Chapter 12
Sukea stared at the mission scroll in his hands, rereading it just to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood.
Nope.
It was exactly as bad as he thought.
Mission desk duty.
Across from him, Genma practically vibrated with excitement. “Wow. I can’t believe they trust us with this! That’s a huge responsibility, right?”
Sukea exhaled slowly through his nose. He knew exactly what this was.
This wasn’t about trust.
This was about punishment.
After his little stunt to supersede Choza sensei to get a mission, someone must have decided they needed more eyes on him. So now, instead of being out on a real mission, he was stuck here, buried under the most mind-numbing work Konoha had to offer at its central hub.
And to make it worse—
“Oi! No more challenges, you two!” one of the clerks barked, pointing directly at Sukea and Guy.
Guy groaned in protest, still mid-arm wrestle with him. “But we’re just—”
“No!” the clerk snapped. “You’re distracting everyone! We’re splitting you up—Sukea, Genma, you’re on inbound scroll sorting duty. Guy, you’re on delivery runs to the archives. Move!”
Sukea sighed as Guy was herded off, still looking like he might protest before ultimately jogging off to his new task at the glare of the clerk.
And that’s how he found himself elbow-deep in the tedious world of mission filing.
—
It was awful.
The work was simple—mind-numbingly simple. Sort the completed mission scrolls into their proper categories, update the records, and make sure everything was accounted for.
Chūnin clerks bustled around them, keeping an eye on their work while occasionally throwing Sukea particularly suspicious glances.
Sukea ignored them.
Genma, on the other hand, still looked a little starry-eyed at being “trusted” with what was normally a D-rank job for chūnin. His enthusiasm hadn’t faded in the slightest, and now he was giving Sukea an impressed look.
“Huh,” he said, watching as Sukea skimmed through a scroll, signed the ledger beside him, and tossed it into one of the labelled boxes with practised efficiency.
Three separate chūnin had already tried to “catch” him doing something wrong—only to turn red-faced when they double-checked his work and found it flawless.
He was already faster than some of the full-time clerks.
“You’re actually really good at this, Sukea.” Genma praised.
Sukea didn’t even look up.
“Genma,” he said, voice flat, “I hate this so much. I’m getting this done quickly so I can leave quickly. If I ever become a desk ninja, I want you to take a senbon and jam it in me right here.”
He lifted a hand and tapped a precise spot on his neck—one he knew would be instantly fatal, probably painless and situated in most people’s blind-spot.
Only after the words left his mouth did he realize he probably shouldn’t be joking like that to this young, bright-eyed, genin Genma.
But instead of looking disturbed, Genma just blinked. Then, very seriously, asked:
“Would you prefer poison on the tip, or just a clean kill?”
Sukea finally looked up, narrowing his eyes and reevaluating how much of himself he was allowed to be.
“Surprise me.”
Genma grinned.
—
“Sukea! Since you’ve finished sorting that section, take this box of documents up to the Hokage for approval.”
Finally. A break from paperwork hell.
Sukea grabbed the box and slipped out into the hallway, weaving through the familiar corridors of the Hokage Tower.
The building never really changed other than fresh coats of paint since it was built in the Founding era.
He had just reached the Hokage’s office when the door swung open—
—and Danzo Shimura stepped out.
Sukea barely stopped himself from stiffening.
The man didn’t even glance at him, brushing past like he was nothing more than background noise.
And that was good. That was how it should be.
Sukea designed his appearance to be nondescript. Just another faceless shinobi, barely worth acknowledging but he made sure he was known enough to those who matter that if something happened to him, people would notice.
Still, his hands clenched involuntarily around the box.
Every instinct in his body screamed at him to take out the threat.
He forced himself to relax, watching as Danzo disappeared down the hall.
Not yet. He had to be smarter about it and find an opportunity and the middle of a war wasn’t it, the vacuum of power could change the tides for the worst. Besides, even if he wanted to—and no matter how much better the world would be if he did—he couldn’t cover it up that quickly. He’s not going to throw his current life away so stupidly.
Then, before the office door could fully close from the man’s exit, Sukea slipped inside.
—
“More work, Hokage-sama.” Sukea cheerfully announced.
Hiruzen almost jumped. Sukea had practically materialized out of thin air, fresh paperwork in hand.
The man’s gaze flicked up, sharp—then softened when he recognized who it was. And, more importantly, tried not to grimace at the size of the stack Sukea was holding.
The man exhaled, long-suffering. “Just put them over there.”
Sukea beamed brighter.
“Oh, I can’t do that.” His voice was cheerful, almost sweet. “The head chuunin at the front desk wants them done now.”
Technically, he might have been stretching the truth about their urgency. But the Hokage deserved this minor inconvenience.
For approving his team to take this mission type.
For giving Danzo a seat at his table.
For prioritising whatever document the Warhawk had left half-unrolled at Hiruzen’s side, the faint scrawl of ink visible just beneath the man’s fingers—
Sukea’s eyes flicked to it.
A ROOT transfer request.
More ANBU funneled into Danzo’s grasp.
His expression didn’t change. His smile stayed pleasant.
As he stepped forward, he dumped the stack of documents directly on top of it. Burying it so it will likely never see the light of day again.
—
Team Minato stood in a loose formation, watching as their teacher prepared their next lesson. Today, Minato had decided to focus on summoning animals.
“We’re going to start taking C-ranks outside of the village soon, so I want to familiarise you with some of my summons since they can help me pass messages along or assist you in the event we get separated out there.” he informs holding up a scroll.
With a casual, practised motion, Minato bit his thumb, swiped the blood across the seal, and pressed his palm to the ground.
A puff of smoke exploded outward.
When it cleared, a small toad sat in front of them.
Obito and Rin had clearly not expected that.
“A toad?” Obito blurted, staring.
Rin tilted her head. “Oh. I thought you’d summon something… fluffier?”
Minato chuckled. “There are many different kinds of summons,” he explained patiently. “I just happened to sign a contract with the toads. This one was actually passed down to me by my Sensei.”
Obito’s eyes widened in alarm, “I don’t want it! Kakashi can have this!” Obito insisted as if Minato was demanding one of them had to take it next, Rin nodded, watching as the little toad gave an unimpressed croak.
“None of you have to sign with my summons if you don’t want to and you certainly can’t make Kakashi sign one.” Minato admonished, “Not only is that mean but I’m pretty sure he already has one and not many summons are okay with a person signing more than one contract.”
Meanwhile, Kakashi had stayed silent.
Until Minato turned to him.
“I am correct in you having a summoning contract, right?”
Kakashi blinked, momentarily thrown. “Uh… yeah.”
He had mentioned to his sensei that he was planning on using his families summoning scroll when he had freshly became his first student. He’d wanted help and Minato had explained the mechanics, made it sound very simple and then given him a speech about teamwork and forming bonds with his summons.
It hadn't mattered. His father’s hounds had rejected him. The contract hadn’t been passed down properly, and without their approval, he couldn’t summon them.
Minato’s smile warmed. “Would you mind demonstrating? It would be a good idea to know what summons you have in case we need the help on a mission.”
That was a problem.
Kakashi’s stomach twisted, but his face remained impassive.
Yes, he had the scroll. No, he hadn’t actually managed to summon anything yet.
But there was no way he was admitting that. Not in front of Obito.
Without a word, he dug into his pack, pulling out the old, well-worn summoning scroll.
He unrolled it, quickly checking his name. Still there. That was a good sign—it meant they would likely give him another chance to still make an agreement.
He glanced at Minato. Then at his teammates.
It would work this time.
He was stronger now. More skilled. He just had to try harder.
He broke the skin on his thumb with a kunai, let the blood well, and then pressed his palm firmly against the scroll.
The seal activated.
A sharp burst of chakra. A puff of smoke.
Kakashi braced himself.
The smoke cleared—
—and there, sitting in front of him, was a tiny, grumpy-looking puppy.
The pup blinked. Once. Then narrowed its eyes like it was judging him.
Obito made a strangled noise like he was holding in laughter. “Pfft—”
Rin clasped her hands together. “Aww!”
—
Sukea was tired.
He’d thought retirement would free him from the soul-crushing responsibility of paperwork. But somehow, he’d ended up roped back in. Worse, he’d taken far too much amusement in outperforming the chūnin assigned to the mission desk, which—predictably—ensured that his name got added to the roster for regular assistance. He was pretty sure that would’ve happened even if he’d purposely done a terrible job with how a few scrolls had been added to a mission out tray labeled with his team’s number when they arrived.
Still, at least the day was over.
On his way home, he picked up a new novel, eager to unwind on the couch with something that wasn’t another mission report.
And that’s exactly what he was doing when Kakashi returned.
The sound of the door opening barely registered as Sukea flipped a page. He didn’t look up—not at first.
Then his gaze caught on the small bundle cradled in Kakashi’s arms.
Something small. Something warm. Something alive.
Sukea’s focus sharpened. His book snapped shut. Excitement sparked in his chest as he surged forward, eyes locked onto the tiny creature nestled in the folds of Kakashi’s uniform.
The bundle shifted—
—revealing a tiny, wrinkled puppy.
Short legs kicked feebly. Dark, blinking eyes peered up at them, and Sukea could already see the beginnings of the grumpy, jowly expression that would one day become all too familiar.
His face lit up.
“Pakkun!”
Kakashi gave a slow nod, swaying just slightly on his feet. His chakra signature—usually sharp and steady—flickered weakly at the edges.
“I summoned him,” Kakashi explained, clearly proud of himself. “But he’s still too little, so I’ve been feeding him chakra to help build his reserves.”
Sukea squinted.
“…Are you about to pass out?”
Kakashi, as if deeply insulted by the very idea, immediately straightened his spine.
“No.”
His voice was steady.
His hands, however, were trembling.
Which meant yes.
“Gimme.” he made grabby hands towards Pakkun.
Kakashi hesitated.
For all of half a second.
Then his entire body wobbled, and without another word, he dumped the tiny pug straight into Sukea’s waiting arms.
Sukea barely managed to catch Pakkun before Kakashi’s knees nearly gave out. The kid swayed where he stood, posture going rigid with sheer stubbornness. His breathing was short and uneven—like he was trying to pretend he wasn’t one deep inhale away from faceplanting onto the floor.
The joy of holding a puppy washed away most of Sukea’s fatigue.
But looking down at Kakashi…
Yeah. His job for the day wasn’t over yet.
Actually… this might explain why Sukea didn’t really remember when he first got Pakkun.
This exact moment. Right here… He’s got the next few days off so it’s not like anyone would notice if he passed out from chakra exhaustion for the next few days and Pakkun is too little to have formed any memories with specifics. He’d once asked the pug and he sheepishly admitted that he just remembered that he’d fed him so much chakra on his first summoning that he had a nap and wanted to stay with him forever.
Sukea sighed, shifting Pakkun into the crook of one arm before dragging Kakashi toward the couch—where his new novel now had to wait.
Settling in, he ran a hand through Pakkun’s puppy-soft fur, testing a small trickle of chakra, before determining that Kakashi had given him enough. The fact that the small amount even worked though confirms that he still counts as the pup's summoner too… good to know.
Then his focus shifted to the pale, chakra-drained child beside him—whining slightly as the mask of stubbornness slipped now that he was safe at home, and the full consequences of dumping all his chakra into a tiny, greedy puppy caught up with him.
It was a bit of a long shot, but Sukea pressed a palm against Kakashi’s shoulder, trying to push chakra out—an awkward, uneven transfer, nowhere near the smooth precision of an actual medic-nin and the fact that they had identical chakra is probably the only reason it even does something.
For a moment, Sukea thought it was working very well.
He could feel Kakashi’s chakra stabilizing, could already imagine getting the kid back on his feet—
—and then he felt his own chakra start to dip.
His vision wavered slightly at the edges, the way it did when he stood up too fast after skipping a meal.
…Oh.
Right.
He forgot that he didn’t actually have that much chakra to begin with either.
Pakkun made a tiny, sleepy noise, shifting his weight so he could nestle comfortably into Sukea’s stomach.
Kakashi hummed, no longer chakra-sick from the small boost of chakra he’s been given but still equally exhausted, copying the pup—flopping over with an unceremonious thump and letting his head rest against Sukea’s shoulder.
A heavy silence settled over them, warm and drowsy.
Neither of them moved for a long time.
And if their now mild chakra exhaustion turned into an impromptu nap session with a tiny, wrinkled pug sprawled across both of them…
Well.
No one was around to see it, anyway.
—
While Sukea was reaping the punishment of his own stupidity, aka regular mission desk duty, he watched as Kakashi and Team 7 started dipping their toes into real shinobi work, even handing them the scrolls himself some days.
C-rank missions. Patrols beyond Konoha’s safe borders. Overnight stays in unfamiliar terrain.
Sukea could survive being a lone wolf. He had done so for years. But the Hatake were a pack clan at their core. He hadn’t realized how much he’d gotten used to Kakashi’s quiet presence at home until it was missing.
They could pass notes through Pakkun, but the pug was still small, and long-distance messaging drained them all too much for it to be anything but an emergency.
At first, he ignored the empty space.
He busied himself.
He followed Guy home after missions, and started accepting Duy’s dinner invitations more often.
But even Duy began receiving more frequent missions, vanishing for longer periods.
“Dad’s been away a lot more lately,” Guy mused between bites of curry. Guy had insisted on cooking for the two of them. It tasted more like the version Sukea was used to—missing that something of Duy’s curry but still tasting like home.
“He said he’s busy protecting what’s important to him, and that we should be focusing on getting strong enough to do the same…” Guy declared determinedly like he was trying to convince them both.
Sukea just hummed.
Because this—this was the first whisper of war creeping into the village proper.
The signs were subtle but steady.
Shinobi coming and going with increasing urgency. The mission roster filling up faster than ever. Soon, more injuries will start to trickle in. Scrapes. Minor burns. A few broken bones.
…Not that they ever got any hospital missions to see it up close. Strangely of all the busy work they had, that was not one included.
But Sukea had lived through enough wars to know it wouldn’t stay that way.
And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.
He was basically off-duty. Retired.
No one knew the second part, of course. But it was technically true.
He’d done his part. Survived a war—multiple wars, even. It wasn’t really his responsibility to dive headfirst into another.
He knew how this one ended.
And yet—
The itch never quite went away.
The restless energy in his limbs. The keen awareness of mission schedules. The way his fingers twitched whenever he caught sight of a freshly inked scroll being handed off to a departing shinobi.
His team?
Still training. Still stuck on D-ranks.
Not that he minded. Not really.
There was something to be said for simple missions.
The rhythm of it. The predictability.
He and Guy turned many of them into challenges to occupy each other, pushing each other to be better—even dragging Genma along when they could.
He could do without the mission desk shifts, though.
He’d done his time as Hokage. He knew the ins and outs of mission distribution better than most.
And now—
It gave him a front-row seat to the shifting tides of war.
—
Sukea didn’t remember every mission Team 7 had ever gone on. That would be ridiculous—too many years had passed, and without the Sharingan back then, most of those memories had blurred together. But he could estimate when they should be returning based on mission parameters, details Kakashi had mentioned before leaving, or sometimes a quick note from Pakkun.
Lately, he’d gotten into the habit of ducking out early from his own missions or training, making his way to the village gates whenever he knew they were due back.
He told himself it was just to check for delays. To confirm his mental timelines were accurate.
This time, as he waited, a curtain of red suddenly blocked his vision.
Sukea blinked.
His gaze trailed up the obstruction, following the vivid strands of hair until he saw an upside-down face peering down at him—stubborn, grinning and looming right over him.
“Hey! Kid! You’re waiting for Minato’s team too, right? I’ve seen you waiting before, ya know.”
Kushina Uzumaki was… actually quite tall.
It was one of the many traits he was surprised Naruto hadn’t inherited, and suddenly being faced with it again made his hackles raise just a little. Especially since he was still getting used to people being so much taller than him again.
She didn’t even wait for an answer before getting out of his face and plopping herself down beside him, arms crossed with finality.
“We’re practically waiting for the same people, yeah? It’s stupid to wait separately, ya know.”
She was smiling at him. And it was so much like Naruto’s—so obliviously warm and curious—that it helped him relax. The lack of looming also helped.
To be fair, he hadn’t liked her much at this age. Whether it had been jealousy about her ‘stealing’ Minato or just so many of her loud brash behaviours screaming ‘potential enemy’ to his Hatake instincts, they’d had a bit of a bumpy start.
“I’m Kushina Uzumaki!” she said, all energy and confidence.
“I’m Sukea.” He smiled back, polite, practised—Rin-like. This time he would have a better start.
—
Kushina, Sukea was quick to remember, was not one to sit still.
One moment, she was watching the road for Minato’s return, and the next—she was digging through her pouch with a huff, pulling out a scroll and unfurling it with a flick of her fingers.
Or at least—trying to.
The end of it unravelled faster than she expected, slapping against Sukea’s leg before flopping uselessly onto the ground.
She didn’t even flinch. Just clicked her tongue and pulled it back toward her.
Sukea, who had been minding his own business until that moment, finally looked over.
“…What are you doing?”
Kushina’s face quickly morphed from frustrated concentration to a sunny smile at him before tipping the scroll toward him.
“Oh!” she chirped. “I’m trying to teach pretty-boy—uh, I mean, Minato—some seals from Uzushio.”
Sukea raised an eyebrow. “Pretty-boy?”
Kushina waved him off. “Anyway.”
She leaned over the scroll, pulling out a pen and scribbling out some kind of seal formula. “He’s been learning sealing from his teacher, and he let me borrow some of his study material, so I wanted to pay him back.”
She made a face, crossing her arms. “Thing is, he says I’m not a very good teacher.”
Sukea almost smiled at that.
“So I thought—maybe if I draw them out? Or make diagrams? It might help.” She tapped the paper. “He’s a bit of an egghead, like that shy student of his, so he probably learns better with visual stuff.”
Then, more quietly—
“Too bad I didn’t bring many scrolls with me when I moved here as a kid. I’d memorised them so I thought bringing them was too much effort.”
Sukea had forgotten that she was an immigrant and whatever she’d brought with her was probably some of the last remains of Uzushio.
He wanted to ask. But should he?
She didn’t let him even attempt because she suddenly brightened again, “So I guess I have to remake them myself! Wait! Most of these are academy seals! You can help me make sure they are understandable! Here—lemme show ya!”
She scooted closer, dragging the scroll between them, already launching into an animated explanation.
Minato had never quite had the time to teach him sealing techniques, what with handling 3 students, then 2 grieving students, then the responsibilities of being Hokage and by the time Sukea had warmed up to Kushina in his first life, she hadn’t exactly been in a place to teach him, either. What with him grieving most of team 7 and her being pregnant and in hiding. Books can only get you so far, especially with how secretive fuinjutsu specialists are about their techniques, she was practically handing him a gift.
She spoke quickly, eagerly, gesturing at the inked symbols. Unfortunately, she also explained things exactly like Naruto did—lots of feeling words, vague descriptions accompanied with hand gestures.
“This shape helps it do the thingy. You’ll know it when you see it!” she insisted.
“The energy just feels like—fwoom! Ya know?”
No.
No, he didn’t know, Sukea was pretty sure that wasn’t a real term. It’s a wonder Minato will ever learn anything from her. Most of what he could understand contradicted everything he’d tried to teach himself about sealing through books, but even then he could be wrong since the only person who could ever tell Sukea about what he was doing wrong with a seal was Jiraiya who just wrinkled his nose at his attempts with a comment of ‘I wouldn’t do it like that but I guess that works. More or less.’
Still—he listened to Kushina’s attempts. She really was trying hard.
And somehow, sometimes, some of what she rambled about almost made sense.
—
Sukea hears Obito’s voice first. Some perceived grievance about something that had happened on the mission most likely. Sukea probably hears it sooner than anyone else due to his Hatake hearing so he pretends not to for just a little bit longer, instead bracing himself for what he know is coming next.
Because he definitely couldn’t ignore Rin’s delighted cry of, “Sukea!”
She always spotted him first. Always lit up at the sight of him, eyes bright, grin wide, completely undeterred by exhaustion despite coming straight off a mission. And then, as always, she charged.
He barely has time to steady himself before her arms wrap around him, tight and full of boundless energy, even though she’s just returned from a mission.
Sukea endures it—because no amount of pleading looks toward Kakashi will save him, and because, sometimes, he’s just grateful to know she’s still alive when she crashes into him like this, all warmth and laughter and breathless excitement.
“My cute little brother!” she coos, squeezing the life out of him. “Seeing you waiting for us is the best part about getting home!”
Sukea ignored the usual burning glare from Obito. Even offering to give Obito a hug too hadn’t helped.
He didn’t get a chance to dwell on it because Rin suddenly gasped, pulling back just enough to seize his hands.
Her cheerful expression dropped into exasperation.
“Sukea.” Her tone had the weight of a mother scolding a reckless child.
He blinked at her, feigning innocence. “What?”
She turned his hands over examining them. His fingers were red and raw, irritated to the point of blistering. She let out a long-suffering sigh.
“How do you keep doing this to yourself?”
With the war going on around him, the thought of what happened coming to pass again sometimes won’t leave his head. Kakashi’s been gone and although he’s been dropping into the Might’s home to have dinner with them, he won’t subject them to his nightmares by staying the night, no matter how many times Duy offers. That does mean that there is no one around to stop him when THAT nightmare happens. He didn’t want Rin—or anyone else to worry.
“I was washing rice,” he said smoothly. “Didn’t realize the water was too hot.”
Rin gave him a flat look.
She sighed, shaking her head, before summoning the soft glow of healing chakra to her fingertips. The warmth seeped into his skin, soothing the burn, and mending the irritation.
“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, but there was no real heat behind it.
Sukea didn’t answer. He just smiled again, softer this time.
And ignored the way Kakashi kept watching him.