Chapter 13
Sukea squinted at the absolute tragedy that was child-Asuma’s atrocious handwriting, tilting the scroll toward the dim light in the hopes that changing the angle would somehow make the scrawl more legible. It didn’t.
He sighed through his nose, rubbing at his temple, already feeling the onset of a headache.
“Hey, Sukea.” Genma’s voice was laced with amusement. “Your little not-so-secret admirer is here.”
Sukea barely glanced up from his suffering before following Genma’s nod toward the entrance—where Rin and Kakashi were waiting near the mission return desk.
Rin perked up the moment she caught his eye, waving brightly.
Sukea absently waved back before levelling Genma with a flat look. “I think it barely even registers to Rin that I’m a boy, let alone that she has secret feelings for me.”
Genma let out a long-suffering sigh. “Not Rin. Kakashi.”
Sukea blinked. Then he blinked again.
Genma shook his head, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. “You, Guy, and Kakashi have the most dysfunctional rivalry triangle I’ve ever seen. Have you really not noticed him coming here to personally deliver his team’s mission scrolls just to glare at you until you finish your shift?”
Sukea huffed out a quick laugh, playing it off. “Kakashi and Guy are rivals. I just like the occasional challenge,” he said, rolling up Asuma’s scroll and setting it aside for later. “And Kakashi isn’t glaring at me. That’s just his face.”
He leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “I heard he has a pug face under that mask, so, you know. It’s probably just unfortunate bone structure.”
Genma snorted, shaking his head. “No wonder he glares at you. It’s like you and Guy enjoy playing with knives and calling it a challenge.”
But the comment did its job—Genma moved on, returning to sorting through his own stack of reports, and Sukea was grateful for it. Because while Genma was wrong about why Kakashi fixated on him… he wasn’t exactly wrong about the fact that he did.
Sukea couldn’t pinpoint when he’d first noticed, but Kakashi had started watching him like a mission target.
And it wasn’t just here at the mission desk.
Their apartment wasn’t big. They ended up in each other’s space more often than not. Sukea didn’t mind—he was used to cramped barracks and shared quarters—but whenever Sukea went to the bathroom at home, Kakashi almost hovered outside.
At first, he chalked it up to them having similar bodies that run on similar clocks but it kept happening and it was less like the kid waiting his turn and more like the pack whenever he left a room too long.
And then there was the futon.
Sukea had spent good mission pay on a futon. Not because he minded Kakashi crawling into his bed, but they were probably too old for it by civilian standards. He’d set it up neatly in the room, thinking it would give Kakashi his own space.
The futon had been a waste of money.
Kakashi still climbed into Sukea’s bed, quiet and stubborn, always curling up on the outer edge and caging Sukea in. After a few nights of failed attempts at change, Sukea gave up. He shoved the futon under the bed to gather dust.
It wasn’t that different from when the pack stayed over, anyway. Pakkun already claimed the occasional night—what was one more body in the inevitable future dog pile?
But that still didn’t explain why.
Sukea hadn’t been like this. Not even after… Well. Not after anything that should have made him crave company. If anything, he’d been the opposite—too independent, too used to pushing people away. It took effort to earn his trust. Guy had worked the hardest for the longest, and even that had taken years.
But Kakashi wasn’t exactly following in his footsteps.
Sukea had assumed his younger self would continue to reject Guy’s rivalry until life ground him down enough to accept it. But lately, Kakashi had actually started talking to Guy. Not friendly conversations—Sukea wouldn’t call it that yet—but they talked. About training. About their teams. Maybe do the occasional challenge. And sometimes, Kakashi would glance at Sukea, as if checking to make sure he was doing it right.
Like Pakkun, when learning a new command.
And it wasn’t just with Guy.
Kakashi was still prickly with his team but… less so. He tolerated Rin’s fussing more than Sukea remembered. Though maybe that was because Rin had redirected most of her efforts toward fussing over Sukea these days.
And Kakashi and Obito still fought. But it wasn’t as sharp. Not as constant. Maybe it was Minato’s new rotation style giving them time to cool off. Or maybe it was something else.
Because Sukea noticed Kakashi listening more. Watching. Trying.
Mimicking him?
It made Sukea wonder. Maybe these were good changes. Maybe, if Kakashi kept this up, he’d be a little less like Sukea—less like the person who had ruined his life by blindly following orders and not caring about his teammates until it was too late.
And if putting up with Kakashi’s strange new clinginess was the price for that?
Sukea could live with it.
He’d survived Tenzo sticking to him like glue, figuring out how to be his own person. He’d survived Guy’s complete lack of boundaries at various points in their lives. He’d technically survived his three genin students and their different attention requirements, he could survive this too.
And honestly… Kakashi was sweet in his own quiet way. Offering to wash the rice when they cooked together. Sitting and reading with him after training. Suggesting Pakkun stay summoned around the apartment while the pug was still learning to tell them apart.
Besides, Team 7 had a mission lined up soon. One he remembered was important. They’d be out of the village again before long and Sukea would be left here waiting...
—
Chōza sighed, rubbing his temple as he slumped forward onto the table. His third bowl sat empty and pushed aside debating if he should have a fourth. Across from him, Inoichi and Shikaku exchanged concerned glances.
“I don’t know what to do with this kid,” Chōza finally grumbled, dragging a hand down his face. “He’s driving me insane.”
“The kid meaning Sukea?” Shikaku asked lazily, propping his chin in his palm.
Chōza shot him a flat look. “Who else?”
Shikaku hummed, clearly unsurprised. “What’d he do this time?”
Chōza leaned back with a groan. “What hasn’t he done? I had an actual, structured training plan in place, and he’s done everything in his power to derail it.” He raised a hand and started ticking off fingers. “He skips training half the time. When he does show up, he’s late and acts like he was there all along. He keeps egging Guy on with these ridiculous ‘challenges.’ He’s sharp—picks things up quickly—but if something doesn’t challenge him, he just walks off! I’ve been throwing him at every complex D-rank he’s authorized for…” Chōza exhaled sharply, rubbing at his temple. “Even those aren’t distracting him enough. If I don’t keep him busy, I’m worried he’ll pull another stunt like that mission desk mess!”
Shikaku smirked. “Ah. So he’s being his usual troublesome self.”
Chōza huffed. “You have no idea.”
Just thinking about it gave him a fresh wave of frustration. The fact that Sukea had somehow gotten his team unauthorized missions had been enough to give him a stress headache for days. Shikaku had been the one to figure out the loophole they'd used—thank Kami for Shikaku even though he’d only done it as part of a security overview—but how Sukea had actually gotten his hands on the mission scroll had remained a mystery.
Until their last meeting with Minato.
They’d been swapping notes on their teams’ progress when Minato—bright-eyed and proud—had shared how responsible his students were. How they could handle running missions to the mission desk alone. How Kakashi volunteered the most.
Chōza had felt like screaming in frustration at this revelation.
Because, of course, that was how Sukea had done it! The kid played Minato like a fiddle! Chōza had been this close to telling Minato the truth, that his rule-abiding golden boy had a gremlin of a brother whose intelligence was more like an explosive tag with unknown detonation conditions. But he’d bitten his tongue. Trust was hard to rebuild once broken and he needed as much trust as he could get with Sukea.
Instead, he’d pulled Minato aside and offered a strong suggestion. Maybe Minato shouldn’t be so trusting. Maybe he should start using a buddy system for mission errands. Just to be sure. To teach them accountability for their teammates.
And to be extra sure that Sukea wouldn’t try anything again, he’d made sure his team was regularly assigned to mission desk duty.
Now, everyone who manned the desk knew them on sight and knew not to give them a C-rank.
.
.
.
Shikaku hummed, a thoughtful sound. “…You know, maybe you should just tell them why they really can’t go on out-of-village missions. This seems like a lot of effort and it probably feels like you’re teasing them with some unwinnable prize.”
Chōza frowned. Hard. “No way.”
He shut the idea down immediately. “If my team knew the only reason we haven’t been assigned outside the village is because I’m handling the handover of our parents' titles and am not allowed to leave in case I’m suddenly needed, Sukea would probably pull some kind of reckless scheme like finding some other jōnin to take them out himself!”
Shikaku raised an eyebrow, but it was Inoichi who chimed in, a slow, curious tilt to his head. “You think so? Why’s he so adamant about missions outside the village, anyway?”
Chōza hesitated. “I… don’t actually know?”
Both men stared at him.
“You never asked?” Inoichi asked incredulously.
Chōza shrugged. “I just figured it was genius boredom or that he just enjoyed delaying my carefully laid out schedules.”
Shikaku rolled his eyes.
Inoichi shook his head. “Maybe if he was a seasoned jounin, I’d agree but he’s a young genin who’s probably only been out on a few missions with Minato while pretending to be his brother.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “If I had to guess—he’s seeing his brother going on missions and feels left behind.”
Chōza frowned. “You think so?”
“Think about it. Team Minato has been going on a lot of missions lately, and those two boys are attached at the hip when they aren’t training or on missions. I think I’ve even seen Sukea hanging around waiting with Kushina for team 7 at the gate. That’s bound to sting.”
That… actually made sense.
And now that Chōza was thinking about it, he had also noticed that his students had started having team dinners together at Guy’s when their respective family members were away on missions… They all probably feel like they are being left behind.
“…Maybe I should tell them about our mission limitations,” Chōza admitted, scratching the back of his head. It wasn’t like they didn’t know something was going on, but maybe the details—maybe the truth—would help.
Shikaku leaned in, resting his arms on the table as his gaze flicked around the room, as if ensuring no one else would overhear. “Speaking of missions. Off the record—Team Minato got sent on a pretty important one. They went with a few teams of chūnin. It was only supposed to be a week, but word came back this morning that there have been delays. It’s starting to look like two, maybe even three extra weeks before they come back.”
Chōza’s brow furrowed deeper. That explained a lot. If Kakashi was away longer than expected, it made sense why Sukea was acting out. The kid was only eight—nearly nine, but still. It was a long time to be left behind.
Still, the timing nagged at him. Something important was soon—wait! Sukea’s nearly nine!
Choza straightened up in a panic, “Sukea and Kakashi’s birthdays are soon!"
There was a beat of silence.
Then, beside him, Inoichi gasped. "Oh no!"
"If it is," Shikaku grimaced, lazily stretching his arms behind his head, "you’re probably gonna need a bigger distraction to occupy him."
—
Sukea was restless.
Pacing-the-village-like-a-trapped-animal restless.
Kakashi was still away on his mission. He knows it will be a while until he returns because he distinctly remembers how much Minato beat himself up for forgetting his birthday due to this mission most of his birthdays after.
He threw himself into everything to fill the void. More visits to his father’s grave. More solo training. More spars with Gai when he did turn up to team training, pushing himself to exhaustion just to feel something close to progress.
It wasn’t enough.
His team noticed.
Chōza-sensei definitely noticed.
Training had been long, but not tiring enough. Never tiring enough. His body still had strength to spare. His feet still itched to move, to get beyond the suffocating press of the village walls.
He hadn’t gone to dinner with the Mights since Kakashi left. Duy would pry, he’s too caring for his own good, and Sukea wasn’t in the mood for another heartfelt speech about how "protecting the home is just as important as protecting the village."
So he kept moving.
Until—
“Sukea.”
Chōza’s voice cut through his thoughts.
Sukea paused mid-step, glancing over. His sensei stood nearby, watching him with a look that said he wasn’t here for small talk.
Chōza had been calling him aside for more and more ‘words’ lately. None of the D-rank missions were scratching the itch anymore, and they both knew it.
Sukea sighed, stepping closer. “Yeah?”
Chōza hesitated, as though weighing his words. Then—
“Would you be interested in attending a council meeting with me?”
Sukea blinked.
Of all the things he expected, that hadn’t even been on the list.
“…Why?” he asked bluntly.
Chōza crossed his arms, exhaling slowly.
“To help you understand what I’m trying to navigate. I have to confess,” he admitted, “your team’s performance has nothing to do with why we’ve been stuck in the village for so long.”
Sukea’s brow furrowed.
Chōza continued, “I’m stepping into my father’s role as head of the Akimichi clan soon. While I prepare, our team’s been kept close, more tied to the village than others.”
Sukea’s eyes twitched.
They were stuck on D-ranks because of clan politics?!
Chōza pressed on, undeterred. “I’m about to start attending council meetings, and I thought it would be a good learning opportunity for you to come with me. Since you seem a bit restless with just the missions I can give you access to.”
Sukea huffed in exasperation. “So you think this will distract me, Sensei?”
Chōza, ever patient, offered gently, “I think it will give you something meaningful to focus on.”
Same thing.
Chōza’s expression softened. “Since Kakashi hasn’t been in the village, no one should object to you stepping in as the Hatake representative. And it would be good for at least one of you to start getting involved with village politics.”
That gave Sukea pause.
“Wait—” He narrowed his eyes. “What does Kakashi being gone have to do with anything?”
“If the clan heir isn’t present, a representative can step in,” Chōza explained patiently.
Sukea raised a brow. “Are you assuming Kakashi is the heir?”
Chōza hesitated.
“The Hatake clan isn’t big enough to need an heir,” Sukea pointed out flatly. “We don’t have a formal structure like the bigger clans. Even if we were playing by those rules, I’d technically be the heir, since I’m the eldest.”
Chōza blinked, caught off-guard. Maybe even a little embarrassed.
But Sukea wasn’t done.
“And more importantly—why would you want to bring me to that meeting?” His voice was dry, but his meaning was clear. “Half the people in that room still blame the Hatake for starting this war. And you, a brand new clan head, would be walking in with me at your side? That’s how you want to make your first impression?”
Chōza didn’t even blink. “You’re being overdramatic.”
Sukea snorted.
“Besides,” Chōza continued, clapping a broad hand on his shoulder, “I’ll have the entire Akimichi clan at my back. And the rest of Ino-Shika-Chō, too.”
There was something steady in his voice, something solid, like the weight of unshakable loyalty. The kind of certainty that came from a life lived with the assurance of always having someone to catch you if you fell.
Sukea tilted his head, considering.
Chōza was powerful—respected. But maybe a little naive.
A noble clan head could afford to be.
He probably only ever heard whispers about Sakumo in formal settings, spoken carefully, with softened edges, or filtered through the safe lens of a political opinion. He probably didn’t know what it was like to stand beneath the weight of a name reduced to a stain. To hear the offhand comments, the cutting remarks. The subtle, sharp reminders that Hatake meant disgrace. That no matter how many missions you took, how many scars you earned, you had to claw your way back toward respect on your own merit and this man wasn’t even letting him do that!
He knew this would be an incredibly bad idea.
And, despite himself—
If he was going to be trapped in the village, it wasn’t like he had anything better going on.
He could spare some time to give his sensei a reality check.
—
Chōza had asked him to meet up before the council meeting.
Sukea showed up on time—the real start time, not the fake half-hour even earlier time Chōza had given him. His sensei seemed proud of his little trick to ‘curb his lateness’. Sukea liked him enough to play along and not turn up even later out of spite.
Chōza was already there, waiting with his father and at least two generations of Ino-Shika-Chō.
Sukea exhaled through his nose. He should’ve expected as much.
Chōza’s face lit up when he saw him. “This is my student, Sukea!” he announced—before promptly grabbing Sukea under the arms and lifting him off the ground like an unruly puppy.
“Put me down,” Sukea complained.
Chōza only beamed and jostled him, like a proud parent showing off an impressive toddler.
Sukea scowled, resisting the urge to squirm or bite. He hated being this small right now. This wasn’t the first time people had just picked him up like this. He and Kakashi had the same problem—light, compact, and apparently fair game for manhandling. The clock was ticking for when he’d be too big for anyone other than Guy to even try.
A low chuckle caught his attention. When he glanced over, Shikaku and Inoichi were watching him, amusement clear in their expressions.
“Nice to finally meet you,” Inoichi greeted. “Chōza speaks about you a lot.”
Sukea snubbed his nose at the Yamanaka. Most of Choza’s bad decisions stemmed from the man. He just knew it.
An older Nara woman—probably Shikaku’s mother—was watching him with scrutiny.
It reminded him of Shikamaru when Sukea hadn’t finished his reports on time.
“Are you sure you want to bring him in with you?” she asked, addressing Chōza.
Chōza puffed up, clearly prepared to defend his decision. “Of course I’m sure! I was probably the same age when I was brought along to my first council meeting to observe, and Sukea is a very bright young boy who could learn a lot from it.”
Sukea wiggled, still held aloft. “If it helps, ma’am, I’m pretty sure this is a bad idea too. But I think Sensei can learn a lot from it.” he intones as seriously as his position would let him.
She clucked her tongue, muttering something about him being a troublesome smart aleck.
Before anyone else could respond, an older blonde man—who Sukea assumed was Inoichi’s father—cleared his throat.
“Enough showing off your pet student! We need to decide where we stand on this before any of us step into that meeting,” the man said, voice gruff. “And frankly, I’m not sure I’m comfortable backing someone from the clan that kicked off this war. Especially when the one who did it was weak-minded enough to not even stick around long enough to actually fight in it.”
The words hung heavy in the air.
Sukea felt, more than saw, Inoichi tense beside him.
He, on the other hand, barely blinked.
He’d heard worse.
He’d had years to think about what happened with his father’s mission—years to decide how he felt about it. A part of him was almost tempted to also give Chōza an I told you so look, but now wasn’t the time.
Instead, he held the Yamanaka man’s gaze, working through the best way to de-escalate this. He had been forced into politics as the Hokage, and though this was different, it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. He could probably handle it.
And then he remembered.
They all saw him as an eight-year-old.
He shouldn’t be expected to handle this.
So instead, he decided to throw fuel on the fire—just say the quiet part out loud. Like most eight-year-olds would.
“So, I bet you think me and Kakashi should be out on the frontlines to make up for it, right?” he asked, spitting out the words that had lurked in his childhood, sharp and biting.
The man looked aghast. “I never—”
“—Said that out loud?” Sukea finished smoothly. He tilted his head, watching the man carefully. “But guess where Kakashi is right now? Out on the frontlines. Making up for it.” He let the words hang before flashing a too-cheerful smile. “I’d probably be out there too if Sensei let me. It’s a good thing I hide my Hatake identity around the village, otherwise, I’m sure more people would have an issue with me still doing D-ranks and not being out there ‘making up’ for what my father did.”
The fingers beneath his arms finally loosened, and he was dropped unceremoniously to the ground.
He landed lightly on the ground, already preparing to glare at Chōza for the abrupt drop.
But his sensei looked pale.
“…Sensei?”
“I didn’t realise,” Chōza swallowed hard. “Sukea. Why didn’t you tell me that was happening to you?”
Sukea blinked.
“I did,” he said, confused. “I told you it was a bad idea to bring me to a council meeting.”
His teacher opened his mouth—then closed it again, expression twisting.
Then, without warning, he reached down and pulled Sukea into a hug.
Sukea stiffened.
He wasn’t necessarily bad with physical affection, he’d gotten much more used to it with Rin’s greetings but the suddenness of it—combined with the why of it—left him thrown.
The other adults were murmuring amongst themselves, their voices overlapping too much for him to catch anything useful. He’s pretty sure he heard Inoichi yelling at his dad. But Choza was suffocating him, so it wasn’t like he could focus anyway.
By the time he was released, a decision had apparently been made.
Ino-Shika-Chō had come to a consensus.
They would back the Hatake clan. Or at least try to push back against how much of the blame was being put on the remaining clan.
But it was definitely too soon to take Sukea to the council meeting today.
Sukea was confused, but he thinks he won?
—
The clock was ticking. Kakashi should be home soon.
Still, should he plan something to celebrate? He does have the benefit of foresight of knowing exactly when Kakashi should be home. Did Kakashi even want to celebrate?
Sukea didn’t think so.
In the end, Sukea settled on something small. No celebration, no fuss. Just comfort. He made their favourite meal—eggplant miso soup—and had it ready by the time the boy got home.
Kakashi arrived close to dinner, silent and on autopilot, dropping his mission pack at the door to be sorted through later. Sukea caught a glimpse of him as he moved—caught the way the oversized chūnin flak jacket hung too loose on his small frame, confirming what Sukea already knew.
Then the sharp lingering scent of blood hit him.
It clung to the new flak jacket. Sukea wrinkled his nose, already adamant it was getting washed or replaced as soon as practical. He wrestled it off Kakashi with minimal resistance, tossing it unceremoniously aside.
He barely remembered the mission itself—only that it had gone wrong. A misranked mission, they’d been out for weeks, an ambush, enemy shinobi cutting down a jōnin and an entire team of chūnin before the rest of them could regroup. It had probably been the first time Rin and Obito had even seen death so up close. And Kakashi—he hadn’t frozen. That was why, in the aftermath, one of the surviving jōnin from another team had stripped a bloody vest off a fallen shinobi and put it on him, to ensure the older chuunin would follow him. The youngest, the steadiest, and he was the only one left standing with the skills necessary to get their group to the objective.
Sukea didn’t remember much of the return to Konoha. Just that the mission had been successful and he was Konoha’s youngest Chuunin at eight.
Kakashi didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t say a word. Barely even reacted to the food in front of him. He just ate, methodical, movements slow but precise. His bowl was empty within minutes. Then he rose, washed it out, and disappeared into their shared room.
Sukea let him go.
Sukea entered their bedroom a short while later to find Kakashi already curled up on his side of the bed, staring blankly at nothing. Not yet asleep.
Sukea climbed into bed after him, forcing himself not to react when Kakashi shifted closer—Not quite clinging, but almost.
The post-mission smells still clung to Kakashi’s hair, his skin, and the fabric of his uniform that he still hadn’t removed. Metallic. Earthy. Too familiar.
Sukea forced himself to ignore how his mind screamed the smell must be coming from him and he was unclean. He wasn’t going to end up in the bathroom over something this minor. Not today, and like the boy across from him knew what he was thinking, he reached for his hands and held them. Sukea then realised the kid was inspecting them. There was nothing to see this time. He thankfully hadn’t had an episode recently and the boy eventually let go satisfied.
They both lay there in silence, too tired to sleep, too drained to do anything else.
Sukea exhaled softly. “Congratulations, Konoha’s youngest chūnin at eight,” he murmured gently reaching over and patting the boy’s hair. His voice barely broke the quiet. The clock on the bedside table ticked over to midnight.
He hesitated, then added, just as quietly, “Happy ninth birthday, Kakashi.”
The boy looked stunned before he buried his head into Sukea’s shoulder and mumbled something that might have been “You too.”