everything the way Sukea had told him to.
He even smiled.
"Are you feeling alright?" Choza asked, watching him carefully.
Kakashi blinked. What?
"Of course," he answered smoothly. "Why wouldn’t I be?"
Choza studied him for a long moment, his gaze weighing something heavier than just concern.
"You seem a little… off. And you’re here earlier than usual.” the man added, studying him with quiet scrutiny.
That quiet scrutiny sent alarm bells ringing.
Kakashi hesitated. Then, throwing caution to the wind, he forced what he hoped was a reassuring smile—
“Just eager to train with my team today!” he said in that saccharine sweet tone Sukea used to weasel out of trouble, hoping it would be enough. His face hurt from smiling. How does Sukea do this so much?
But Choza’s expression flattened into disappointment.
"I didn’t think you two would try to pull this on me," he finally said, voice too calm. "But Kakashi—where is Sukea?"
Kakashi froze, the expression dropping from his face.
Then immediately flushed, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. Of course he’d have to try harder to fool Sukea’s teacher.
Exhaling, defeated, Kakashi bluntly admitted, “He’s with Team 7. He wanted to go on a mission.”
There was a pause.
Then—Choza sighed.
Without a word, he reached out and gave Kakashi a gentle pat on the head.
"Thank you for being honest," Choza said, voice kind but firm. "I hope you enjoy training with us today, but don’t do this again—or I might actually have to tell Minato to read up on his students’ updated files."
Kakashi wondered if they would be practising nature releases in training today so he could let the earth just swallow him whole.
—
Sukea knew he’d thrown Kakashi to the dogs this morning.
It’s pretty much how he taught his genin—sink or swim. He wasn’t going to hold the kid’s hand the whole way.
Besides, failing in a controlled setting builds character.
Sure, they looked alike, but Kakashi still carried himself just a little too stiffly and smiled like it physically hurt when he forced it. It was a small mercy that Sukea didn’t actually need the kid to mimic him perfectly—just distract Chōza long enough for Sukea to scope out the current state of missions in this time.
He was getting a little antsy being sedentary for so long. He’d been tied to the village as Hokage and just as he was about to get his freedom, he suddenly has the life of a village-bound genin. If he knew what he was working with, he might even be able to get his team onto a few missions without waiting for Chōza-sensei’s approval.
He plans to just slip right into team 7 as Kakashi but Sukea is a little shocked to note that Team 7 is already slightly different to Sukea’s timeline.
His first clue came when—
“Why can’t I team up with Rin?” Obito groaned, dragging his feet like a sulking child.
Minato, ever patient, didn’t even sigh. “We’re rotating partners on these small D-rank missions so you get to know the strengths and weaknesses of your teammates better.” His voice was calm, like he had explained this a hundred times before. “It’s important for when we start riskier missions. You’ve worked with Rin a lot while you were in the Academy, and I’ve spent a lot of time working one-on-one with Kakashi so we need to learn to work with everyone else, okay?”
Sukea frowned slightly. That’s different.
In his own timeline, Minato had mostly let the team dynamic sort itself out. Even hinged his bell test on them figuring out teamwork themselves. It wasn’t bad—it was just standard. Most jōnin teachers let their squads form their own rhythm. But here, he was actively reshuffling them and… focusing on team building?
That was interesting.
Minato handed the pouting Uchiha a mission scroll like a peace offering.
Obito still looked like he wanted to argue—until he saw what mission he was assigned.
A grocery run.
For one of his grannies.
Sukea nearly laughed at how fast Obito’s complaints died as the boy grabbed his sleeve and practically dragged him along without hesitation.
“Fine! Whatever! Just hurry up, Bakashi!”
—
The woman wasn’t the same one Sukea had met before, but it hardly mattered.
Obito latched onto her immediately, falling into step beside her like she hung the moon and stars. She didn’t even need to call him over—just tilted her head slightly, and he was there, an eager shadow at her side, peppering her with rapid-fire questions before she’d even finished stepping out the door.
Kakashi, meanwhile, must have done a mission with her before. She didn’t bother with introductions, just greeted him with a brisk, “Hatake-kun.” before Obito stole her attention again.
“So where are we going? Are we getting extra stuff? Are you making something special?” He prattled off.
“Shush.” She chided, amused. “You’ll find out after your next clan training session.”
Obito huffed but backed down, his curiosity momentarily subdued.
That’s another new thing, Obito has clan training?
Sukea followed at a careful distance as they started toward the market. The mission was simple—carry her groceries, and keep her company. That was all. And yet, the way Obito zeroed in on the task, how he kept close to her side, how his shoulders squared as they walked…
It felt like a guard mission.
Protective, Sukea realized. Obito was being protective.
Not in an obvious way—no glaring at passersby or posturing like some bodyguard, but his attention was sharper, his movements more deliberate. And, apparently, he had an exact plan for where they were going.
Sukea noticed when they passed several shops that had what they needed, yet Obito didn’t even glance at them. Instead, he led them deeper into the market district.
“Why aren’t we stopping?” Sukea eventually asked after the third store.
Obito barely spared him a glance. “I thought I told you last time, Bakashi. Those stores don’t serve Uchiha.”
His tone was flat. Unbothered. Like it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Like it wasn’t something that should have raised an alarm.
Sukea blinked, momentarily thrown. He’d known that by the time Naruto was born, the village had turned against the Uchiha—but he hadn’t realized the exclusion had started this early.
Then again… Sukea immediately started tallying up his own list—shops he refused to go to, vendors who treated him like an extension of his father, blamed him for the war and a few he’d seen refuse service to Naruto in the past… future? Whatever. Regardless, many of them no longer existed by the time Sukea was Hokage. That kind of… exclusivity quickly lost a lot of merchants any clientele even more so after Naruto became the obvious next choice for Hokage and actively squashed those kinds of business practices.
Sukea exhaled quietly through his nose, trying to smooth his expression. Things were like how they used to be, and he needed to remind himself of that.
So he followed Obito’s lead. Because even if the kid was a bit of an oddball in his family, he is still an Uchiha and was the more experienced one in this mission. And Sukea… Sukea started mentally updating his list.
The shopping itself was uneventful, though it took them trekking halfway across Konoha to specific stores—no wonder Obito was always late. By the time they finished, Obito’s ‘Granny’ pressed a piece of candy into each of their hands in thanks.
Sukea tried to refuse. She very firmly insisted.
He begrudgingly stuffed it into his pocket, resolving to deal with it later.
—
Back at the training grounds, Minato was engaged in conversation with Rin, who had clearly wrapped up their mission long before Sukea and Obito. The moment the two arrived, Rin and Minato snapped to attention, as if they had been waiting for them.
Sukea wasted no time, immediately grabbing the mission scroll and filling out the details, just like his younger self always insisted on doing. With a quick glance at his teammates, he squared his shoulders and adopted the eager stance of a child desperate to prove himself.
“I can take the mission scrolls to the desk and grab our next assignments, Sensei,” he said, holding out his hand with a slight, almost too serious for his age arrogance. “We slowed down the schedule, and it’ll be faster if just one of us goes. I’m the fastest.”
It was a new suggestion for Kakashi to make at this age, but not an outlandish one. The kid always tried to take on extra responsibilities to prove how much more ‘mature’ he was than his teammates. Sukea was just… nudging that instinct a little earlier than expected.
More importantly, he needed access to the mission desk. If he could go alone, it would make the next part of his personal scouting mission even easier.
Minato gave him a slightly curious look, no doubt noting the sudden enthusiasm, but he ultimately seemed grateful to not have to drag three genin up to the mission desk himself.
“That would be very helpful, Kakashi. Thank you!” Minato beamed, handing over the completed scroll without a second thought.
Sukea took it with a firm nod, turned on his heel, and ran off.
Mission success.
—
The moment Sukea arrived at the mission assignment desk, he focused—not just on submitting team Minato’s mission scrolls, but on how the system worked.
Konoha’s method for mission distribution had shifted over time, adapting to different needs and oversight levels. In peacetime, strict checks ensured teams only took assignments they were authorized for.
But during war?
There were gaps.
And those gaps? He just needed to test which ones were still open.
He stepped up to the desk, sliding over the completed mission scrolls. The shinobi behind the counter barely glanced at them before accepting them. When Sukea casually requested two new assignments, they didn’t even check the ledger to confirm whether his team had clearance.
Why would they?
They already had the mission scrolls in hand. That meant his team obviously had permission, right?
Sukea flicked a glance at the shinobi on duty helping other teams, quietly cataloguing who actually followed protocol. Some checked the books, as they were supposed to. But many relied purely on assumption.
He made note of who did what and tucked that information away.
Then, with a fresh set of assignments in hand, he returned to the team, holding them up proudly.
Minato praised him for a job well done, and Sukea flushed a little—people didn’t really praise him for such small things anymore.
Minato barely glanced at the scrolls before making a decision.
"We should swap teams again before heading out."
—
Their next mission?
A D-rank war mission.
Unlike regular D-ranks, these weren’t requests from civilians. These were assignments issued directly by the village to help ease the burden of the war outside their walls.
This time, he was paired with Rin and sent to the hospital to assist with incoming injured shinobi from the frontlines.
Sukea hated hospitals.
Even though he wasn’t there as a patient, the sterile smell, the hushed tension, the quiet groans of pain from behind closed doors—it all put him on edge. But he sucked it up and forced himself into mission mode.
Since Rin was their team’s medic, he let her take the lead.
Or, at least, tried to.
The moment the nurses realized Rin could use any healing jutsu, she was practically abducted. Never mind that she was still learning—her presence was immediately claimed.
Sukea attempted to stay close, but the best he could do was run errands. Fetching supplies. Carrying messages. Small, simple tasks to keep things moving.
He had some field medic training—basic stitching, bandaging—but he didn’t offer it.
Not with the looks some of the older shinobi gave him.
Blame.
They recognized him.
Whispers followed him through the hallways, low and bitter.
"He should be on the frontlines."
"Should be making up for this war his father started."
Sukea ignored them.
Or tried to.
The nurses, at least, had tact. None suggested he should directly help with the injured like some of the other genin on similar missions.
And—thankfully—none of the older shinobi said anything loud enough for Rin to hear.
—
“You could have been a little nicer about telling them our time was up, Kakashi.”
No he couldn’t. The nurses are vicious, but admitting that would be a sign of weakness so instead Sukea shrugged. “That would have taken longer. Also, I’m pretty sure those nurses would keep you forever if no one objected.”
Rin made a small sound of protest but didn’t argue. She knew he was right.
She looked exhausted, shoulders slumped under the weight of all the chakra she had spent healing.
They were waiting at the training grounds for Minato and Obito, and whatever those two had been up to was clearly taking longer than expected.
Eventually, they ran over—late.
Minato looked harried, a bit out of breath, and Sukea was fairly confident he was late for something with Kushina. His suspicions were confirmed when their teacher rushed out in one breath—
“Okay, I need one of you to take these to the mission desk for me, I have something urgent to get to.”
Minato’s eyes drifted to Sukea after noticing how tired Rin was but Obito perked up immediately, looking expectantly at Minato. Eager to prove himself, too.
Their sensei hesitated—but only for a moment.
Whatever he was late for must have been important because he checked the time, winced, and then thrust the scroll into Obito’s hands without a second thought.
“Okay, Obito, your turn! And don’t forget to fill out our scroll before you hand it in!”
With that, Minato dismissed them and sprinted off, Rin then also excused herself because she needed to go rest properly.
That left just Sukea and Obito.
Obito held out his hand expectantly to Sukea. “Mission scroll.”
Sukea shook his head. “Still working on it.”
Obito scowled but didn’t push—yet.
They sat together in near silence, working.
Sukea could have finished his report easily. He had long since cracked the code on how to fill them out with minimal effort.
But instead, he waited.
And watched.
Obito was struggling.
His grip on the pen tightened with every frustrated scribble. The forms weren’t hard, but they were worded weirdly, packed with redundant bureaucratic nonsense.
And now that Sukea thought about it… when would Obito have even filled one in before?
Minato had handled it for their first mission.
Kakashi usually took charge of them for any mission he was on.
Rin probably tried to take turns, but she hadn’t been on a mission with Obito yet.
Which meant…
Obito had no idea what he was doing.
He couldn’t outright help. Obito would take it as an insult.
But what if…?
Sukea let out a deliberately put-upon sigh.
“Obito, if you’re going to take so long, at least be useful. I’m going to use you as a sounding board for my report.”
Obito glared but didn’t object.
Sukea took that as permission.
“So, you know the main mission report section? The part where we just recount what happened?” He let his voice dip into casual suggestion. “I was thinking of just writing their own mission request back to them, then adding anything that deviated, to save time.”
He said it pointedly.
Clearly.
Obito’s pen stilled.
Then, Sukea let out another exaggerated sigh. “And what’s with the wording of these questions? If they wanted to know if we encountered another team and what they did, they should just say that.”
He could see the gears turning in Obito’s head.
Then—furious scribbling.
Sukea smirked internally.
When Obito’s pen stilled again, Sukea huffed dramatically.
“And the next question? I’m pretty sure this could just be a yes or no answer. I saw Sensei do that once when he was in a hurry.”
Obito’s smirk of triumph was almost immediate. He rerolled his finished scroll and held out his hand again, waiting for Sukea’s.
Sukea tucked it protectively against himself.
“Still working on it.”
Obito frowned. “Minato-sensei said I had to take the scrolls to the mission desk.”
Sukea hummed as if considering. Then, casually, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the candy from Obito’s granny, holding it out.
“Tell Minato that you took both scrolls. I’ll hand mine in when I’m done.”
Obito gawked. “Are you blackmailing me?!”
Sukea tilted his head. “Actually, I’m bribing you. Blackmail would be if I said, ‘Do it, or I’ll tell Sensei you had no idea how to fill out a mission scroll.’”
Flat tone. No smirk. No teasing inflection.
Kakashi hadn’t learned yet how to pull his punches. Or how to make them hit harder with a smile.
Obito flushed, he’s not sure if it was from anger or embarrassment and it didn’t seem to matter because the kid then snatched the candy, muttering about stupid Bakashi jerks, before storming off with one scroll clutched tightly in his hands.
Sukea stretched lazily, suppressing a smirk.
He couldn’t believe that actually worked.
Tucking his own scroll into his bag, he dismissed any thought of turning it in today.
He had other plans.
Right now, he was far more interested in seeing just how badly Kakashi had failed at pretending to be him.
—
Sukea arrived home to the sight of Kakashi nervously chewing on the edge of his mask.
He’d showered and changed out of Sukea’s training clothes, but the fabric at the corner of his around-the-house mask was visibly frayed from where he’d been gnawing on it.
Sukea should probably tell him to stop.
That was probably how he’d lost half his puppy teeth as a kid—getting them caught in the tough ninja fabric.
…Maa, he turned out fine. The teeth grew back, he grew out of the habit—mostly. It was probably a normal beast clan thing.
Probably.
But that wasn’t his main focus.
Sukea leaned against the doorway, arms crossing loosely.
“So,” he drawled, just a little teasing, “how was training?”
Kakashi pouted. “I failed.”
“How badly?”
His younger self looked surprised at how unsurprised he sounded before scowling and grumbling, “Choza-sensei figured it out immediately and said if he catches us swapping again, he’s going to tell Minato.”
Sukea shrugged, unconcerned.
“Then don’t get caught next time.”
Kakashi huffed but nodded, like that was actually reasonable advice.
“Anything else happen?” He probed further. He knew he could probably request an actual mission report out of the kid but that wasn’t a healthy dynamic to add into their home.
The boy tilted his head, thoughtful. “Genma kept giving me weird looks?”
Now that was interesting.
Genma wasn’t stupid. A little too relaxed at times, maybe, but sharp when it counted. If he was looking at Kakashi funny, it meant he’d noticed something.
Still, after a quick casual interrogation, Sukea determined although the weaknesses he’s picked out played a factor in rousing some suspicion, the biggest giveaway had probably been his punctuality.
Because to Kakashi, showing up five minutes early was the same as being late.
Of all the things.
Sukea groaned, ruffling his own hair in frustration, before begrudgingly deciding to start showing up on time sometimes—just to make what Kakashi did look a little less suspicious.
—
The following day, Sukea resigned himself to an unfortunate fate—standing at their training ground, arms crossed, waiting.
Early.
And the moment Genma arrived, the kid immediately shot him a look of deep, unwavering suspicion.
Sukea pretended not to notice.
“Morning,” he greeted, casual as anything.
Genma squinted, eyes narrowing as if trying to peer into his very soul.
“…You’re never here before me.” A slow pause. “This is the second day it’s happened.” His stare intensified. “You’re up to something.”
Sukea put on his best innocent face. “Me? Never.”
Genma huffed, clearly not buying it, but before he could press further—
A thunderous yell split the air.
“Sukea! My ever-burning comrade-in-arms!”
Guy came barreling onto the scene, mid-sprint, arms pumping, eyes blazing with the fire of youth.
“You’re early again! I believe this time there should be enough time for a quick spar to get our blood pumping! Do you accept my challenge?!”
Sukea grinned. Perfect distraction.
“Of course,” he said immediately, barely bracing himself before Guy launched into a flying roundhouse kick. He ducked, weaving away as their usual playful scuffle ensued—quick footwork, exaggerated attacks, laughter bubbling between blows.
This time, Sukea won.
Guy dropped into a crouch, hands braced on his knees, panting.
“I must endeavour to work harder!” he declared, determined despite his exhaustion. “Not only have I lost our challenge, but I was the last to arrive!”
He lamented the fact as though it were some great personal tragedy.
Genma, despite himself, looked a little less suspicious.
But he still wasn’t dropping it.
Genma crossed his arms, eyes narrowing again. “I’m not letting you brush me off. Spill it.”
Sukea blinked, all wide-eyed innocence. “Spill what?”
“The reason you’re actually here on time.” Genma’s stare sharpened. “You’re never on time. You’re clearly up to something.”
Sukea sighed, feigning offence. “You make it sound like I’m late all the time.”
“You are.”
Guy, despite still catching his breath, nodded far too enthusiastically.
“Yes! You are the last to arrive almost every time! I tried to challenge myself to ensure you came to training on time, but somehow you have bested me even in this endeavour!”
…Okay. Fair. But still.
It was clear Genma wasn’t letting this go. And honestly? Sukea really didn’t want them playing amateur detective and stumbling into some variation of the complex disaster that is his relation to Kakashi. So, he shifted tactics—throwing them a bone.
With a sigh—just enough exasperation to make it believable—Sukea let his shoulders drop, as if worn down by their persistence. Then, flashing them both an easygoing grin, he relented.
“Fine. I’m trying to be a good boy because I’m working on a plan to get us assigned real missions.”
Genma crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Chōza-sensei said we’d start missions when he thinks we’re ready.”
Sukea grinned, sensing weakness. “Didn’t peg you for a goody-two-shoes, Genma.”
A deliberate jab—one he knew would land.
Genma might act tough, but at his core, he was a rule-follower. Sure, he pushed boundaries—susceptible to peer pressure like any kid—but this was a guy who ended up on the Hokage Guard and occasionally ANBU. That kind of job didn’t go to just anyone.
Not that Sukea could judge. He was a rule-follower too. He just knew the rules well enough to know where he could bend them to fit his needs.
Predictably, Genma bristled.
“If you’ve got some big plan, then what is it?!”
Sukea smirked.
“If you and Guy are willing to stay after training,” he said, slow and deliberate, “I’ll show you.”
—
The moment Chōza-sensei laid eyes on Sukea that morning, his gaze narrowed.
Then, without preamble, he grabbed Sukea by the shoulder and dragged him aside.
Sukea barely had time to groan before the interrogation started.
“Are you actually you today?” Chōza asked, arms crossed, his voice thick with scepticism.
Sukea blinked. “…What?”
Chōza sighed, clearly exasperated. “Don’t play dumb.” His sharp gaze raked over him, assessing.
Ah.
So this was his life now.
Apparently, showing up on time twice was so wildly out of character that his own teacher thought he was still possibly Kakashi in disguise.
Like he would pull the same trick twice.
Sukea rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. It’s me.”
Chōza frowned, unconvinced. “Prove it.”
Sukea huffed. “What do you want? A full biography? My favourite food? A detailed retelling of that time Guy challenged me to an eating competition and why we can never go back to that restaurant?”
Chōza’s expression flattened. “So it is you.”
Sukea smirked. “Told you.”
Rather than looking relieved, Chōza pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. Then, his gaze turned sharp.
“You skipped team training.”
Sukea shrugged. “Technically, I attended a team—”
“You let your brother impersonate you and skipped OUR training,” Chōza corrected, his tone unimpressed. “That’s immature, irresponsible, and part of why I think you still need to be in training.”
Sukea scoffed. Him? Immature? Please.
But before he could fire back, Chōza turned away. “Go warm up. You’re not weaselling out of training again.”
And that was that.
The session went on as normal—drills, spars, and by the end of it, as was customary, Chōza provided a post-training lunch before heading off, leaving them to their own devices.
Which meant—
It was time.
Sukea zeroed in on his teammates.
“Well?” he asked, spreading his hands expectantly. “You guys ready for a mission?”
Genma hesitated.
His ingrained sense of responsibility warred with his curiosity.
Meanwhile, Guy—predictably—was already clenching a fist with absolute resolve.
“If it will push our youthful progress forward, then of course!”
Genma let out a sharp breath, then scowled. “Fine,” he muttered. “But this better not be something stupid.”
Sukea smirked.
“Oh,” he said, already pulling a mission scroll from his pocket, “I promise—this is very serious business.”
—
Sukea led them to the mission office, it was a little busy so they stood to one side.
Genma leaned against the wall, watching carefully as another team entered the mission office. They stepped up to the desk, requested a mission, and—since they didn’t already have a scroll—the chunin on duty checked the ledger.
And, of course, it didn’t help that today’s desk was manned by one of the sterner chunin, the kind that actually bothered to check if a team had permission.
Genma shot Sukea a wary look, silently asking: ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’
Sukea simply grinned.
They waited.
Eventually, the shift changed, and the sterner chunin was replaced with one significantly more lax. That’s when Sukea struck.
He strolled up to the desk, Team 7’s previous mission scroll in hand, and handed it over.
And, as expected, the chunin barely even looked at it.
Then, when Sukea requested a new mission, they unthinkingly handed him one.
He turned, walking back to where Genma and Guy were waiting, grinning triumphantly.
Genma gave him an incredulous look.
Sukea, radiating confidence, handed off the scroll. “See? If you already have a mission scroll, they just assume you’re cleared for another one. No questions asked.”
Then, before they could grill him on where he even got the first scroll from, Sukea led them off to actually do the mission.
It went well.
More than well.
In fact, once Guy caught on, he and Sukea started to get… a little competitive.
And when Guy and Sukea got competitive, it meant mission after mission was completed at high speed, fueled by stubborn determination and youthful vigor.
By the time they were finally wrapping up, Sukea even graciously showed them how to fill in the mission debriefs—Mostly so they could do them for him in the future.
—
Apparently, someone had started recognizing them.
And one of the stickler ninja had checked the mission records—And realized that they weren’t actually authorized to take on missions yet.
…They soon found themselves in the Hokage’s office.
The air in the Hokage’s office was thick with tension.
Genma looked mortified.
Even Guy—who usually had an unwavering fire in his eyes—seemed slightly cowed.
Sukea?
Well.
Maybe he felt a little guilty.
But he’d stuffed that down beneath a very neutral expression, arms crossed as he studied the Third Hokage, who puffed on his pipe in a way that absolutely was meant to intimidate them. Sukea certainly didn’t miss that smell…
Choza, standing stiffly beside them, seemed torn between distress and sheer disbelief.
“Why?” Their sensei pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. How?”
He could throw Obito under the cart for not actually taking back the mission scrolls he should have, but abandoning a comrade would make him scum so he stayed quiet.
The Hokage let the question hang in the air for a long moment before realising he’s not getting an answer and instead shifting, reaching for a nearby in-tray.
He pulled out a small stack of mission scrolls and set them on the desk in front of him.
“Can you explain what these are?”
Sukea glanced at them. “Mission scrolls.”
“Correct.” The Hokage exhaled a slow stream of smoke. “Mission scrolls. Completed by your team, too.”
A pause.
“The funny thing is, though, I don’t recall Team 23 applying to start receiving missions yet.”
Sukea shrugged. “That’s because sensei hasn’t applied.”
“They aren’t ready yet,” Choza cut in, firm and unwavering.
The Hokage hummed, levelling them all with a heavy gaze. “And what do you boys have to say about this?”
Genma, stiff beside him, looked like he might throw up on the spot.
Guy shifted his weight, visibly gearing up for one of his usual impassioned speeches about youth and determination.
Sukea, deciding to cut that off before it got out of hand, stepped forward instead.
He tilted his head, meeting the Hokage’s gaze with the diplomacy of far too many years of being forced to wear the hat himself.
“Technically,” Sukea said smoothly, hands folded neatly behind his back, “we haven’t done anything wrong.”
The Third Hokage raised an eyebrow.
A lesser man might have wilted under that gaze.
Sukea was not a lesser man.
“We’re in wartime,” he continued, tone measured. “And the Ninja Handbook explicitly mandates that all shinobi who are able must take on missions to lighten the burden on their comrades.”
He let that hang in the air for a beat before adding, “Your permission is a courtesy, not a requirement.”
Silence.
Genma went pale. His eyes flicked between Sukea and the Hokage like he was watching someone light a fuse on an explosive tag.
Even Guy—loud, enthusiastic, unshakable Guy—was stunned into silence.
Chōza opened his mouth, then closed it again. His expression was a mix of exasperation and shock.
And to Sukea’s quiet amusement, even the Hokage himself looked taken aback. Just for a brief moment.
He really shouldn’t be.
Kakashi had quoted the rulebook all the time. Why wouldn’t he?
This particular clause—the one he’d just cited—was still in effect in this timeframe. The Founders had never written it out when the village was formed, assuming the Academy system would prevent unprepared children from becoming ninja in the first place.
They hadn’t accounted for the gradual lowering of graduation ages.
Hiruzen had largely ignored the rule in practice, allowing mission assignments to be handled through team applications, which was mostly just a village filing system, but he’d never officially removed it.
Tsunade, however, had done a full overhaul of the system while she was in office and had gotten rid of it entirely but Sukea still knew all versions of the rulebook inside and out.
Then, slowly, the Hokage leaned back in his chair, regarding Sukea with a considering look.
Sukea refused to break rank. His expression remained blank, neutral, unreadable.
Then, after a long pause, Hiruzen finally turned his gaze to Chōza.
Without a word, he picked up one of the mission scrolls from his desk and handed it over.
“I’m not sure about you,” the Hokage mused, “but I think they’re ready.”
Chōza—stubborn as ever—grumbled under his breath before reluctantly unrolling the scroll.
His sharp eyes scanned over Sukea’s scribbly-but-efficient handwriting. The debrief was concise, accurate, and even included a notation from the chūnin supervisor about how the requester had praised their speed and efficiency.
Chōza’s expression twitched.
Then he flipped through the other scrolls. All from the short few hours they’d gone undetected.
His frown deepened.
Sukea resisted the urge to grin.
Finally, Chōza sighed, rubbing at his temple before muttering:
“…Fine. It seems that I can’t actually stop you from taking on missions.”
Sukea internally cheered.
“But,” Chōza added, voice firm, “I’m ensuring you stick to D-ranks while we’re following my training plan—and until I think you’re mature enough for C-ranks. Got it?”
He had a foot in the door. Sukea had won.