Chapter Thirty-four: Final Stage, Pass or Fail

The stadium buzzed with spectators.

It wasn't a particularly large crowd, and the seats weren't full up by any means thanks to the dreary weather, but it was still a crowd.

Villagers preferred to remain indoors on such a chilly day instead of toughing out the cold, bundling up in coats and scarves and bearing with a few snow flurries. Yet the Hokage, sans his council, was present to oversee the remainder of the exam and judge the new potential for himself. She supposed he wouldn't be there at all if it wasn't his duty.

The spectator aspect of the test was a daunting one—like it was all for sport. The chattering coming from up in the stands above them began grating at Namie's nerves the moment she set foot in the corridors of the arena, and she couldn't quite bring herself to take even a single curious glance out at the people scattered around out there. She was certain she would see a few familiar faces—friends, family (she was fairly certain she'd heard Kushina's boisterous voice already), and…

She wouldn't be surprised if Hiroto was present for the event. Yet, at the same time, she didn't want to consider the disappointment she would feel if he wasn't.

She didn't want to worry about that—didn't have the time. Not when the matches were due to start soon.

Namie pulled at the bandages covering her forearms, checking that they were tied properly and wouldn't come loose or snag on anything, checked her sandals to make sure they were secure around her feet, pulled the knot of her hitai-ate tightly—almost to a painful degree that she was certain pinched a few fine hairs out of her ponytail—checked and double-checked her weapon holsters and the bag fastened at the back of her blue shirt. She'd forgone her winter wear on this day of battle and noticed the great majority of the other competitors pacing nearby had done the same. The adrenaline would do well to keep them warm.

She flexed her fingers and stretched her arms, her legs, if only to ease the nerves squirming up a riot in her stomach and the taught, dryness in her throat. She was tense; wound as tightly as a spring and ready to fight to release the pent-up stress.

It seemed like forever before the examiners—and the Hokage—decided to grace them all with their presence. The elder Sarutobi had come for moral support—to let them know he was proud that they'd come this far and that he looked forward to what fine chūnin they would make in the future, blah-de-fucking-blah. She couldn't focus on his speech long enough to even care, and found she couldn't quite look the man in the eyes, knowing whose father he was and how things had come to be. Not to mention their last meeting hadn't exactly been pleasant, though he'd never been particularly unkind to her. Her opinion towards the man was bland and she had no intention of changing that.

But even if her feelings on the matter had been different, she wasn't sure she could even manage to hear him through the cotton-like anxiety plugging her ears and muting every sound but the drumming of her heart.

A hand suddenly clamped down on her shoulder—gentle, but firm—and plucked her away from the borders of panic. A grateful smile crossed her lips as she glanced back, expecting to see Kohaku's reassuring face, expecting a few warm, encouraging words of challenge, yet the warmth of relief froze over and turned into a hard, jagged lump of ice in her chest when her gaze met Nara Miho's sly, dark eyes.

"Exciting, isn't it? I'm looking forward to our fight." She spoke as if she knew it would happen—that they would face each other despite the odds. The confident glint in her eyes spoke volumes.

Namie stepped away from the girl, forcing her to drop her hand away, and narrowed her eyes. "I'll look forward to it if it happens."

The brunette opened her mouth to speak, smirking, yet Koemi's booming voice spoke over whatever she'd attempted to say.

"Well, now that that's all taken care of, it's time to assign ya to yer matches." She held a clipboard in her hands, a familiar clipboard, and scanned over the names with a pleased smile before reading them out. "First up: Namikaze Namie versus Uchiha Hibiki."

The boy's hand shot up straight into the air. "I forfeit."

Namie barely had time to process a reaction between the announcement and Hibiki's quick response—grim expectation was quickly replaced by shock and she was left balking, lips parting and closing as she struggled to find the proper words as the world came to a jarring halt like a needle jerked away from the record spinning beneath it.

"Are ya sure 'bout that?" Koemi asked, eyeing the Uchiha boy levelly and letting the pen hover over the clipboard surface. She watched closely—and she wasn't the only one; all eyes were trained on him—as the boy's usually slack, tired amber eyes steeled with certainty.

He nodded. "I'm sure."

Her pen hit the paper, striking out the name. "Alright, then. Namikaze Namie advances to the finals by default." She snapped her fingers and an examiner aid appeared at her side, whom she briefly exchanged a few brief words with before he disappeared in a wisp of smoke and leaves, and the muffled noise of the arena announcer filtered in through the thick concrete walls. "Then, we'll start this off with…"

The blonde's attention drifted away from the brunette proctor as she assigned the second match to two more genin she wasn't in the least bit concerned with, no—her eyes were glued to Hibiki, watching keenly as he turned his back and headed for the exit to let himself out. Without a goodbye, without an explanation.

She wasn't upset that she'd honed her genjutsu resisting skills just for a battle she wouldn't even participate in. She wasn't even upset that her placement in the finals was all but given to her wrapped up in a pretty little box.

She was annoyed by the distance. The way he just gave up his chance to make his way to the final bracket and show off his skills for the village. Well—showing off publicly wasn't an Uchiha thing to do, she knew, but it was still odd. Those two Uchiha had been dead set on becoming chūnin, to rise up to the same rank as their teammate—even going so far as to attempt getting revenge for said boy against Nara Miho.

It couldn't be that he was giving up. It was just too strange.

The blonde separated herself from the group of genin competitors and followed the mousy-haired teenager into the back corridor, bent on getting answers from him even if she had to beat them out.

She flung the double doors open with a scowl and opened her mouth to speak, ready to fling out an insult, whatever it took to get Hibiki to talk, and pointed her index finger at him before drawing back, anger deflated, when she spotted Kohaku beside him. The girl offered her a rueful smile before shaking her head.

"We decided this a while back," the older girl began calmly, smoothing the end of her braid. "That if we got matched up against you, Namie-san, we would forfeit."

"But—why?"

"Because…" she began, but hesitated.

"We entered the exam with the wrong mindset," Hibiki cut in with his cool, quiet voice that seemed almost unemotional now. "And we likely won't be promoted this time around, either. Because of what we put you through, and because…we couldn't face Kyouya if we didn't give it our all right from the start."

"But—you, too, Kohaku-san?" Namie asked, glancing desperately between them at a loss.

The dark-haired girl nodded. "I'll go through with my match, but…it's already too late for hope at this point."

"Do you really think Kyouya would accept that?"

"Like Hibiki said, there's always next time."

"You got so far, though…"

Kohaku placed a warm, gentle hand on the shorter girl's shoulder. "I don't expect you to understand, Namie-san. Just please accept it; don't worry about us. Think about the finals."

Think about beating Miho. The words went unsaid, but the intent was clear.

Namie's gaze flickered between Kohaku's cool eyes and Hibiki's resigned stare that didn't quite meet her own. No; it wasn't something she could understand. Because their goals were different—because they cared about different things. Because in the end, they never did quite come to understand each other and it was just something she would have to live with.

Just as the last came to an end, so, too, did this iteration of Team One and they would go their separate ways once again.

This was the final match. Six genin remained—though four of them didn't matter to Namie, no. Only her opponent, standing before her across the sandy, snow-strewn arena, held her attention. Not the flash of red she could see from the corner of her eye waving around in the stands above. Not the two children jumping up and down cheering. Not the seven friends watching with bated breath.

She only had eyes for Nara Miho. The way her smug smirk sat stiff on her face, without feeling. The way her loose, salmon-colored shirt rippled in the cold breeze. The way her arms tensed and fingers twitched beneath the hems of her sleeves, just slightly, itching to make the first move, as she breathed in and out evenly and returned the stare just as intensely.

She would defeat her, here and now. Had to.

Masato stood between them, eyes darting from the blonde to the brunette as he explained the situation. "Alright. Namikaze Namie, Nara Miho. There is only one rule for this fight and it is simply to refrain from killing each other. The first one unable to continue, whether from being rendered unconscious or locked in a checkmate, will lose. Your time limit is ten minutes." He held an arm up, readying the starting signal. As soon as they nodded, he continued. "Begin!" The man brought his arm down and leapt back, out of the line of fire, as the girls dug their feet into the ground and sank into their fighting stances, hands clasping together and weaving familiar seals to make the first move toward victory.

For an instant, it seemed as if neither girl moved at all, suspended, frozen, staring each other down and hoping to overcome the other by willpower alone, and then the still atmosphere shattered.

A curved wall of earth surged up from the ground in a cloud of dust, climbing up, up, ever upward, until it stood as tall as the stadium walls that surrounded it and cast the two genin in shadow; cast the majority of the arena floor in muted darkness. The muffled sound of spectators complaining and jeering about the wall blocking their view buzzed around them, yet it went unheard.

She'd realized it just before the day of the match, thanks to Obito—the girl needed a bright and proper light source to control her technique. It was how she'd managed to ambush her and the Uchiha teammates in the forest. They'd been close to the tower, then, and the bright sunlight that illuminated the clearing through the tree gaps had produced the necessary shadows. It was why Miho couldn't control the technique as she retreated further away from said light and returned to the darkness among the dense trees—the shadow stretched out and assimilated into the dimness that surrounded it, becoming useless. It was so easy, now that she knew.

A displeased, bitter scowl twisted Nara Miho's face as she aimed a sharp glare at the earthen wall suspended over them like a clawed hand ready to drop before turning her eyes to the blonde. Then, it slowly morphed into a terrible grin as she dipped her hand into the pack at her waist and pulled forth a handful of round pellets that resembled the hot pepper bombs she'd assaulted Team One with in the forest—but, no, those were useless now.

Miho was severely aware of her own weakness and she had countermeasures.

Namie flinched reflexively as the girl threw the items at the ground and they burst apart in a flash of blinding white light reflecting off the snow, bright as the sun, overpowering the widespread darkness and leaving her vulnerable to attack. She leapt back as a thin, finely-controlled line of shadow slithered across the ground through the path of brightness, swerved around her and sought to hook onto her own from behind like a parasite, and she quickly performed the same series of hand seals to summon up a small slab of earth that crashed over the flash bomb, dousing the light and casting them in darkness once again, dissolving Miho's shadow tendril into nothing not a second before it connected to her silhouette.

The brunette anticipated this—rather, the act had only been a diversion. A string of explosions erupted and the base of the large dirt wall was set awash in flame and dust and its foundation crumbled and broke apart. Spider web-fine cracks threaded throughout its surface as it swayed, no longer balanced, and folded inward on itself, raining down on them in heaps of sharp, jagged debris.

The blonde charged forward, bandaged hands wrapped with wire and armed with weapons as her eyes locked onto the Nara kunoichi, acutely aware of the receding darkness and light filtering in through her sabotaged barrier. She launched a handful of shuriken, sending them expertly through the spaces between the falling rock, piercing the chunks of the wall's bottom that remained along the ground like a miniature mountain range. She gave a sharp tug, twisting the wires, dead set on binding the girl before she had a chance to retaliate with her shadows.

Yet, as soon as she broke through the final hail of rock to face the brunette, she was nowhere in sight. The steel strings fell slack, and at the same time, three blades whistled through the air and impaled the ground at her feet—cutting into the outer sole of her sandal, nearly through the flesh of her foot itself if she hadn't moved back in time—and she wrenched her eyes up towards the sky to see the girl descending fast upon her with another kunai in hand, scarcely left with time to draw a blade of her own.

The weapons sparked and gleamed as metal clashed, and Namie lost her grip on the weapon as Miho pushed with great force, catching her forearm with the tip of the kunai and piercing deep into the skin. Namie drew back, leaping away to distance herself; withdrew another kunai before charging in again. Miho's leg arced up in a powerful kick—Namie blocked it with her burning, injured arm and then ducked as the girl's kunai sliced the air over her head. She jabbed her knuckles into the kunoichi's unguarded torso before bringing her elbow down onto her thigh and watching as she staggered, and a fist made contact with the side of her face as she dropped to one knee.

Namie reached up to tentatively assess the damage on her cheek, feeling a tooth rattle, feeling a stark dizziness creeping up on her from the blow, before looking up to meet those black hole eyes that creased in glee as two hands came together and prepared a seal—then were yanked apart as Namie gave a strong, swift pull and tightened the wires she'd slipped around the girl's wrist as it struck her head. The girl gnashed her teeth together and gave a low growl and jerked at the binding strings before her arm was seized in a vice-like grip and twisted as the blonde flung her into the air over her shoulder. Her back hit the ground hard, and before she could move, the cold edge of a kunai teased the skin of her throat, threatening to sever an artery if she so much as breathed too deeply.

The brunette vanished in a puff of smoke and snow, and a slightly-mad chuckle sounded behind Namie as her kunai cut through only air and she whirled around, bringing the weapon around and ready to launch it as she came face-to-face with Miho's twisted expression of joyful victory, because her hand seals were already complete and her shadow stretched out towards the blonde's to capture it, bind it, and the blade barely escaped her grip as her fingers froze and she stood petrified, mid-throw, before her arms snapped back—her neck snapped back in a terrible whiplash—just a bit too late, she knew, as the kunai impaled the brunette's right hand and sliced viciously into the tissue and bone of her index finger, severing the digit completely and sticking into the flesh between her remaining ones.

Miho hissed, trying to maintain her hold on the shadow jutsu as her face contorted in pain, yet she was forced to drop it and cradle her hand close to her chest as it bled—and she yanked the kunai out, tossing it aside to let it hit the snow with a muted clatter.

Namie pushed herself up and onto her feet, ignoring the dull throb at the base of her throat, ignoring the pain squeezing in around her, before barreling towards the girl at full tilt, lifting her arm, finding her fingers too numb to form a fist, and slamming her elbow against the girl's face hard enough to knock her down, sending her toppling to the ground like a domino—she fell down hard for the second time, and didn't rise.

Silence surrounded Namie. She forced herself to breathe and her chest heaved as she watched the Nara girl, attention hyper-focused, waiting for her to jump up, to vanish as a clone, to do something, because it couldn't be over already—she was too afraid to hope for that—yet she simply lay there with a bloodied face, unmoving, save for the faint rise and fall of her chest.

"Winner—the winner is Namikaze Namie!" Masato's call just barely permeated the adrenaline-fueled bubble of silence buzzing around her yet as soon as it registered that the match was indeed at its close, it burst apart and the crowd's cheers rushed in like a crashing wave.

She won.

She won.

But she couldn't bask in the victory.

There was a pounding in her skull, all around her, everywhere, and an aching sting seeping through her muscles and bones. The earthen wall spectacle was catching up to her and she knew her chakra meter was running on fumes—she'd overexerted herself with that show of taijutsu, even though it was quick it was fast and she pushed herself… and the wound on her arm sported a worrying hue of ugly green and purple.

Her vision blurred. Her surroundings became as fuzzy as the snow flurries drifting down from above and one of her knees touched the chilled ground before the rest of her body fell to meet it.

She'd never considered the possibility that Nara Miho drenched her blade in poison.

The exams were long over.

How much time had passed—minutes, hours, days, Namie wasn't sure. She simply lay in the hospital cot, blinking away the stupor and ignoring the flare of irritation that coiled up within her at the dreaded, familiar sight of the ugly, washed-out mint-green curtains and water-stained ceiling tiles overhead.

Taji was probably beside herself with worry—and wasn't she the one who swore to herself she wouldn't end up in a state like this for her mother's sake?

Poison wasn't a pretty thing. She was sore—not only from the fight, but from the noxious toxins that invaded her bloodstream and corroded away her health. It was purged now, she was sure, but the dirty feeling stubbornly clung on.

That was all something she could put behind her, now. Her fight with Nara Miho was over. Even if Hibiki and Kohaku had chosen to resign and put aside their grudge against the girl, she never did. She'd wanted to beat her—and she did.

The chūnin exams were over. She'd made it to the very end, yet—she couldn't quite feel relieved. She still didn't know if she'd received a promotion out of it all and now, she was left waiting, left to recover and hang in a sort of limbo until someone summoned her to the administration building or graced her with a personal visit to disclose her current status.

After all of that, she didn't think she could stand being denied the rank.

She shifted—slowly—and pushed her body up, leaning on her elbows—not quite able to turn her head, as there was some kind of stifling brace wrapped around it, though it didn't particularly ache—only pinched a bit, like she'd kept her head turned in one position for far too long and moved it far too soon. Yet, when she moved, when she reached out to open the curtains closed in around her and yank them along their rods, she stopped short. Not because of any sudden pains or discomfort, but because of the sight that met her eyes.

The girl stood just on the other side of that partition with a smug yet unreadable atmosphere swirling about her like a vortex—with those cold, unfeeling black eyes zeroed in on her and watching her like a hawk in her weakest moments. If she'd wanted to, she could injure her—even go so far as to kill her, and she wouldn't be able to stop her because of her current state. No, rather, she wondered just how long the girl had been standing there and why she didn't.

"Nara Miho."

As soon as the words broke the silence, a sly smile split across the brunette's lips. "You're lucky, well, in a manner of speaking. I didn't use such a potent toxin against you—not as much as I used against that Uchiha Kyouya, anyway. You're already looking quite well, Namie-chan." A steady stream of moonlight fell upon her as she shifted the curtain further aside and revealed a satisfyingly purple black eye held together near her brow with butterfly bandages and a bruised jawline. The hand that lingered upon the curtain was wrapped in bandages; no doubt stitches still held the skin of her finger together, or maybe it was no longer there at all. It was difficult to tell.

"What do you want?" Her fingers tensed against the mattress and she wondered where her weapons were—if they were still in the room, or if they were even allowed in a hospital. She was still caught in a weak, woozy haze—wasn't sure if her chakra levels had replenished enough to defend with ninjutsu, but with the adrenaline raring up within, with the static buzzing at her fingertips, she was sure she could defend herself if push came to shove.

"Just to chat a little—oh, and congrats on winning. You're the second one who's managed that. But the first was kind of a fluke, because, see—"

"Get to the point."

The girl's smile fell. "I knew you weren't one to chat much, Namie-chan, but can't you at least learn to listen when someone's talking?" She gave a short sigh but did as the girl wished. "I'm bored. Bored of this place, this system…" Her voice lowered. "There's no place for me here, so I'm leaving. I came to ask if you wanted to come because… sometimes you seem like you don't belong."

"The hell makes you think that?" Namie hissed without missing a beat, dearly wishing she could punch the strange girl again for good measure—to maybe knock something back into place that she knocked loose during the finals because the girl was all but admitting she was dead-set on deserting the village and going into exile as a missing nin. She didn't want to hear that—didn't want the burden. "I'm not going anywhere. And you, you can't just—leave," she finished weakly, feeling her neck begin to ache as she leaned forward and put weight against the brace. The rising stress wasn't helping, but that was the least of her worries—just why the hell did she care so much about whether or not this girl abandoned Konoha? There was no reason.

"I can. It's easy."

"What about—what about your team? Your teacher? Your family?"

"They're sweet, but they've never done much for me." Her smile returned, though it was a bit forced. "So—your answer is no?" She didn't sound so much disappointed as she did expectant as the blonde nodded her head. "Shame. Would have been nice to have company." There was a certain bitterness in her movements as she shrugged.

"You won't need it if you just stay." Namie managed to pull herself to the edge of the bed and dropped her legs over it, fully intent on standing against Miho if she was serious about carrying this stupid idea through. "I don't know what your problem is, but running away won't solve it. It never does. It's not worth becoming a criminal over." She didn't let her current state muffle the spite in her voice. "So fix it. Stay here and find a way to fix it."

Miho's expression sobered up into something devoid of the usual sweet-scorn and those black eyes that rivaled the shadows around them burned dark, cruel and calculating. Mocking. "Those are the words of someone who's happy to stay stuck in mediocrity, Namie-chan. What's here isn't always what's best. Maybe I was wrong about you." She uttered the last part so quietly it almost went unheard.

But Namie heard it perfectly, and it cut deep.

"Mediocrity? Are you upset no one ever called you special? Different?" Her hands curled into the blankets at her side; nails dug into the threads, catching onto them and tearing in. "Are you mad that you were never singled out and studied like some lab rat? You should be happy they've left you alone to do whatever you want with that fucked up attitude of yours—if you're not satisfied with what you have now, that's your fault. Don't be such a child." Oh, it would definitely be nice to punch the girl again for good measure.

"I didn't—" For once, Miho was caught off-guard. Uncertain. Whatever image she'd built up of Namie in her mind hadn't been prepared for this and wavered, crumbling.

"You're right. You didn't. Do you want to know why I beat you, Nara Miho? Why you didn't beat me?" She hadn't raised her voice from the quiet murmur it had been, yet for the gobsmacked look on the brunette's face, she could have been shouting. "Because I don't run away. Not anymore. I handle whatever comes my way even if it hurts—even if I want to give up and sometimes I do want to leave, because I can't—" She caught her tongue. "It doesn't matter if I ever feel like I don't belong. Because I'll stay. I'll stay here as long as I have to. I'll do whatever I have to. I don't know if you can understand that, but if you leave, you never will."

Black eyes met burning blue, gleaming so bright they almost flinched at the sight.

"And if you do leave," the blonde continued, teeth gnashing together between words, "I'll make you sorry for hurting Kohaku, Hibiki and Kyouya. And whoever else you've thoughtlessly stomped on during your bratty tirade. I'll find you and I'll bring you back here and make you apologize."

"You," Miho breathed, a disbelieving smile tugging at her lips as her eyes widened—slightly deranged. "You're just a kid. Telling me all this…I could kill you here and no one would even know—"

"But you won't. You know you'll have to face an entire village if you do." She was calling her bluff—even she wasn't certain if the girl was mad enough to go through with murder.

The two girls remained deadlocked in a staring contest, judging each other's purposes.

Miho clicked her tongue. Ran a hand through her short hair, rubbed at her head and sighed. "Jeez, Namie-chan…you really know how to spoil the mood. Ruining my dramatic escape, giving me a lecture… I'll say it again. I was wrong about you. You're more interesting than I gave you credit for. And…since you seem to care so much, I suppose I'll stick around for a while longer. To see what else you'll do after preaching all those heavy words like some annoying adult."

Namie blinked. Opened her mouth to speak, but the brunette already turned her back and disappeared behind one of the curtains, blending into the shadows seamlessly. The last she heard of her was a brief parting comment. "Just pretend I was never here."

All that remained was a ringing silence and stillness in the room, everything left untouched and as it was, and for the sheer bizarre nature of the situation, Namie was inclined to think the visit was a product of her medicated, post-poisoned, mind because, yet again, her vision swam and faded out as sleep once again claimed her.

When Namie stirred again, a second, much more welcomed, sight greeted her.

A familiar redhead, blond and brunette were slumped over, snoozing, in the three visitor chairs and stools present in the room.

Kushina slouched half-sprawled out across the other, unused cot in the small space and her hair looked a mess, as if she'd been worrying and scratching at it, though she looked peaceful, now, with her mouth half-open as she breathed in and out, on the verge of snoring.

Minato sat beside the girl, arms crossed, head lolled back and—drooling slightly, she realized with no small amount of amusement. It was probably the most undignified position she'd ever seen her brother in since he was much younger, even while napping, and she couldn't suppress the crooked grin that pulled at her lips.

Taji sat quietly in the chair closest to her bed, chin dropped against her chest—and Namie feared she would topple over if she continued sleeping that way. Even though she was sleeping, now, her eyes were shadowed, and it very well may have been that this was the first time she'd managed to catch a few moments of rest—not by choice, but because she couldn't keep her eyes open another second.

Maybe it had been that way for all of them, really. She couldn't quite bring herself to wake them. Just having them there was enough.

And—the sun was just shy of the horizon, a telltale glow beginning to peek in through the slots in the blinds. Soon, morning would arrive in full shine and the gentle rays would likely awaken them in her place. So, she would wait.

Taji was the first to awaken. "Namie!" Though, with that being her first reaction to seeing the little blonde sitting up against the pillows of her medical cot, flipping idly through a magazine, awake, the other two in the room snapped immediately from their dreams and returned to the waking world as well.

Kushina was the first to approach—bounced towards her and looked for all the world that she wanted to fling her arms around the child, but was fully aware of her condition and settled (after facing a brief internal struggle) for simply reaching for her hand and gracing her with a megawatt grin.

Minato hesitated a moment, as if afraid his redhead girlfriend would engage in an overbearing show of affection as well, before seeing she'd contained herself—though he remained at a distance, smiling in relief. Not because he didn't want to approach, but because Taji didn't waste time in squeezing her way past the redhead and sending her back a few, sheepish steps to give Namie some space with gentle but urgent words.

A palm set aglow with cool chakra met her forehead; passed over her injuries. Taji pulled her hand away quickly to glance at the machines monitoring the girl's status—and after scrutinizing them for a few moments, she turned away from them with a pleased smile that was aimed at said girl.

"You're doing well, Namie. I'm glad you're awake. So, so glad." A fine mist appeared in her eyes, even though she ducked her head down and her medic hat dropped down and shadowed her face—she gave herself away by reaching up to wipe the tears.

"What happened? How long has it been?" Namie spoke up with some difficulty—finding her tongue turned to cotton after a period of disuse. A cup of water was pushed into her hand and she paused to swallow down the liquid and soothe the dryness. She opened her mouth again, feeling all of the questions rushing up at once like a geyser, because she wanted to know if she passed, if she was a chūnin, now, and what day it was, and if she could start undertaking higher-ranked missions and—before she could get the words out, a hand dropped down lightly onto her head and mussed her hair. She looked up to meet eyes that were like her own.

"Don't worry about that yet, Namie. You just woke up. Let's take things one at a time—"

Kushina popped up between the brunette and blond with a gleeful grin. "You did great, Namie-chan! You were perfect in the exam! I know it's what you're wondering—you totally passed, 'ttebane! Now we're both chūnin! But," the energetic glow dulled as she met the strict expression from Taji and the nervous one from Minato and laughed a little uneasily. "Let's just take things one at a time. Right."

"I passed?" Namie repeated, only having ears for that information, sitting up a little straighter, eyes wide. "Then I'm—I'm a chūnin now?"

Taji breathed out a quiet sigh as she realized it was impossible for the girl to contain her excitement after hearing that. "Yes. Once you're able to, you will report to the Hokage to officially receive your promotion. But—don't even think of going now!" The woman's arms shot out to steady the girl as she made to leap out of the bed even with the brace around her neck and the bandages around her arm, and she pushed her back down firmly with a mild frown she ignored completely. That grin on the girl's face was far too healthy—she didn't seem as if she'd been in a coma for a week at all.

But—Namie could hardly care. She passed. She did. She did it! The rank was hers, now, and it was another step forward. Now, she felt as if she were a butterfly pushing free from her chrysalis, ready to leave her past self behind and spread her wings; ready to fly on to what awaited her.

She was ready to meet it.