(NOTE: EVERYTHING FROM CHAPTER 16 ONWARDS WAS TRANSFERRED HERE FROM AO3 ON 5/13/2020)

"It's so slippery," the girl with pink ribbons grunted. "Why is this so hard?"

Itachi stared straight ahead. "Polishing any skill necessitates time and concerted effort."

"…you use a lot of complicated words, Mr. Itachi."

At this moment, the boy with the tell-tale marks of the Inuzuka lost his temper and launched himself at the girl he had been squabbling with. Fifteen seconds. Even less time than Itachi had calculated.

"Wait!" the girl—Imori, he reminded himself—cried as he began to move. "I'm almost done! Just need to tie it and…"

Itachi stood.

"Hey!" Imori shouted, outraged. "What did you do that for?"

"One braid was your condition to stop antagonizing—" he couldn't remember the name, so he pointed at the girl currently glowering from the swings—"that one. The terms of our verbal contract were satisfied."

"Huh? I didn't do any ant-no-geez-ing," the girl sniffed. Her face turned up suspiciously a second later. "What's that mean?"

Round eyes the color of cement examined with him with brewing resentment—but, curiously, still absent of fear. He had slit grown men's throats at her age; his name had already been in the bingo book. And yet, this girl didn't seem to know him from the nidaime.

His name must have fallen out of conversation over the years. It seemed only the adults now remembered.

He walked over to the bickering pair and lifted the Inuzuka by the collar of his shirt. The boy, muddied and bleeding from the nose, didn't take well to the intervention, growling and swiping at him.

As Itachi calmly stretched his arm so the boy's fists were out of reach, a slight hissing sound reached his ears. He tilted his head to the side. A kunai flew past and landed with a loud thud in the tree five meters ahead.

Itachi turned his head slowly in the direction the kunai had originated from. A round-faced child with missing teeth gave him a sheepish grin.

"Ah, sorry about that Itachi-san. Just trying to get some extra practice in before Iruka-sensei tests us later today!"

"Weapons are not allowed during recess."

"Let go," Inuzuka yipped like a puppy, face twisting, "Did you hear me?!"

"Aw, see, I know that. And normally, I totally wouldn't have brought them outside. But, see, like I was saying, Iruka-sensei said there's a test and—"

"Weapons are not allowed during recess."

"I HATE YOU!" the boy in his hand roared, veins bulging in his neck with the effort.

Itachi dropped him.

"Ugh, finally," Inuzuka huffed, scowling. He stuck out his tongue and turned on his heel.

Itachi slowly retracted his hand, observing it in cool examination. He hadn't intended to let go.

"All right," a tenor voice called out from the building—it was a voice that had not been built for volume, Itachi reflected, but must have learned it over the years—"Let's pack it up. Break time is over!"

The children rushed by him in a cacophony of groans, tracking dirt into the Academy building.

"Thank you for watching them," Iruka said, smiling. The skin beneath his eyes wrinkled.

"It was the task that was assigned to me."

"Ah, yes. I suppose it was. Still," the Academy instructor insisted, voice warm.

Itachi stepped into the building and followed Iruka back into the classroom. Small bodies hastily arranged themselves back into their seats at the sight of their teacher.

"Did you give Itachi-san a hard time?" Iruka asked sternly, arms crossed.

"No," the class chorused. Muffled giggles emerged among the seats.

Iruka turned sharply to him, brown eyes unusually steely. "Do you have anything to say to that, Itachi-san?" he asked quietly.

Itachi's head cocked to the side.

Iruka waited.

"No," Itachi said shortly. "I had everything in hand. They were fine."

"I see."

Iruka stepped forward and moved onto another topic—a history lesson, Itachi catalogued in the back of his mind. And yet, those two short words, the manner in which they had been delivered, were stuck in his mind. Iruka had seemed disappointed, as though Itachi's feedback had been less than satisfactory.

Itachi's eyes narrowed as he gazed over the class. Had Iruka wanted him to struggle? Why convince the hokage, then, to give him this position in the first place? The academy instructor and he had met briefly in the hospital when he had been recovering; it could hardly have been called a conversation, more of an accidental encounter, what had transpired between them. He knew that Iruka had advocated for him to be here; he still had no understanding of why.

On paper, Itachi acknowledged, his skills and battle experience were top of the line. But that didn't excuse the unspeakable crimes he had committed, even if they had been in the name of Konoha. What parent would want an undisputed mass murderer teaching their child to handle a kunai?

"Break out into groups of three and discuss," Iruka commanded. "In the last ten minutes, we'll rejoin and one person from each group will summarize what you each discussed."

Brief bickering broke out as the class arranged itself into smaller groups. Iruka walked away from the chalkboard toward the back corner of the room where Itachi stood.

"Next time, I would suggest that corner instead," Iruka said lightly, pointing. "Hyuuga Ryoichi likes to sneak out when my back is turned."

Itachi's gaze moved to the black-haired boy who, even now, was darting evaluating looks back at them and then at the door.

"Noted," Itachi said tonelessly.

He felt Iruka's eyes burning into him from the side.

"Have you been enjoying your first day at the Academy?" the brown-skinned man asked. His voice was still warm, like they were friends. It was unwarranted.

"It's better than other roles I've been assigned in the past," Itachi said finally.

Instead of being discomfited, a low, surprised chuckle broke out from the figure beside him. "I wouldn't dare contest that," Iruka admitted easily.

"Do you enjoy your job here, Iruka-san?" Itachi asked disinterestedly.

Iruka's brow furrowed in consideration, as though he had never received this question before and it required careful forethought. Itachi imagined this was implausible.

"In full disclosure," Iruka said smiling. "Most days don't go without a moment where I want to strangle their scrawny little necks. Somehow, miraculously, I manage to hold myself back."

Itachi stared ahead.

"Really," Iruka insisted. "But, you know, every now and then, there's a redeeming moment. Inuzuka-kun, yesterday, remembering the name of the shodaime. Or when Nanami finally managed to land the kunai at the bull's eye mark last week. They pretend they don't listen—well, most of them time, they're really not listening. But…ah, I'm not explaining this well. It sounds cheesy when I mention it like that, doesn't it?"

Itachi didn't indicate either way. "And you believe it's all worth it," he asked clinically. "Whatever lessons you impart to them."

Iruka raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Itachi surveyed him. "That Hyuuga will likely be cannon fodder for whatever clan dispute rises within the next five years—" he turned to scan the classroom—"That girl there, as another example, has skills that will only thrive in T&I, but her foreign background will hold her back from ever getting hired in the department. And that boy—given his fervent determination to be a combat shinobi, I would give him two years before he is crippled or killed in action."

"And what," Iruka said carefully, coldly, "would be your basis for that?"

He had angered the other man.

"His mentality," Itachi responded evenly.

"A lot can change between now and their graduation."

"Perhaps," Itachi acknowledged, inclining his head. "In my experience, desired change—especially when systemic—rarely occurs soon enough."

He waited for the explosion. Iruka, he had learned from eavesdropping on the children, had an infamously loud temper. Contrarily, however, the man across for him seemed to be immeasurably calm.

"How many years did you spend in the Academy, Itachi-san?" Iruka asked.

"Four months."

"So your experience comprises four months in the Academy," the instructor summarized, nodding. "And your teachers? Do you remember them?"

"Not in particular."

Iruka turned to look at him directly in the eyes, voice hard like iron. "Then they failed you."

Itachi's eyes narrowed.

The man next to him straightened, somehow seeming larger than before, although he was almost a hand's span shorter than Itachi and slighter. "You're right," he said. "I can't change decades of clan tradition. I can't change what does or doesn't happen at home. Sometimes, what I do in class is enough to shift their priorities; forgive my saying, but my experience is a little more considerable in this area. Then again, sometimes it isn't enough. I can't make every child want to practice, and I certainly can't force every child to learn anything they don't want to learn, no matter how much I might want them to. They pass the test, and I have to let them go. Those are the rules."

He turned toward the class, gaze grim.

"But," Iruka said softly. "I can care for them. I can nurture them—subject them to my attention until they're suffocating, begging me to leave this Academy. And in doing that, I can teach them that they matter," Iruka's voice, so soft, grew harsh, "because once they leave, they might never meet an adult who will give them that ever again. And maybe they shouldn't; the battlefield isn't a place to be treated like a child or coddled. But here, for at least while..."

He panted raggedly for a moment, the force of his passion for this subject apparently having taken some of his breath away.

"It's all I can give," Iruka revealed, voice calming into something like cynicism. It seemed at odds with him; Itachi was, possibly, unnerved. "And, many times, it isn't enough. Sometimes, they die. Or they leave, like your brother."

Itachi's body stiffened slightly at the mention of his brother. Somehow, Iruka seemed to catch it.

"And sometimes, they come back," he said, gently. He paused for a little, before saying in an obviously, deliberately conversational tone, "I had heard from Naruto that the team is now functioning reasonably well. I know this is private—forgive a teacher's overbearing nature—but how are things at home?"

"You're right," Itachi said, bowing his head expressionlessly. "You are overstepping."

Iruka immediately nodded, without malice. "Of course. Apologies."

Silence lapsed again between them. Itachi stared straight ahead, still, but now saw nothing.

"We don't talk," he found himself saying.

Iruka was quiet.

"It is to my taste," Itachi recovered, expression smoothing. "We coexist peacefully and without any unnecessary distractions."

One of the girls on the right side of the classroom began tugging at the ponytail of another. Iruka pulled an eraser from his pocket and tossed it through the air. It hit the girl right at the nape of her neck. Her hand rose a second later to cover the spot.

"Ow, sensei!" she scowled. "Got it, got it."

Iruka gave a pleased smile. He turned a second later to Itachi. He hummed for a moment, still smiling.

"You know, even when Sasuke didn't know the truth, even when you were the brother who had murdered his whole clan, part of him still worshipped you—" Iruka's eyes crinkled—"I'd go as far as to say that he loved you nearly as much as he hated you."

Itachi's mouth tightened.

"I think it will only be a matter of time," the academy instructor said sincerely.

He knew nothing, though, of what Itachi had done. Iruka saw a fellow man in front of him, when that couldn't have been further from the truth.

A dark churning sensation was born in his chest—but it wasn't unfamiliar, not these days, at least. He still didn't know how to shield himself against it. It overcame him and left him lost at sea.

"I tortured him," he found himself relaying, tone factual. He heard his voice as someone else's in his ears. "After seeing the dead bodies of our clan members and the dead bodies of our parents, I made Sasuke relive it for three days, helpless to do anything to stop me."

So that he would kill me for what I had done.

He barely finished the thought before he felt his breathing start to rise in his chest, faster, harsher. But Itachi managed his body meticulously, asserting his unbending will once more, making the loss of control imperceptible to the human eye.

His insides hurt, like there were nails scraping against the walls of his chest, but no one would know. It was a kind of pain he was used to. He had fought through worse.

"Has your impression of me changed, sensei?" Itachi asked coldly.

"I think," Iruka started softly.

Something like satisfaction, neither warm nor triumphant, settled in his chest.

"Despite your obvious talent, I think that if I had been your teacher…I would have pushed you to become anything but a combat shinobi."

The teacher's eyes paused on his hands, for some undiscernible reason. Itachi 's gaze flicked downwards as well.

"I think, Itachi-san," Iruka said, voice stronger now, eyes molten like bronze ore, "that you care far more than maybe anyone has ever given you credit for."

A chair screeched against the floor. Itachi did nothing for a moment. His mouth parted, but he paused before he spoke.

"Imagining me this way no doubt makes my actions more palatable," he said, unblinking. "Sometimes, however, there merely exists a shinobi and an order. And to have feelings about an order, when that order serves a higher purpose than any one individual, would be unproductive."

Iruka's mouth firmed in challenge. "Then why is Sasuke alive?"

And this was— It was. Nothing less than a blow, unanticipated and thus unmitigated.

This small, slight man in front of him—to the practiced eye weak, vulnerable. Something had whittled him over time it seemed, silently, secretly, and rendered him sharper and shrewder than he had any right to be-maybe his teaching, possibly his unprecedented proximity to more than one hokage. Or maybe, it was something entirely else, unknowable to him.

Whatever it was, Itachi watched now, warier.

Iruka smiled, unapologetic.

The bell rang, shrill and loud. Cheers rose from the class. Without pause, the teacher turned back toward his class.

"Ah, look at that. Sensei lost track of time, apologies," Iruka said, smiling at them. "We'll shift the discussion to tomorrow. Have a good day, everyone!"

The noise of chairs being scooted back and satchels being opened and closed filled the room. One pair of feet, in bright yellow sandals, stopped right in front of them.

"Yes, Imori-chan?" Iruka asked.

The girl who had negotiated with him earlier raised her hand and glared at Itachi. "You. Yeah, I'm talking to you. Next time," she warned, "I'll make two braids with red ribbons on each end. And I'll make you wear them for the rest of the day."

She turned on her heels and flounced away.

"Also, another observation, if I may," Iruka said, mouth curving. "That is what happens when you tell the kids 'they were fine.'"

Without another word, the smaller man moved past him to clean up the leftover scraps scattered along the rows of desks, humming as he went.

Itachi remained where he was, but his gaze followed...captive.

Author's Note:

As always, I love reading your thoughts 3