The Chūnin Exam Recommendations
"Naruto is different from you!" the chūnin teacher said, his voice tight and too loud.
Umino Iruka, chūnin Academy teacher, had once confided to Kakashi his struggle to accept Naruto. And yet, here he was, only a couple of short years later, hissing and spitting like a mother cat at the mere recommendation that Naruto be allowed to take the Chūnin Exam.
Kakashi remembered wondering what Sandaime had been thinking when he assigned Naruto to Iruka-sensei's class. He understood, now.
He understood as Iruka-sensei stalked forward, hands fisted and trembling with a clear effort to hold himself back from doing something stupid – something even more stupid – and demanded, "Is it your intent to crush Naruto?"
Iruka-sensei knew nothing about being crushed. He knew nothing of the weight of genius, measured by iron boxes too heavy to carry yet somehow slipped between ribs behind one's heart. He knew nothing of what Naruto's journey would be, if Naruto really meant to become Hokage. How could he? He was soft and coddling. He was passionate. He felt.
Kakashi did not wonder if Iruka-sensei was at all like Mebuki. The memories of his mother had been locked away for so long that Kakashi wasn't sure he would know whether his mother and Naruto's teacher were similar even if he wanted to recall her.
"They constantly complain about important missions," Kakashi sniped back, admittedly a little pettily. "Teaching them a lesson would be fun. Trying to crush them would be entertaining, too."
"W– what did you say?" Iruka-sensei growled. Sweat stood out on his face like exclamation points.
"Well, maa, call it a joke," Kakashi deadpanned. He sharpened his voice into an address, a command. "Iruka-sensei."
Iruka-sensei made a small, surprised sound that indicated to Kakashi that he was listening.
"I understand what you want to say. It's aggravating, I know. However–"
"Kakashi. Don't," Kurenai advised gently.
An iron box's doors cracked open. Memories leached out like a toxic vapour, and for a moment, Kakashi felt his mother's disappointment like a knife to the gut.
It will help no one to coddle the genin the way Iruka-sensei insists on doing, Kakashi told himself icily.
He slammed the door shut and snapped, furiously, at the man who had called to Kakashi's unwilling mind a memory of his Most Precious Person and of the most painful agony he had ever felt, "Stay out of this! They're not your students anymore! Now, they're my subordinates."
Iruka-sensei did not appear to realise the real danger he had triggered – not of violence against himself, but of the threat of one of Konoha's most elite shinobi showing a crack, a flaw, a deadly weakness.
Or perhaps he did, because he only offered a small, token protest before allowing the Sandaime to halt his arguments. It was not the response Kakashi had expected.
Kakashi looked at Iruka-sensei curiously, studying the man as if for the first time. Iruka-sensei had stopped arguing, but not because he was afraid of Kakashi. The chūnin showed little fear as he continued speaking, nor did he seem particularly perturbed by or remorseful of his disrespect of shinobi hierarchy. There was something else, something warm and sharp in his eyes that said he wasn't here to fight, only to defend what he felt must be defended.
"Why don't you have Iruka-sensei be the one to conduct the preliminary examinations for the rookies, Hokage-sama?" Kakashi suggested impulsively at the end of the meeting.
Iruka-sensei jumped and gawped.
"Me?" he asked foolishly.
Kakashi did not look at the teacher.
"Since he is the one who expressed concern about their skill level, it seems to me that this would be the best way to alleviate his concerns," Kakashi continued to the Hokage. "And as a chūnin and an instructor, he is certainly qualified to make accurate assessments of genin's skill."
"Hmm," Hiruzen hummed thoughtfully around his pipe. "Iruka. What do you think? Would you be willing to test the rookies?"
"I– Yes, Hokage-sama," Iruka-sensei stammered. "I– Yes, I can do that."
"I trust you to determine the best way to test each rookie. You taught all of them, so you know each of their strong and weak points, do you not?"
Iruka-sensei nodded.
"I do."
"Then test each as you deem appropriate. You may report back to Kakashi when you are satisfied with the results of your preliminary examinations. You have two days."
"Yes, Hokage-sama," Iruka-sensei said, bowing and excusing himself from the room with the rest of the assembly. Just at the last moment, he lifted his head in an obvious attempt to catch Kakashi's eye.
Kakashi tucked his hands into his pockets and ignored Iruka-sensei.
"Is there anything else you need from me, Hokage-sama?" Kakashi asked.
The Hokage smiled, a heavy, sad thing coloured by his own years and grief.
"Allow an old man to ask you a personal favour," Hiruzen said softly. "Keep an eye on him when I'm gone, will you?"
Kakashi blinked.
"Hokage-sama?" he asked politely, confused.
The possibility of the Hokage's death always sat, real but distant, at the back of every Konoha shinobi's mind. But there was no reason that Kakashi could see for Hiruzen's concern flaring anew.
"He's sensitive," Hiruzen continued, as if Kakashi hadn't spoken. "He feels things strongly. Joy. Love. The Will of Fire. But things like grief, too. And they overwhelm him sometimes."
Kakashi blinked again.
Hiruzen took a long drag from his pipe, held his breath a moment, then exhaled a plume of smoke. Kakashi watched it twist through the air, feeling inexplicably like he was watching his Hokage's soul escaping.
"Forgive my saying so, but surely there are better people to ask," Kakashi said slowly. "His friends."
Hiruzen gave a wry smile.
"Such as Mizuki?" he asked humorlessly. "No, I am asking you precisely because you are not his friend."
He sighed.
"Iruka does not have many friends, I'm afraid," he observed lightly. "Mizuki made quite sure of that."
Kakashi pressed his lips together and said nothing. As the Hokage's right hand and a former captain of ANBU, Kakashi had been well aware of the way Mizuki had isolated Iruka-sensei from his other friends during their childhoods. He hadn't realised Iruka-sensei remained so isolated, though.
It surprised him, he could admit to himself, that Iruka-sensei didn't have many friends. The teacher was outgoing and friendly, generous with his smiles and his support for others.
Perhaps the Hokage was wrong?
"He is prone to unhealthy relationships," Hiruzen continued softly, his words slow and deliberate and weighty. "I tried to do what I could to steer him well, but there was only so much I could do. I was neither his parent nor his friend, though I tried to be both in whatever way I could. But I failed him, Kakashi. If I had known how far Mizuki's destructiveness would reach.... Ah, but these are just the ramblings of an old man. Forgive me, my boy. I just worry about him."
Kakashi held back a comment about Hiruzen's own son, whom had needed Hiruzen's support, too. Asuma had grown powerful over the years, but he had certainly been a brash and emotional young man.
Hiruzen tapped a finger on his tabletop thoughtfully and said, "You remember why I had you removed from ANBU?"
"Yes, Hokage-sama," Kakashi said politely, keeping his voice and his affect carefully neutral. Cold-blooded. Ruthless. Merciless. Coldly efficient. He had been the perfect killer. Too much so, Hiruzen had inexplicably decided, though Kakashi only partly agreed.
"And yet you spoke so coolly to Iruka," Hiruzen mused, as if the thought was somehow directly related.
"I–"
Kakashi stopped. He wasn't sure what Hiruzen wanted him to say. Was he seeking an apology? An explanation? An excuse? A promise that he wouldn't speak that way to Iruka-sensei again?
"Yes, Hokage-sama," Kakashi finally agreed.
"I care about you both, Kakashi," Hiruzen confessed tiredly. "You two, and all of the other shinobi of Konoha. I do not wish to see him consumed by his emotions. I fear that they will incapacitate him, as they did when he attempted to stop Mizuki from stealing the Scroll of Seals. It was something I did not foresee at the time, and now it is something I worry about often." He paused, moving his pipe slightly with his teeth. "I also do not wish to see you kill all of your emotions. I had thought you were growing fond of your team."
Kakashi blinked.
Fond of Team 7? He supposed he was, to some degree, but that emotion was neither here nor there. It would not grow them as ninja, and it would not have any bearing on his decisions as their cell leader. He would give his life to protect them, regardless.
"I am... fond... of them," Kakashi said carefully.
Hiruzen hummed acknowledgement. "And I know you will protect them, no matter what comes." He suddenly smiled slightly. "You must think me a poor father."
"Not at all, Hokage-sama," Kakashi said, even more carefully than before.
"A Hokage's job is to be a father to all of Konoha, Kakashi," Hiruzen said, his voice suddenly hard. "Remember that. No matter how much I love Asuma, he can be only one son of many to me. That is the sacrifice that a Hokage must make."
He sighed. He looked so very old and tired.
"Go on, then. Don't let this old man keep you with his nonsense."
Thus dismissed, Kakashi nodded and let himself out of the meeting room.
Hiruzen spoke of his worries and of his joys relatively openly, but rarely did he verbalise quite so much at once.
The strangeness of it made the words echo in Kakashi's mind like bells swinging softly in wind.
Keep an eye on him while I'm gone. He's sensitive. I do not wish to see you kill all of your emotions.
It seemed to Kakashi that the Hokage had somehow gotten it into his head that Kakashi could – what, protect? – Iruka-sensei, and that somehow, Iruka-sensei would teach Kakashi to feel more emotions, or something.
But neither Hiruzen nor Iruka-sensei – nor anyone living at all, for that matter – knew about the iron boxes with their heavy doors that lay tucked between Kakashi's ribs, back behind his heart. And he certainly didn't need someone to dig them out. Still, he could do as his Hokage asked and, at least, keep an eye on Iruka-sensei on that dark day that Hiruzen passed.