When Ryuu woke, it wasn't to the familiar muted grey light filtering through their apartment window, but to the sharp, insistent ache radiating from every fiber of his small body.
It felt less like muscle soreness and more like the deep, cellular exhaustion that followed profound chakra depletion. Moving his limbs felt like dragging lead weights through thick mud. The spar with Genma yesterday... no, the demonstration... had pushed him far beyond his sustainable limits.
He blinked, his vision swimming slightly, trying to focus. Standing silently beside his futon, silhouetted against the window, was Kasumi. Her back was ramrod straight, her usual watchful stillness amplified into an unnerving rigidity.
But it was her face, when she finally turned towards him, that made the breath catch in his throat.
Her dark violet eyes, usually sharp and assessing or carefully masked with maternal warmth, seemed vacant, hollowed out.
The skin beneath them was puffy, tinged with red – the unmistakable aftermath of prolonged, perhaps silent, weeping. Yet, there were no fresh tears now, only a crushing weight, a profound weariness that seemed to extinguish the fierce light he usually saw flicker within her, even at their most desperate moments during the flight from Kiri.
She looked… broken.
"Kaa-san…?" Ryuu called out, his voice weak, raspy from sleep and exhaustion.
Kasumi focused on him, her gaze distant for a moment before sharpening slightly. She knelt beside his futon, her movements stiff, lacking their usual fluid grace. She reached out, her hand hovering over his forehead as if checking for fever, but her touch felt hesitant, almost reluctant.
"You are awake," she stated, her voice flat, devoid of its usual inflection. "You pushed yourself too hard yesterday. Rest."
But Ryuu saw past the simple words. He saw the way her sleeve hitched slightly, revealing the faintest hint of dark, intricate markings just beneath the fabric on her forearm before she quickly pulled it down – the Cursed Seal Minato had ordered placed upon her. He saw the tremor in her hand as she withdrew it.
He saw the utter defeat in her eyes.
And in that moment, the carefully constructed walls of his own pragmatic detachment crumbled. The calculating adult mind, the detached observer analyzing data points and manipulating events – it recoiled, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming wave of guilt, regret, and a chilling understanding of the true cost of his actions.
Joining Konoha was a mistake.
The thought slammed into him with the force of Genma's heel striking his shin. It wasn't just a fleeting doubt, it was a sickening certainty that settled cold and heavy in the pit of his stomach.
He had been so focused on escaping the immediate threat of Kiri, so fixated on accessing Konoha's resources, on being near the 'main story' so he could nudge events according to his future knowledge, that he had blinded himself to the inherent dangers of this place, the true nature of the power he sought refuge under.
He had thought, naively perhaps, that Konoha under Minato, the heroic Yellow Flash, would be different. More compassionate, more just than the Kiri he fled or the Konoha ruled by Hiruzen's compromises that allowed figures like Danzo to fester. He remembered the filler episodes, the idealistic portrayals, the overarching theme of redemption and understanding that permeated the story he thought he knew.
What a fool he had been.
This wasn't an anime with plot armor and conveniently timed power-ups. This was a world built on blood and bone, where 'peace' was merely the interval between wars, where child soldiers were forged in brutal training grounds, where loyalty was demanded, often enforced, and where power, especially unique power like his own, was seen first and foremost as a tool or a threat to be controlled.
Death was normal here, expected. Kill or be killed wasn't just a dramatic tagline, it was the fundamental operating principle.
He had traded the open hostility of Kiri's purges for the subtle, smiling menace of Konoha's control. He had brought Kasumi here, convincing her this was sanctuary, only to see her effectively branded like livestock with a Cursed Seal because his power, accidentally revealed through his lack of control during a test he agreed to, had broken their carefully maintained cover.
The guilt was a physical ache, mingling with the throb of his depleted chakra. He had done this to her. His manipulations, his 'childish' fears leveraged against her genuine terror, his pushing for Konoha – it had all led to this. To her standing here, a Jonin-level shinobi, marked and leashed by the very village that offered them 'protection'.
He thought of the path not taken.
Hiding in isolation. Training slowly, carefully, under Kasumi's sole guidance, far from prying eyes. He could have developed his Ice Release in secret, learned chakra control, perhaps even sought out knowledge independently once he was older, stronger.
Maybe even cautiously approached other rogue elements, leveraging his knowledge differently. He could have stayed free, unbound.
Instead, he had dove headfirst into the tiger's den, convincing himself he could tame the beast from within, happy, almost arrogant in his possession of future knowledge.
He had wanted to be near the center, to influence events, to prevent tragedies like the Uchiha Massacre. But what if his presence here, his survival, Minato's survival, only created different tragedies?
Danzo. Even with Minato supposedly curtailing Root, Ryuu knew the old warhawk wouldn't be truly neutered. He would have spies, informants. Word of a Yuki prodigy under the Hokage's direct observation would inevitably reach him. How long before Danzo made a move, tried to acquire Ryuu for his collection, using Kasumi's Cursed Seal as leverage?
Orochimaru. The Sannin was out there, hunting immortality and unique bloodlines. Konoha's files, even classified ones, weren't infallible. A Yuki survivor, especially one demonstrating unique control or potential... Ryuu would be a blip on Orochimaru's radar eventually, another potential vessel or experiment.
Akatsuki. Obito. Black Zetsu. They were forming, gathering power, their plans likely adapting to Minato's survival. Would his presence, his unique KG, eventually draw their attention too?
And the timeline itself. Minato lived. Kushina lived. Naruto would grow up different.
Would the Uchiha coup still happen? Maybe not in the same way, but the underlying resentment, fueled perhaps by BZ or Danzo, could still explode.
Shisui... Ryuu still planned to intervene, but now, under the direct scrutiny of Minato and Genma, any suspicious action, any hint of foreknowledge around that time, could have disastrous consequences for him and Kasumi. Could he even pull it off now?
He had traded a clear, immediate danger for a complex web of potential threats, hidden agendas, and suffocating control. He had gained access to resources, yes, but at the cost of freedom, secrecy, and Kasumi's peace of mind.
He looked up at his mother again, truly seeing the depth of the despair in her vacant eyes.
This wasn't just exhaustion from a sleepless night, it was the soul-crushing weight of realizing their sanctuary was just another cage, perhaps gilded, but a cage nonetheless. Her fierce protectiveness, her desperate flight, had led them here, partly due to his own manipulations, and the price was this... this brand, this leash, this constant threat of being used or eliminated if they stepped out of line.
"Kaa-san..." Ryuu started again, his own voice thick with an emotion he couldn't quite name – guilt, regret, a profound sense of error.
"I... I'm sorry."
Kasumi seemed to register his words this time. Her gaze focused slightly, a flicker of surprise momentarily piercing the emptiness. She reached out again, gently brushing a stray white lock of hair from his forehead.
"There is nothing to be sorry for, Ryuu," she whispered, her voice brittle. "You did what the Hokage commanded. You showed them... what you are." She paused, her hand lingering. "This... this changes things. But we adapt. We always adapt. That is how we survive."
Her words were meant to be reassuring, perhaps, the ingrained mantra of a survivor. But Ryuu heard the resignation beneath them, the acceptance of their new, compromised reality.
They would survive, yes. But the illusion of freedom, the hope for a truly peaceful life he had dangled before her to convince her to come here, had evaporated like mist in the morning sun, leaving only the cold, hard pragmatism of existence within the confines set by Konoha's Hokage.
He had wanted to be near the center of the story, to influence it, to gain power. He was here now. And the weight of it, the true, crushing weight of this world's reality, was settling upon him.
Coming to Konoha wasn't just a risk. It felt, in this bleak morning light, like the biggest mistake of his second life. And now, he, and Kasumi, would have to live with the consequences.
—————————————————————————————
The weight of that realization sat heavy on Ryuu's chest as he mechanically went through the motions of getting ready. Kasumi helped him dress, her movements still stiff but regaining some of their practiced efficiency, the earlier breakdown carefully compartmentalized away behind the impassive mask of a shinobi preparing for duty.
Neither of them spoke of the Cursed Seal, nor of the implications of the previous day's meeting. The silence stretched, filled only by the quiet rustle of clothing and the distant sounds of the village waking up outside their window.
He knew he had to push the regret down, channel the guilt into resolve. He had made this choice, however flawed, however naive.
Regret wouldn't change the Cursed Seal on Kasumi's arm, wouldn't erase the knowledge Minato and Genma now possessed. All he could do was adapt, recalculate, navigate this new, more dangerous reality with even greater caution and determination. He would get stronger. He would survive. He owed Kasumi that much, at least.
"0800," Kasumi said quietly as he finished tying his forehead protector over his bandages. "Report to Genma-sensei. Training Ground Seven."
"Yes, Kaa-san," Ryuu replied, meeting her gaze. He saw the lingering fear in her eyes, but also a spark of the old resilience returning. She was a survivor. They both were.
"Be careful, Ryuu," she added, her hand resting briefly on his shoulder. "Listen to your sensei. Learn everything you can."
He nodded and slipped out of the apartment, heading towards the familiar training ground.
He arrived at Training Ground Seven precisely at 0800. Izumi Uchiha and Kenta Miyamoto were already there, standing awkwardly a few feet apart.
Izumi offered him a brief, polite nod, her expression carefully neutral, though her eyes held a flicker of curiosity as they swept over him. Kenta gave him a nervous, slightly forced smile, clearly still processing yesterday's events and the subsequent S-Rank secrecy order.
The dynamic between the three of them felt instantly altered, charged with unspoken questions and the weight of Ryuu's revealed secret.
Genma Shiranui appeared a moment later, leaning against his usual oak tree, senbon back in place between his lips, radiating casual confidence.
"Alright, Team Twelve," Genma drawled, pushing off the tree. "Punctual. Barely acceptable." He surveyed them, his gaze lingering on Ryuu for a fraction longer than the others. "Yesterday was the assessment. Today, the actual work begins. Welcome to the bottom rung of the shinobi ladder: D-Rank missions."
Kenta visibly brightened at the mention of missions.
Izumi maintained her composed expression, though Ryuu sensed a flicker of anticipation in her chakra.
He himself felt… nothing. D-Ranks. He knew what they entailed from canon: weeding gardens, finding lost pets, painting fences. Tedious, menial labor designed to instill discipline, teamwork (supposedly), and an appreciation for the civilian side of village life.
Necessary, perhaps, but a frustratingly slow start when apocalyptic threats loomed in the future.
"Don't look so thrilled," Genma commented dryly, noticing Kenta's eagerness and probably Ryuu's distinct lack thereof. "D-Ranks are grunt work. They teach you humility, how to follow orders precisely even when they're boring, and how to work together without tripping over each other's feet. Mostly, they teach you patience."
He smirked. "Something I suspect all three of you could use more of."
Genma pulled a small, standard-issue mission scroll from his flak jacket, tapping it thoughtfully with one finger.
"Normally, your first D-rank involves chasing down that damned cat belonging to the Fire Daimyo's wife." He paused, glancing at their slightly bewildered expressions. "Lucky for you, Madam Shijimi and her demon feline aren't currently visiting Konoha. So, you get spared that particular trial by fire... or fur, as it were."
A flicker of relief passed over Kenta's face. Izumi looked mildly indifferent. Ryuu mentally crossed 'Tora Retrieval' off his list of canon inevitabilities, at least for now.
"Instead," Genma continued, unfurling the scroll with deliberate slowness, "we have Mission Number 01107: Infrastructure Maintenance Assistance – River Cleanup Detail."
He held up the scroll so they could see the simple request form. "Apparently, recent storms and runoff have clogged a section of the Nakano River where it passes through the less glamorous parts of the northern residential district. Debris – fallen branches, washed-out refuse, probably some discarded training dummies knowing the Academy brats – is causing minor flooding risks and generally making the place look untidy. Our glorious mission," he said, his voice dripping with mock enthusiasm, "is to assist the civilian maintenance crews in clearing the blockage."
Izumi blinked slowly, processing. Kenta deflated visibly, his earlier excitement vanishing completely. Ryuu felt... nothing but weary resignation. River cleanup. Even more tedious than chasing a cat. This truly was the bottom rung.
"Thrilling, I know," Genma drawled, rolling the scroll back up. "But essential. Konoha functions because someone does the dirty work. Today, that someone is Team Twelve." He pocketed the scroll. "Alright, let's establish roles for this high-stakes operation."
He pointed at Kenta. "Miyamoto. You've got the build for it. You'll be handling the heavy lifting – pulling out larger branches, shifting stubborn debris. Don't destroy the riverbank."
Kenta straightened up, looking slightly less disappointed now that he had a defined, physical role. "Yes, Sensei!"
Genma turned to Izumi. "Uchiha. Your eyes are wasted on submerged logs. You'll be upstream, acting as lookout. Keep an eye out for any unexpected hazards floating down – could be anything from more debris to potentially dangerous wildlife washed out from the forests. Also, keep watch on the surroundings. Even mundane tasks can attract unwanted attention sometimes."
Izumi nodded crisply. "Understood, Sensei." Utilizing her Sharingan for spotting floating branches seemed like overkill, but the secondary lookout duty was a standard precaution.
Finally, Genma looked at Ryuu. The Jonin's eyes held that assessing glint again. "Yuki. Given your… unique sensitivities," he said, the word 'sensitivities' clearly a loaded term referring to yesterday's demonstration, "you'll be downstream from the main work area. Your job is twofold. One: use those sharp senses to detect anything unusual beneath the water's surface near where Miyamoto is working – hidden snags, unexpected currents, maybe even discarded weapons or traps. We don't want our primary lifter impaling himself on a rusty kunai someone ditched."
He paused. "Two: You practice control. While monitoring, I want you to focus your chakra. Feel the water's flow around you. Extend your senses through it. Learn its temperature gradients. See if you can detect subtle differences without resorting to… flashy methods." He held Ryuu's gaze. "Consider it specialized sensory training disguised as garbage duty."
Ryuu nodded slowly. It was a clever assignment. It utilized his known sensory potential, acknowledged his Kekkei Genkai implicitly without demanding its overt use, and provided a practical, low-risk environment for him to practice fine control and sensory extension – skills far more valuable than hauling logs. It also kept him slightly separate, allowing Genma to observe him without direct interaction interfering.
"Right," Genma clapped his hands. "Tools needed: sturdy gloves, maybe wading boots if you have them, standard kunai for cutting tangled ropes or vines. Let's move out. The Nakano River awaits our glorious intervention."
They walked through Konoha, heading towards the northern residential district. It was a less affluent area than the central sectors, the houses smaller, closer together, the streets narrower. As they approached the river, the signs of recent minor flooding were evident – dark water marks on lower walls, patches of flattened grass, scattered debris caught in fences.
The section of the Nakano they were assigned to was sluggish, choked with a messy tangle of fallen branches, leaves, plastic refuse, and other unidentifiable junk caught against a natural bottleneck formed by large rocks.
A couple of weary-looking civilian workers were already there, poking ineffectually at the mess with long poles.
Genma conferred briefly with the civilian foreman, confirming the scope of the task. Then he deployed his team. "Alright, positions. Miyamoto, start clearing the surface debris near the bank. Uchiha, fifty meters upstream, find a vantage point. Yuki, thirty meters downstream, find a spot where you can observe the underwater area near Miyamoto without getting in his way. Stay alert."
Ryuu found a spot on the muddy bank, slightly downstream, where the water flowed a little clearer around the main blockage. He knelt, pulling on the thick work gloves Kasumi had insisted he pack. The water looked murky, cold. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to center himself, filtering out the sounds of Kenta starting to wrestle with a large, waterlogged branch, Izumi's light footsteps heading upstream, Genma's quiet observation from beneath a nearby willow tree.
He focused on his chakra, letting it settle, extending his senses outwards as Genma had instructed. He felt the steady thrum of Kenta's chakra as he exerted himself, the sharp, controlled signature of Izumi further away, Genma's powerful, almost lazy hum nearby.
He reached out further, feeling the ambient chakra of the few civilians walking along the path on the opposite bank, the faint signatures of birds in the trees.
Then, he focused downwards, into the water. It was harder here. The constantly shifting currents, the murky sediment, the faint signatures of fish and river insects created a confusing sensory static. He tried to filter it, searching for anomalies near where Kenta was now wading into the shallows, grappling with a particularly large tangle of branches.
He extended his senses through the water itself, feeling its flow, its temperature. It was cold, yes, but uniformly so. He felt the drag of the current against submerged rocks, the soft give of the muddy bottom. Then, a slight temperature dip, localized, just beneath the main logjam Kenta was trying to dislodge. Not natural.
"Sensei," Ryuu projected his voice quietly, not shouting, but pitching it to carry directly to Genma. "Beneath the main log Kenta-san is moving. Something metallic. And colder than the surrounding water."
Genma didn't react visibly, but Ryuu felt his chakra signature sharpen slightly in focus. "Acknowledged. Maintain observation."
Kenta, unaware, gave a mighty heave, dislodging the main log with a sucking sound. As the water swirled beneath it, something glinted dully in the murky depths – several discarded kunai and shuriken, rusted but still potentially sharp, embedded in the mud right where Kenta had been about to place his foot.
Genma appeared beside Kenta in a flicker, walking on the water casually. "Hold up, Miyamoto." He pointed down. "Looks like some idiot used the river as a dumping ground. Let's clear these carefully before you step on one." He produced a kunai and began carefully prying the rusted weapons free, tossing them onto the bank.
Kenta paled slightly, realizing how close he'd come to a nasty injury. He glanced downstream towards Ryuu with newfound respect.
Ryuu felt a small measure of satisfaction. His senses had worked. He had contributed meaningfully, prevented an injury. He refocused, extending his senses again, scanning the riverbed more thoroughly.
He continued his work for the next hour, occasionally pointing out other submerged hazards – sharp rocks, tangled fishing lines, even what felt like a heavily waterlogged explosive tag. Izumi reported no upstream hazards beyond more floating branches. Kenta, under Genma's supervision, made steady progress clearing the physical debris.
It was tedious, dirty work. Ryuu's gloves were soaked, mud splattered his tunic, and the constant sensory focus was mentally tiring. But it was also… purposeful. He was part of a team, functioning, contributing. He was learning to apply his unique skills in a practical, controlled manner, under the watchful eye of a Jonin who knew what he was capable of but was demanding discipline over flash.