The Same Difference
The first thing Iruka Umino did when he was worried or unsure of something was to drag his thumb across the horizontal scar on the bridge of his nose.
It had become a bad habit soon after he first got that scar, when the bandages came off. It was a cold, hard reminder of that night, when he got it. When he lost everything, was broken down, and forced to rebuild himself all over again.
The skin around it had still been tender and sore, but he touched that scar a lot. To check and see if it was still there, to see if it hurt as much as it did the day before.
And even after it had healed and left that dark line across his nose in its wake, Iruka continued to touch it when he was worried or unsure. Sometimes he liked to joke with the other teachers at the academy that he was asking his parents for advice.
He tried not to do that too often, it made his hand stay there longer, running across the sharp line as he thought and reminisced.
The first thing anybody saw when they looked at Iruka Umino was not his dark bronze skin or his spiky ponytail or even his uniform.
It was the dark, dark scar running horizontally across the bridge of his nose. Most people had the etiquette and self-consciousness to look away from it and not ask about it.
But sometimes, just sometimes (perhaps a young child or a worried new teacher who didn't yet know about where he had been that night) someone would ask. Several people assumed it was a mission gone awry, but some older folk or friends of his didn't need to assume.
They knew.
There were curious Genin, there were awed civilians, and then there were the people who suffered through that night alongside him. But no matter who it was, it was his scar that people always noticed first.
The first time that Iruka Umino became a teacher, one of the kids in the classroom had raised their hand and asked about that scar.
The question hung in the air and he pondered it for a second, looking around the classroom. Every student was watching him intensely, dead silent.
He pressed his lips together thinly, because he didn't want to relive that night, or the pain it had caused him, both physically and emotionally. And he certainly didn't want to scare a room full of children with hopes and dreams with stories of vicious demons.
Then he came up with a good idea. He turned his hardened expression into a smile, and addressed the loudmouthed boy who had asked him so abruptly.
"Well when I was still a Genin and I was a part of a squad we went on a mission that got out of hand. The enemy managed to cut me across the bridge of my nose," he said, bringing his thumb across that old scar as he did so to emphasize. "So while you're all here I want you to pay very close attention before you get assigned to your squads, so you don't get a scar like I did."
The rest of the week, the students' backs were ramrod straight and they all took their notes like they were supposed to, ears wide open.
Every year after that, there was at least one (or two, depending on the crowd) of those students who acted before they thought, and those students always asked that very same question.
"Iruka-sensei, where'd you get that scar on your nose?"
The year he changed one of his students' lives forever, there were two boys in the same class who had that same bad habit.
"Any questions?"
They'd both asked at almost the same time, but the brunette kid with the red tattoos on his cheeks was a second behind the blonde boy.
Iruka had swept his eyes across the room to find the culprits. Kiba Inuzuka of the Inuzuka clan, forced to leave his dog Akamaru at home today. Though, he seemed cheered from getting to ask something so ballsy.
The second was Naruto Uzumaki, sitting at the back of the room in a white shirt and a shit-eating grin on his face.
But it wasn't that that Iruka saw first. It wasn't the shock of golden hair or the slightly narrowed blue eyes that screamed mischief.
No, no. It was the six dark lines, slightly diagonal and flaring outwards like whiskers on his cheeks.
Iruka felt his back tense, felt his thumb move up to trace his own scar. His lips tightened into a little line as he focused in on Naruto, feeling like he had felt the first time a student ever asked him that.
"That is… a story for another time," he found himself saying, but he sounded far away from himself. He turned around, picked up a piece of chalk, and began writing on the board.
It was the first time that Iruka ever refused to tell his little cover story, the kids' attention be damned.
Iruka found himself being particularly tense with that class, thawing out much more slowly than usual. He warmed up, eventually, to his students.
Sasuke Uchiha, the village's own little future prodigy stumbling along awkwardly in his big brother's footsteps.
Sakura Haruno, the sweet, shy little girl with a slightly oversized forehead with hair that oftentimes matched her blushing cheeks.
Hinata Hyuuga, the hardworking, albeit gentle girl with a need to prove herself to her father and sister.
Shikamaru Nara, the lazy genius with a very deep insight on most things.
Ino Yamanaka, a pretty young lady with a big heart that she hid under a shallow cover-up.
But Naruto Uzumaki he let slip between the cracks.
Just like everybody else did.
Until he was walking home by himself one day, and caught movement in the corner of his eye that shouldn't have been there.
All the students were with their parents or were old enough to walk home by themselves, and there was no shortcut along the back fence of the school.
Nobody hung out there, as far as he knew. All that was there was an old swing and some shade. So instead of writing it off, he turned around.
Little Naruto Uzumaki sat there, straddling the seat of the swing the wrong way, watching all the other children go home with their parents. He didn't seem in any hurry to get up and go back to the orphanage he stayed at for the time being.
Iruka began to make his way over there to shoo the boy off, tell him to go home, but stopped when he got close enough to see Naruto clearly but not enough for Naruto to realize he was there.
The little boy watched sadly on as his classmates linked hands with parents or older siblings, his thumb grazing across one of the scars on his cheeks.
"Hey, Naruto, do you want to stop and get some ramen or something? I can walk you home afterwards."
The little boy's hand in his was warm and human, and he didn't smile or laugh or talk while they walked together, slowly collecting stares from others.
Iruka instead spoke quietly to fill the silence while they walked to the Ichiraku ramen bar.
He spoke about school, about his classmates, about ninja training. He even scolded Naruto gently for not trying his hardest in school, but Naruto made no move to defend himself. Something told Iruka it wasn't the most upsetting thing Naruto had ever heard.
Iruka told Naruto he could order a bowl of any flavor he wanted, his treat. While they were waiting for the noodles to boil, the smell of spice filling the air, Naruto spoke for the first time that evening.
"Iruka-sensei, where'd you get that scar on your nose?"
His voice was much quieter than usual, not laughing or mocking. Not like the first time he asked. Iruka paused, surprised.
"Well, certainly not the same way you got your scars, Naruto-kun."
He tried to be humorous, to be lighthearted. But Naruto only stared up at him, as if he were confused. Iruka smiled awkwardly down at him.
"When I was a Genin with my squad, we went on a mission that was a little dangerous. I got too brash, and, well, the enemy got me, right across here." He pulled his thumb across the dark, dark scar on the bridge of his nose for effect and emphasis.
"You know where my scars came from?" Naruto blurted out, bewildered. Iruka blanched - was that what was bothering the boy?
"Well, no…" he said, trying to come up with a way out of the situation, "but I just assumed it was different since you haven't gone on any missions like mine."
"…Oh."
Naruto started in on his food, and Iruka watched him eat it like a starving dog. His free hand had unconsciously gone back up to touch the three black marks on his cheek.
Iruka touched his own scar, fingertips quivering.
End