It is with a spring in my step that I leave Konoha Hospital on the 29th of March, with my multi-coloured forms grasped in hand. My uplifted spirits were in accord with the weather today: uncharacteristic light mist, with the barest hint of a chill in the air, a perfect spring day in Konoha. Rain has yet to set foot upon the streets, the puddles and mud are thankfully absent. Down long streets and through the front door, twisting through the narrow corridors, until I stop by the entrance to the chunin bullpen.

The pile of papers are set with a meaty thud on Nanami's desk. Violet eyes look up from her own pile, face almost pleasant until she recognizes which motherfucker it is.

"Morning," I tell her, "Got some things for you."

A scowl tugs the corners of her mouth down, nose almost scrunched, and brows set in a knot of consternation.

"What is this?" She questions, not even picking up or reading the top sheet.

"My bill of good health, all signed and cleared by the dutiful staff of Konoha Hospital." I tell her with my smarmiest grin, oil slick with just the barest taste of something sour at its heel.

"You also need-"

"Yes, form 614-97 and its derivatives, here." I break apart the piles at the midpoint where a friendly slip of red indicates, to show her.

She glances down and stills, furiously running through the stack of papers before her. When she is done, she turns around to face me, and she is smiling.

She's smiling?

"I see you have everything filled out Kikuchi-san," her voice saccharine as those words leave carmine-red lips, "How courteous of you. However, according to regulations, I will need you to finish and submit all documents you are currently working with before the end of the work week. See you on Friday!"

With a swish of her sleek brown hair, she turns away with a smirk, mirth evident in her eyes.

Holy fuck, fuck, fuck that little bitch.

What the-

-what the flipping fuck, was she pulling that out of her ass? No, I can't even fight her because there's no time to sort through the fucking rule books that are indexed by who-knows-what. I have a fucking mountain of papers to complete in 52 hours by Friday at 17:30, the last submission date before the office closes and all other non-essential forms are processed at 5:30. Shit!

I can do this. All those years of procrastination through high school and university would see me through this successfully. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck fuck. Look at Kikuchi Jin go, o'er hills of paper, not snow.

A note catches my eye.

Pick up Sozen. Wait. What time was this?

Oh hell.

I can do the paperwork right after. The office is technically kept open at all hours, but with only a graveyard shift after nine. They'll still let me in so it should be all good.

It's a rapid dash to the nearest window and I'm out, hopping frantically across rooftops that I was forbidden to hop across before now, to that horrible, awful building known as the Academy. An inoffensive building in the centre of Konoha, rebuilt after the huge orange chakra construct decided to go on rampage through Konoha, but terrible for what it represented: children.

The true terrors, the real monsters, lurking around us at all times. Little dirty snot-lickers that never washed, never cleaned their hands properly, tracked dirt and disease all over wherever they went. Trust me, I've been a child twice, neither of which was a pleasant experience. Children are the demons.

And of course, the children are already out, spilling onto the roads and the lush green lawn. Parental supervision accompanies them, some closer than others. With all this is the noise, the screaming of the children playing on the playground, the nagging of the parents, and the noise of the nearby pedestrian traffic around us all.

What I wouldn't give for some noise bylaws.

I get to push upstream against the current, as the bodies walk past me and I wade further into the deep unknown.

Whoosh! Something narrowly misses me-

-oh, it's just some little shit off their leash. Holy fuck, that was close, fuck. The little flare of chakra along my elbow shouldn't alarm anyone, hardly enough to trigger another sensor's senses, but I had almost summoned my wakizashi.

He runs off. Good, good. Neither of us have to say anything.

Heart beating in a rapid little polonaise number of its own, I walk further into the lion's den. Strange adornments hang from the walls. War trophies? Sick, sick monuments of the little monsters' deeds to warn intruders of? They shine in bright colour with disgusting slogans like 'Upwards Everyday!' and 'Working Hard for the Future!'. A sign commemorates these awful displays as the students' own entries to the contest held by the Department of "Public Communication and Information".

When I had brainstormed that little idea, my goal was to skive off work and potentially have some decent slogans. Of course the project proposal wasn't written like that. It was to "inspire Konoha's youth" or some rubbish like that, about how kids know what kids like and us adults can't compare. This was as fucking hip and cool as Maito Guy. Great, these kids compete with some of my colleagues, for their talent.

Well, at least they didn't suggest 'Drunk Off the Fumes of Studying'. I'm pretty sure the reason they agreed to the contest idea was because of that suggestion. Even with laissez-faire attitudes towards kids buying and drinking alcohol (as long as they looked somewhat old enough), even the government didn't want to encourage Academy kids drinking. Their kunai throwing was dangerous enough as was; if they did, they'd have to give the instructors hazard pay. God forbid the bureaucrats get their raises frozen for a quarter.

The horror.

In the end, I find the room at the end of the hallway. The door is open and I am free to walk in.

The unfamiliar instructor stands there with a frown that immediately becomes a smile once he sees me. Despite being taller than me, he seems glad to not be alone in the presence of an eight-year old boy. It's rather odd when a rugged man with a scar that stretches from his clavicle to his jaw has such an uncertain expression on his face.

What happened to the female instructor for Sozen's class? She was a real battle axe in a tiny frame.

"Kinoshita-san, it's nice to meet you." He greets. His voice is in the formally polite tone that sounds almost strained. Something's up.

"I am Ito Asahi, Sozen's instructor while Tanaka-sensei is on maternity leave."

Or not.

"He's my uncle." Sozen says. "It's 'Kikuchi Jin'; he's on the sign-out forms."

And then, he turns to face me.

"You're late." My nephew accuses me.

I am sorry to say Kaori, but your son will have to improve his taijutsu, because with this level of subtlety, he is only suited for the field. Toiling like a grunt in the world of frontal assault teams.

The riot of multi-coloured forms bursting out of the sorry-looking binder could rival my desk right now. Sozen's teacher, Ito-sensei I suppose, rifles through it frantically, hunting down Sozen's entry.

"Oh! Here it is!" He squints at the long list of characters that look like some monochrome mosaic and nods. Then, a sudden change in tone occurs.

"I need to talk to you about what happened today." He says soberly. "Kinoshita-san had an accident with one of his classmates during taijutsu training. Luckily no one was seriously injured, but that classmate bruised their sternum and had to go to the hospital. We need for his parents or guardians to sign this form."

"There's a form for that?" We didn't have this when I was stuck in the old Academy, may it rest in peace. "It's not like he was caught fighting outside the ring."

Ito shoots me a look. I pretend not to catch it.

"His classmate was sent to the hospital to make sure it wasn't broken." He says slowly, voice lower than before.

Sozen noticeably looks down at his sandals. Brat.

What happened to no "really serious injuries"? The, if it isn't actually fractured or broken, it doesn't matter? The horrible taijutsu spars of my childhood where getting beat up by the Hyuga in the class was just an uncomfortable experience we had to go through? Is chakra enhancing not allowed either?

However, in the true spirit of the Will of Fire, I will gladly make sacrifices for my fellow shinobi of Konoha. I will be the better man here.

"Alright, I will make sure it reaches his mother." I tell him. His shoulders loosen in relief.

"Thank you Kikuchi-san, have a good day."

"You too, good-bye." I start walking forwards, form in hand. The tell-tale sound of sandals on a wooden surface means Sozen is not far behind me.

Although he's not a particularly loud kid, he's still very quiet today. I would bet 500 ryo that he got the dressing down of his life earlier before I arrived. Or may a guilt trip, yeah, guilt trip seems likelier.

"So, how was your day?" I ask.

He decides to do a dying animal impression. It sounds a lot like "fine" but who really knows? Could be 'I decided to run away and join the circus' for all I know.

"Okay. Do you want to talk about that?"

This time, he decides to speak clearly.

"No."

Alright, alright. A little preemptive sulking before the teenage years even begin. Starting your chuunibyou phase early it seems.

We walk in silence after that, my attempts to engage in polite small talk akin to pulling teeth.

Sozen, what a funny name, dumping it upon an eight year old who can't even understand the history behind it, the long ledgers of even longer-dead ancestors who probably don't even care. It may be a good name for stuffy samurai, but not for some brat who still doesn't even use live steel. Of course, it hadn't been Kaori's choice, or Shizuka's. It had been the old man's.

Sozen glares mulishly at his feet, chubby hands not grasped around my own like usual but clenched at his sides.

I hated my years of primary schooling too. Trapped with knees against the frames of the plastic chairs and desks, waiting for the faithful cry of the school bell to release me from the confines of that institution. Schools are, in my opinion, a great way for children to experience the realities of this world: that power corrupts more than anything else, that people don't practice what they preach, and the petty bureaucrats you'll meet will make you lose sleep.

"Do you want dango?" I ask. We usually get dango when I have to pick him up.

He shakes his head with his lips drawn tight across his face in a frown. His feet drag small clouds of dust behind him. Kaori won't be pleased with his dusty sandals. Or the note from his teacher, Kaori won't be pleased with a lot of things today it seems.

"Alright," I tell him as we stop at the imagawayaki stall, "One matcha imagawayaki for me please. Sozen, what do you want?"

His eyes glance over the glossy laminated sign, mouth pursed still in displeasure.

"Red bean."

Ah azuki beans, my old nemesis. Even in this life, I cannot escape your presence. Sozen's dastardly ways have been revealed: no longer is he my favourite of Kaori's children. After such a betrayal, the newly born Sui is now my favourite.

"And an azuki one for him."

The elderly woman behind the counter smiles, revealing a mouthful of empty sockets where there should be teeth. Her twitching hands circle above the ryo on the counter and attempt a descent twice before they successfully grasp it. They shake as they brush it back down into an unseen drawer. I guess she likes the work. Or, more realistically, she has no other way for providing herself. Social security is a construct that only exists for ninja.

"Yours?" She asks with a knowing smile. It's a worse threat than incoming kunai and I can only hope my visible flinch isn't obvious.

"My nephew."

I don't look that old do I? Starting a family at my age is on the younger side but given the hazards of the profession, understandable. Except Sozen was born when I was nine. Still, I never want children. I've never been particularly good with women and the luggage they bring with them. I'll freely admit, I'm the one who fucked up most of my long term relationships. Not that it matters now.

"Ah, is he in the Academy? Shinji, wasn't it Nanako's daughter that also goes to the Academy?"

"Sounds like it." The old man's thin voice shouts, sound muffled from the inside of the stall.

"Nanako's girl, what's her name? Shinji, what did Nanako call her daughter? Harumi? Haruki? Haru-"

"-Haruna." He strains, wheezing, the sound of clattering metal emerging outside.

"Yes, Haruna! Your nephew, he's six?"

"Eight."

"Mhm, my, how is the Academy? Do you like it."

Sozen keeps his eyes trained on the dust staining his sandals. Thankfully, he has the discretion not to say anything aloud about what he really thinks.

"It's fine." He says, voice smaller than usual.

"Shy huh?" The proprietress remarks with a chuckle. "Here you go, one matcha and one azuki! Enjoy!"

I take the bag and hand him one of the still hot, paper wrapped imagawayaki.

"Thank you, have a nice day."

"Come back anytime, young man!" She yells as we walk away.

"You scared him off!" The old man in the back growls, loud enough even for us to hear.

"Hush!"

The imagawayaki doesn't help make conversation, but it does give us an excuse to not say anything. The Kinoshita household isn't too far from the Academy: around two-thirds of a kilometre, but they've changed the regulations for drop-off compared to when I was in there. Now, adults have to come and pick them up. Can't just let them run down the streets, waiting for natural selection via cart to take them out. This is probably why property prices are rising: overpopulation due to kids no longer not making it to adulthood.

Or because of the limited space in a walled village with a growing population. No, definitely the lack of wars and no more early graduation introduced by the Yondaime, scourge of the good ramen stall. It must be that.

At the door, I reach to knock, but the door suddenly swings open.

"Sozen, Jin!" Kaori says with a smile despite the bruise-like bags under her grey eyes. Sozen rushes in, scrambling for the homestretch, no doubt to escape being in the presence of his mother when I deliver the bad news. That's not going to help.

"Thank you for picking him up! Why don't you stay for dinner? I'm making O-zōni and gozaemon sushi."

"It's alright, nee-san. I don't want to impose." I hand her the form.

She frowns, and the resemblance to our mother only increases. It's odd, how she's starting to develop the same wrinkles in the same locations, even at twenty-six, the middle-child out of the three of us. Growing up again with her, nine years my senior, she and Kasumi had done a good portion of the raising that grandparents weren't suited for.

"I'll talk to Sozen later." She says with a sigh after reading it.

Her eyes sharpen on me though, and it's likely another incoming barrage.

"I already started preparing and it's too much for just us." She counters, "It's just dinner Jin. Please."

Family dinners had never been a happy occasion in either of my lives growing up. I think my aversion to them is only to be expected.

Our grandfather only was interested in our ability as shinobi, our grandmother overwhelmed with the amount of grandchildren she had to help watch over as our grandmother's children were summoned away to the war. The woman I called "okaa-san" was a fleeting figure, always dragged to one warfront or another before she became one of those corpses there. Our sire, dead, before I was born. Some type of hush-hush mission that didn't leave a body, only one of those letters of grief that I now occasionally write, encased that special, tell-tale envelope.

It was lucky then I guess that I came "pre-raised".

O-zōni and gozaemon sushi, no doubt to bribe me to stay for dinner. It should work, but I have a stack of papers to finish in my office.

"I can't, I need to finish my paperwork before I leave for my mission." I tell her.

Her frown deepens.

"Aren't you supposed to be on desk duty for another two weeks? Why are you leaving so soon again? How long are you leaving for?"

"Another two weeks was just a longer estimate in case of complications, nee-san. It's just a standard courier mission. It'll only be around a month."

"Who are you trying to trick? A month? Tokubetsu-jonin missions don't suddenly magically become longer than the usual week or two for courier duty!"

She would know. Kaori's squad in her genin days had found itself with the inglorious duty of supplying the north-eastern front by the land of the Hotsprings and Rice while running frantically from Kumo-nin. It was the same front that would see her combat days over after a particularly nasty raiton left the nerves on her right left fried and at best, able to walk with a slight limp. She retired a while later as she wasn't suited to any of the desk positions and Shizuka's income was enough to support the two of them.

I shrug. "It's a bit longer than usual, just there's more than one stop. You know how it is."

I don't mention the rendezvous with the Intel squad I'm supposed to meet up with. Or the actual frame job we're supposed to commit. That's the "lose my head" type of confidentiality that I don't feel like toeing the line with. The soul-sucking nature of desk duty may call, but I cannot answer, as the demand for those on the active-duty roster is still at a high even after four years.

Kaori knows this too. Her husband, Shizuka, is hardly ever home. He was only present for Sui's birth because of luck. Only a week later and he's on another mission, escorting merchants from what I hear.

Mouth drawn in a bitter line, she looks at me, still. She doesn't immediately speak, and her voice dramatically drops in volume once she does.

"Make sure you eat dinner. Be safe Jin, don't take any risks."

"Goodbye nee-san."

The door closes shut with only the slightest creak of its joints.

A/n: this isn't abandoned. Just continuously procrastinated on until I procrastinated for something else by writing this.