It wasn't even a D-Rank. This was merely an excuse to leave the house and do something considerate for Mikoto's family.
Her father was the KMPF Medical Examiner, so he tended to work long hours at the morgue. Four evenings a week, her mother had a part time job and didn't come home until late. Normally, that meant Mikoto's older brother walked her home, but Yori apparently had more important things to do than bother.
Fugaku had originally agreed to meet his parents for lunch, but found it strange when Mikoto's mother was at the station. She was trying to convince her husband to pick up their daughter, seeing as the teacher wanted to send her home early for getting into a fight. It turned into a full argument, so Fugaku volunteered to go get the girl instead.
"I can't believe you beat up another kid. What's gotten into you?" Fugaku shook his head slowly, watching as Mikoto's face remained scarlet in annoyance. "That's not very ladylike, Mi-chan."
"Who cares?" She was seven years old, angry, and seething. Whenever something upset her to this level, Mikoto didn't walk; she stomped, scowled, and kicked up as much rainwater as she could with her white boots. "Inoichi pulled my hair. He had it coming."
Fugaku rolled his dark eyes. Yamanaka Inoichi was the kid Mikoto whined about the most, even though he belonged to the class below hers. Considering how much of an ass he and his peers had been toward the girls they liked in Academy, Fugaku couldn't help but shake the feeling that Inoichi only annoyed Mikoto in an attempt to get her attention.
"There's certain places on a boy you just don't kick."
Despite its asinine origin, Mikoto's disgruntled Academy drama proved to be a welcome break from Fugaku's new routine. With Mitsumi still too lost in self-doubt to return to duty, Fugaku opted to take as many solo missions as the village would allow over the past couple of months. A decent shinobi endured even when it hurt to do so. With Nawaki dead and Mitsumi refusing to continue, it meant he'd have to do enough missions for all three of them.
Sarani encouraged him to slow down. Kazusa didn't.
Truth be told, the work didn't bother him. If anything, keeping busy made it easier to focus on the present rather than dwell on his past failures. There was enough time to think about Nawaki and all the ways he'd wronged him in those final seconds every time he closed his eyes and went to sleep.
Mikoto continued to splash mud with her boots, but she scooted closer to the older boy in an attempt to share the same umbrella. An early October breeze chilled her cheeks, so she pulled the hood of her raincoat up.
"I threw my bento at him, too," she confessed with mischievous, shameless glee. "Should I feel bad about it?"
"A little," he supposed. Mikoto's impish smile indicated otherwise. "Maybe Inoichi likes you. Did you ever consider that?"
"EW! BOYS ARE NASTY!" The little girl paused, looked up at her older friend, and her whole face turned sheepish. "Except you, I guess. You're okay, Fugaku-nii."
It was the first time he'd laughed in weeks without having to force it. That only made the twinkle in Mikoto's eyes intensify. "I'm gonna get even." But hadn't she done that already? "Will you help me?"
Mikoto didn't need it. She already had everything under control–or at least as much so as a seven-year-old girl could manage.
Instead of immediately abandoning the child as soon as her house came into view, Fugaku made the additional effort to briefly help her with some of her more challenging homework. Of all the distractions he'd hoped to find since Nawaki's death, the younger kids in the clan were the greatest: especially this one. She could be a brat sometimes, but at least she was a funny brat.
Not only that, but it was far too easy to tease her. All he had to do was insinuate she ran the risk of being put on a team with Yamanaka Inoichi and she shrieked in displeasure. That's when she swore up and down she'd have a girls-only team and they'd be the best ever. Somewhere into the rant, he stopped paying attention, but he could at least nod his head and grunt in acknowledgment. That was enough, right?
Considering Mikoto offered to split her snack with him on his way out, he supposed it was.
The mochi was gummy and a little too sweet for his tastes, but he'd taken a couple to be polite. As soon as there were at least three blocks between Mikoto's home and himself, he chucked the second sugary blob into a trashcan.
Silly girl. She didn't know what real problems looked like. Not yet.
Two blocks further away and he caught two familiar silhouettes in a back alley. Smoke passed through one shadow's lips. The other one held out a hand, gesturing for his friend to pass what looked like a hand-rolled cigarette. The edge glowed even brighter upon meeting lips once more, but the first shadow refused to share.
"Nuh-uh. No. You aren't picking this shit up, too. You're Kazusa-taichou's favorite boy scout." Sanjo. That was Sanjo! "She always compares me to you, man. It's annoying. It's always Yashiro this, Yashiro that. Yashiro never fucks up. What makes you so goddamn special?"
"That's just it. I'm not." Yashiro laughed a bit, still trying to convince Sanjo to hand over the cigarette. "Maybe if you didn't suck, Sanjo, she'd pat your back, too."
"You know what? Fuck you, pal. I'm telling her you smoke. You can't be the golden boy forever." And that's when he noticed a familiar pair of eyes observing him. "Shit. Now we're both busted. Hi, Fugaku." Sanjo stepped forward, leaving the shadows, and patted the twelve-year-old on the top of the head. "This thing you see? We're not doing it."
Up close, the distinctly skunky smell of the cigarette gave away what it really was. Fugaku wanted to gag. "What are you gonna do if she calls for a drug test?" And already, he could hear the nervous laughs intensify. Yashiro wasn't laughing, but his face turned pale.
"Sanjo says it calms his nerves," Yashiro explained. "I don't normally do this." Of course he didn't. He was quite possibly the most responsible and self-reliant teenager in the clan. "But I wanted to try."
"Why?" Were they taking on a particularly grisly mission? As a Homicide officer, Yashiro saw a lot of dead bodies. Sanjo saw another type of ugliness in Vice. Sanjo ended up slinking off rather than answering the boy's questions. "Yashiro, what's going on?"
Yashiro merely shook his head and sighed. "It isn't important. How about I walk you home?"
'I just did that for Mi-chan,' he wanted to say. He also wanted to remind Yashiro that he wasn't a baby. Instead, all he ended up doing was nodding his head.
"Do you think there's any chance I could go on a mission with you or Sanjo?" Fugaku asked. "Shinohara's serious about retiring."
It had been nearly two months, and she still refused to go on missions. She wouldn't even accept a D-Rank. Her nerves were too badly rattled and the mere thought of doing more than running basic errands left her in a crippling depressive fit the likes of which Fugaku was powerless to stop.
It broke his heart to think of his team as completely disbanded, but perhaps this was reality. Mitsumi didn't want to see him right now and probably never would again. And his other friends were caught up in their own lives. Perhaps now was the time to think about the clan and build more bonds within it.
"Is this really about missions, Fugaku?" Yashiro frowned, brow furrowed. "Or is this about Nawaki?"
Fugaku froze in place, stunned that somebody finally noticed. "I've…"
"When I was around your age, my uncle died."
Fugaku knew enough about Yashiro to know that his mother and father died when he was very little. His uncle stepped forward to raise him, but never told him anything about his parents. To make matters even more frustrating on Yashiro's front, no one at the KMPF dared to talk about Setsuna or Keiko, either. Not with Kazusa around.
"But considering how quiet everyone was when my parents died, I didn't think anyone would listen to me when I lost him, too."
'I can relate,' Fugaku realized, staring down at his feet. "I'm sorry. Did anyone–" Judging from the small, sad smile on the older boy's face, Fugaku felt he already had the answer.
"When nobody else wanted to step up, your parents did. Kazusa-taichou decided to personally train me after that. Thanks to her, I became even stronger. And your father is a good man, perhaps one of the best in the clan. If I ever needed someone, even if only to listen…Sarani-sama was always there."
He could feel Yashiro's hand on his shoulder: supportive and sympathetic. "I didn't know your friend, but I can tell how much he meant to you. I know sometimes it helps to have somebody to talk to."
Yes. Fugaku couldn't have possibly agreed more. This whole time, he bottled up his feelings and let them stew inside because nobody understood or even wanted to hear it. Yet here, standing before him, was an older boy: a distant cousin somehow who barely spent time with him before. That cousin cared so much.
"I want to give you what your parents gave me. I can always be your open ear, Fugaku. Always."
…
"I'm not cut out for this. I don't even know what I'm doing."
And yet there was no other person in the clan he trusted with his secrets as much as this one. Time and again, Yashiro had been there to hear Fugaku at his most vulnerable and questioning moments.
Twenty. Twenty. He'd only just turned old enough to drink, and yet the village expected him to take over and properly lead his clan.
The death of his parents still felt fresh and raw. At least there was confirmation that his mother died quickly. His father's body was still unaccounted for, but the likelihood of Uchiha Sarani surviving at the hands of the Mugen Tribe for that long was nothing short of impossible.
'They were only in their early fifties,' he realized. 'Their anniversary was next week.' Mikoto, Kaede, and some of the other girls from the clan came by to offer food, condolences, and flowers.
Considering what an impact Kazusa had on some of his friends outside the clan, Tohru and Mitsumi had also stopped by. Mitsumi even pulled him into a tight hug and cried enough for the both of them. It was like losing another mother all over again.
Already, he could hear the unsure whispers of the older men and women of the Uchiha Clan. Twenty was far too young to have this much responsibility. 'I'm going to fail. And if I do that, I don't fail only myself. I'll fail them, too.'
Every choice he made would be placed under a microscope. Who would he marry? Would he have any children? Would the children be strong and capable of leading this family someday?
"But I'll think of something. I always do…"
He'd do what was best for the group, even if it meant he had to do without. Such was the cost of being a leader.
"Just…don't tell them I'm having doubts, Yashiro. They don't deserve to see that."
Yashiro leaned against the wall, shrugged, and took a slow drag from his cigarette. Briefly, he offered it to the younger man. "For your nerves," he insisted.