IM SHIFTING SOME STUFF AROUND check the chapter drop down for new content

Academy — IV

I hadn't been wrong about my little stunt being 'not that big a deal'.

We got book-sorting duty as detention, three days per week until the the pile of returned books in the reference room (that's what they called the library) was sorted in their proper places. Once he heard what the detention was about, Kakashi brightened. It wasn't menial labor to us, see, it was another opportunity to learn things.

I had to remind him to appear to enjoy himself less, take this more like a punishment than a boon, lest some instructor poke his head in and decide to give us toilet cleaning duty instead.

And the most important bit to Kakashi, I suspected, was that word of our detention didn't get back to Sakumo. It didn't, in the end, because Sakumo's most recent mission had him not only missing orientation day, it had kept him away from the village long enough past the first day of school that when he made it back, two upstart kids ditching their boring tour guide to run around the roof was old news.

(Orochimaru, for some blasted reason, did hear of it. He gave me a very amused look when I went in for that month's seal-check, and congratulated me on following in every troublemaker's footsteps. "Didn't expect it from any Hatake," he'd said, approvingly. I had no idea what to do with that.)

We did miss the 'snacks and drinks' part of the day, which was very unfortunate. I couldn't believe we hadn't missed the Hokage's speech, however, which was ironically held on the roof we'd been vacated from.

It was a subdued affair, and very short, as Sarutobi Hiruzen had a good grasp on the attention span of children. He said some stuff about duty to the village, about love and power, and this thing he called the Will of Fire, which I vaguely remembered in the cemetery, and then we could go home.

I hoped I didn't get Tamasuke as my class instructor. I don't think that man very much liked being ditched.

All in all, being back in school wasn't so bad.

At first, the homework was manageable by dint of being nonexistent, and the school day was easily gotten through by daydreaming out the window in classes whose contents I already knew. I did enough class participation to fly under the radar, although to my surprise we never did get around to ice-breaking. Maybe the concept wasn't important? Regardless, my class (which wasn't the same as Kakashi's, to his visible regret) simply did self-introductions at the front, and that was that.

I had plenty of time to focus on my private studies, and training at home went along as usual. Babysitters didn't have to come around all the time, and we saw Minato less too, though the sealing theory scrolls kept coming. It wasn't anything more complicated than last year's content, but there was just so much to memorize, it kept my attention neatly occupied.

A few weeks in, Kakashi stopped me by the gate after class was finished for the day. Sakumo was picking us up, a rare occurrence, and I was so surprised that Kakashi wasn't spending all the time he could with his dad that all I could say was, "But—" and point.

"Never mind Dad for a minute," he said. "I need you to back me up when I tell him we're advancing a year."

"We are?"

"All the clan children are allowed to skip first year."

"Then why do you need me to back you up?"

"Dad hasn't given the Academy the clear, so he probably wants us to go through the whole five years. That's way too slow. If I go to him alone he'll just say 'but what about Haiko?' so I'm asking you first."

I gave him the green light. The earlier I got out of shinobi daycare, the better.

And that was how, two days later, with no fuss, we were moved up a grade, and I had to pay more attention in class. There was still nothing new to learn content-wise — reading, writing, math, science, all the basic things that I knew — but there were new topics.

Geography gave me access to up-to-date world maps. History was a grab-bag of simplified narratives, but the instructor let me read my own books, so long as they were topic-relevant. The scrolls and books available to me weren't much better than the class material, but I took what I got.

There was something like a civics class — the whole village is a family, according to the Will of Fire, and it is the duty of shinobi to protect the village.

Interesting, how they framed the duty of ninja as defensive. I considered the history I'd been given: in the two international wars, Hidden Leaf had been a major belligerent party, but never the aggressor. On one hand, seeing as Leaf emerged from both wars with significant losses, I didn't discount the possibility of national bias: if Leaf had been an aggressor, I wouldn't know from books aimed at students. On the other hand, if Leaf truly hadn't been the aggressor, then history placed us in the unique position of being able to play victim.

And there is the matter of the feudal lords that held sway over the Hokage. The daimyō started wars, not kage. In that light, perhaps a shinobi's duty could sincerely be defensive in nature, because we never began the fights? It'll be by a technicality, but it might smooth some ruffled feathers in the conscience department.

Kakashi dug a pointy elbow into my ribs. I hissed, then said, "Alright, alright, I'm paying attention." At the front of the class, the instructor continued his spiel about the involvement of Hidden Cloud ninja in the First War. I flipped a page in my (dishearteningly thin) history text and picked up where I'd left off.

Kakashi now shared a class with me, yes, and as the Academy operated on 'instructors move, students stay in place' (and who can blame them; recess time was chaotic enough) he was there all the time, which made it harder to zone out during classes. I was quickly perfecting an expression of intense concentration.

"You can't seriously think all this is worth committing to memory," I said during lunch, watching him go over the copious notes he'd been taking. "Trust me, they'll only walk this stuff back when you get to the higher levels."

"A good foundation is still required," he said, voice slightly muffled by the mask he wore.

"Work smart, not hard," I told him, flapping the thin history text I'd been reading in his face. "Save that brainpower for ninjutsu class. You can read up on village history literally everywhere, and they're internally consistent. Stop worrying."

He gave me a strange look, but did turn to his food, which I counted as a win.

Academics in the morning, shinobi-focused classes after lunch. Grade two syllabus only taught theory, but again, the basics had been already been covered for us by Sakumo. This instructor was less accommodating than the history one, and I wasn't allowed to bring in extra material. By the end of spring, even I was itching to move up to grade three.

Spring went, summer came, and and Sakumo filed for us the transfer request. We had to sit through an exam for this one, although the examiner seemed as confident in our ability to pass it as us, because she took our exam papers and sat down at the front to mark it on the spot, humming as she ticked down the page.

"Pass!" she declared. "Check the bulletin board when you come in tomorrow, dears, we'll have the class list updated."

Kakashi emitted a grim sort of satisfaction as we left the building.

It wasn't a feeling echoed by Sakumo when, a few days later, Kakashi proudly told him the news after dinner.

"That's… that's great, son, really great," he said, rather weakly, and patted Kakashi on the head. Kakashi's mask-wearing tendencies didn't yet apply inside the house and he beamed (adorable), then scampered around gathering up the dirty dishes.

I excused myself to go back to my room. It wasn't an avoidance tactic; year three had a significantly heavier workload than the previous two, given that we'd leapt into it, and it had taijutsu classes, so I was sore on top of being mentally tired, and my private studies had not paused, not that I expected it to.

There was a knock on my door-frame, and I put down the scroll I'd been studying to stand up.

"No, no, no need," Sakumo said, entering with a tray of tea. He set it down on the low table in the room as I moved over from the desk. "I think you'd like a break from your studies, so I brought over some calming tea. Have you ever had chamomile, Haiko?"

Not in this life. "I'd read that it helps with sleeping." I pulled out mats from beneath the table.

"Thanks," Sakumo said. He began pouring into two small cups. "Indeed it does. It's main effect is to calm the nerves, and I make it often, because I have a hard time falling asleep at night."

I looked at him, took in the lines in his face, the visible callouses on his hands. My real parents were so far back in my memory that it was useless to think about them, and I'd spent so little time with my mother here, and at so young an age, that even now the memories were no more than impressions. I had no idea how to respond to the weakness and the vulnerability I saw in the tired man before me.

"Did you want to talk about something, Father?" It didn't seem polite, or right, to call him by the distant honorific I'd always used.

"Well, yes. You're perceptive, as always." He gestured for me to help myself to tea, and I did so, warming my hands on a cup. The clean, warm fragrance drifted up to me.

After it cooled, I took a sip. Wow, this was great.

"Like it?" Sakumo asked.

I nodded.

His smile grew a little. "We have more in the kitchen, in the cabinet on the left. Help yourself whenever you want."

We took the tea in companionable silence, and it was only after I refilled my cup that Sakumo began again. "I know I'm not the best father, being away all the time. I can't hope to replace your mother, and to even suggest that is disrespectful to her memory, but I'd like you to know that you can always approach me about any trouble you may face."

I sat motionless, trying to decide on a response, but all I could think about was why now. What brought this on? Was it the upcoming anniversary of my arrival at this household? Did today hold an unknown significance? More worryingly, did this conversation stem from his concern about me or a self-esteem issue about parenthood? (I'd say eighty-twenty.)

The specter of his unknown suicide date loomed in the back of my mind.

"Okay," I finally said. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind." After a brief pause, I added, "You're doing the best you can. I can't imagine how hard it'd be to be in your shoes. Kakashi really respects you and loves spending time with you, and I think that's all that matters." These things needed to be said. "Focus on that."

Surprise flickered across Sakumo's face before being replaced by an expression I didn't recognize. "That's very mature of you, Haiko, but a parent's place should be beside their child, and, well." He took a deep breath. "You're a kind and thoughtful child, Haiko, and on that note, I hope you aren't letting Kakashi walk all over you with this Academy business."

I stared. "…How so?"

"You really aren't being dragged along?" He peered at me dramatically. "You are coping with the rapid changes?"

Ninety-ten, then.

"So far, yes," I replied, honestly. "The workload is manageable, the classes are finally getting interesting, and the instructors know what they are doing." It's only been a few days since the transfer, but I trusted my first impressions.

Sakumo sat back, satisfied. "Alright, I trust you. You probably already know by now, but Kakashi has a bit of a one-track mind and he can be very persistent. He never means ill, but if he's bothering you, come to me as soon as possible. That child has never really had a friend—" oh, I'll bet "—so even I'm not sure how he's going to behave."

Then the meaning of his words sank in. I didn't fault Sakumo for coming at his son's anti-social tendencies like you would a cat — if you're worried your cat gets lonely while you're away at work, you get another — but what sort of shitty example for friendship was I setting?

As a last ditch effort, I asked, "He, er, tell you that, or did you assume?"

Sakumo chuckled. "Before you came here, I tried to get him to playdates with other children of his age. It was like releasing a cat into a dog park."

I winced. That must be the event that Kakashi feared a repeat of.

"Believe me when I say," Sakumo continued, still amused. "You'd know if he didn't like you."

I hid my grimace with the tea cup. Great. The weight of responsibility was now on my shoulders to make sure Kakashi didn't turn out maladjusted.

"While we're on that topic," Sakumo said. "Have you made any friends in the Academy?"

"No, not really," I said. "Most of the civilian children are too shy to speak to clan children, and clan children don't want to talk to younger kids like us." Being clan children, some of them had been admitted directly to year two at five years old, which meant our current year three class had a mix of children aged six to eight. On top of all that, neither me nor Kakashi was the sociable type.

Sakumo sighed, resigned, as though he knew this would be my response. "I know I fight a loosing battle, but can you promise me you'll try talking to some of them? Just try. Team work, after all, is a vital part of being a ninja."

"Yes, I promise," I said, begrudgingly.

He watched me with a sort of rueful amusement. My stomach twisted with guilt. I'd been too self-centered, too selfish, treating this with too little care. Even if my omens about the future were vaguer than a soggy ink painting, I still knew. It was time to take this seriously.

"The tone is getting bit down, isn't it," Sakumo said. "Let's turn to lighter topics. Tell me about what you're learning in class. I want to add some new things to your training regime."

I poured myself a new cup. Sakumo was clearly trying his best to absentee-parent, and sometimes just trying your best was enough.

There was one girl I recognized in class, now that I was bound by honor to pay attention. A Nohara Rin. I remembered the clan markings on her cheeks from the birthday party, and despite being two years our senior, she was… shier than a wallflower.

And she kept staring at Kakashi. It was adorable.

As soon as I noticed that quirk, my class time became occupied with the extremely entertaining activity of glancing between Rin and Kakashi, counting the number of times she looked his way and away again.

"What are you laughing at?" Kakashi snapped at me, after the seventh time I hid a grin behind my hand.

"Nothing," I said, smothering another laugh when I met Rin's startled gaze over Kakashi's shoulder. Deer in headlights!

Kakashi squinted at me, then turned around in his seat to follow my gaze. Rin flushed, instantly looking down at the open book in front of her. Kakashi obviously saw nothing but students snoozing their way through geography, and he turned back to me, brows furrowed suspiciously. "You'd better not be planning anything."

"What could I possibly be planning?" I said, feigning innocence and dramatically widening my eyes.

He scoffed. "Leave me out of it."

Rin was stealing glances at us from the corner of her eyes. I caught her look and smirked. She froze.

A laugh escaped me, disrupting the somnolent quality of the class.

"Is there a problem, Hatake-san?" said the instructor, sharply, and I wrestled down my grin to reply, "No, sir." while Kakashi put his face in his hands.

The third year syllabus gave us more insight into the chakra system along with practical exercises, and combined with what I learned in the sealing scrolls, I soon had a good grasp of the basics. Along with a bettered understanding of theory, my chakra control also improved.

My chakra felt like what ink looked like — weightless, cool to the touch, formless and vaguely minty. I could soon isolate the feeling in myself, a current murmuring beneath my skin. At first, the realization was an intrusive one, but the more I churned it with exercises and hand seals, the more used I grew to its weight.

Soon, I even became able to tell if someone else was successfully moulding chakra.

It was a large leap from where I began, and for that reason I kept my weird sixth sense to myself.

Because most clan children had some form of chakra training at home, as long as we completed whatever assignment was given during the class, we had the rest of the class off. Sometimes it meant an early school day, other times it was an extra break. Kakashi struggled a little, but most days, we were both cleared for the break.

I used the time to dig into chakra theory. I wanted to know what it was. Matter or energy? Use? Storage? And most of all, I searched for a mention of that 'nature energy' Jiraiya talked about, way back when.

At home, the changes Sakumo made to our taijutsu regime was the addition of bukijutsu — he introduced us to shuriken and kunai throwing forms, how to find the balance of a weapon, and turned down Kakashi's request to learn kenjutsu.

While the Academy still used wooden training weapons weighed like their metal counterparts, we were using actual, if blunted, weaponry at home. The throwing stars, however, were sharp. At this age, a single shuriken was about the size of my hand.

I was staring contemplatively at one, weighing it against a sharpened wooden shuriken, when I felt Kakashi's chakra flare with effort. I looked up.

He was focused on the kunai gripped in his hand, but he wasn't in form to swing it or throw it, and it took me a second to realize, based on the pulses of chakra (faint crackles), that he was trying to force it into the kunai.

I frowned down at the metal shuriken and wooden shuriken in my hands. Was that possible, to pass chakra into something non-living? I tested it myself, concentrating chakra in the palms of my hands, and found the metal shuriken dead and inert, stoic in its refusal to cooperate. The wooden shuriken, on the other hand … I waved my hand experimentally, then flicked it forcefully as though getting rid of a bug. Only then did the wooden shuriken go careening off my palm, hitting the wall then the ground with a faint clatter.

It had been, however briefly, stuck to my palm, like the leaf in leaf exercises.

Interesting. Was this because of the materials? Because wood had been life, once, and metal was never alive? How, then, did shinobi walk on water and concrete walls? Was it a question of skill? I was missing something.

"You missed," Kakash said, dryly.

I hummed, distracted. "Stop trying that, whatever you're doing. I don't think it works."

I walked over and picked up the wooden shuriken. It was too small an experiment. After all, seals were entirely based on ink and chakra, and infusing ink with chakra before a working produces the absolute best sealwork. Ink was liquid-saturated minerals. Metal was a form of mineral. It came from the root of mountains, from within the earth. No, there was another reason why I couldn't channel chakra through the metal shuriken.

"You could tell? How?" Kakashi asked.

"I just tried it myself." I gripped both shuriken in both hands, turned them over, ran chakra through my palms, and opened my fingers. As expected, the metal one fell to the ground. The wooden one stuck to my hand.

I picked up the fallen one and regarded him. "What were you trying to do? Is it to improve grip? For that you should wrap something around the handle, increase the friction."

Oh, this must be why the standard attire for shinobi included gloves. Fingerless, to preserve touch-perception without sacrificing grip. Fingerprinting wasn't a technology yet, so that wasn't a worry.

Kakashi's eyes lingered on the wooden shuriken. "No," he said. "That wasn't it. Can you sense chakra?"

Ah, balls. I shrugged, carefully nonchalant. "Is that what it's called? I just…can."

"You should tell the instructors."

I bit my lip. It went against my instincts to ask someone for information when I hadn't yet looked for it on my own, but I was aware of how paranoid it would sound as an excuse.

"Tell Dad, then." Kakashi was watching me carefully. "That's fine, right?"

I exhaled. Splendid. He was getting more perceptive off my paranoia. "Sure, okay. But what were you doing?"

He huffed. "Dad has a chakra blade, and he wouldn't teach me how to use it, so I thought I'd start on my own."

Chakra blade, yet another foreign term. How I missed search engines. It must be why he wanted to learn kenjutsu so much. "I think Sakumo-ue is a little hesitant to give you more sharp stabby things."

He scoffed. "He lets you study sealing."

That took me aback. I couldn't tell if it was envy or frustration in his tone, and I said, "That's probably because I've got a seal on my face. I'd think the sealing arts would be required reading for someone with a seal. That's not the case for you and the chakra blade." It must be some sort of inheritance.

"I know that," he said. The kunai flew from his hands to thud into the straw dummy's heart. "I just wish he'd treat me less like a kid. He doesn't treat you like that."

I held my tongue. I've never had siblings. I had no idea how to deal with this. There was no doubt in my mind that Sakumo wasn't playing favorites, and his (minimal, really) coddling was an attempt to give us what experience of childhood he could, but Kakashi was clearly in a hurry to grow up.

And I didn't know whether to dissuade him, or to rush him along.

Perhaps because the current cohort had a smaller size then other years, we had taijutsu lessons as a year, not separate classes, and because it was summer, lessons were held in the indoor dōjō.

There wasn't much book-learning to do when it came to the martial arts, but it was, again, no more than basics, and I kept pace well enough. I didn't stick out like Kakashi, who was so good he was almost always picked as the demonstration partner with the instructor, nor did I lag behind as — the name sparked a strange recognition, which was the only reason I memorized his face — one Uchiha Obito.

It helped that he turned out to be close to Rin. He always headed straight for her, and she answered with a smile.

I'd seen some Hyūga around the building, and their blank, milky eyes struck me as unsettling. I remembered the Sharingan and the Byakugan, I knew the outline of their abilities, and the Uchiha and Hyūga clans were covered in ninja civics class.

Uchiha were harder to spot than Hyūga, but the huge fan symbol on their backs was a reliable indicator. Uchiha Obito was in a different class, so I didn't see him often, but once I started paying attention, he was always around Rin during lunch breaks and recess. He carried himself with none of the poise or confidence I'd come to expect from clan children, and held none of the skill.

Was he older than me? Had he skipped the first year, enrolled when he was five? If he was indeed the same age as Rin, why was there such a big gap between their skills? He seemed energetic and eager to learn, if the way he bounced up from being knocked down to the dōjō floor was any indication.

So how come?

When it was my turn to face him in a spar, his grin was so infectious I began to question my own interest. What did he — will — had — urgh. From where did I recognize his name, and was he a villain or a protagonist?

He made the seal of confrontation and the grin turned into a baring of teeth. "I can't beat Kakashi, but I'll beat you!"

I dodged his opening punch instead of blocking, stepping to the side as he over-extended and lost his balance. I stepped into reach and aimed a kick at his side. He blocked, badly, and tried to catch my leg, but I was already moving away.

His built felt solid for his age. I studied him as we circled each other. Something on my face spooked him: the boisterous confidence in his expression faltered.

He didn't have the Sharingan, of that I was sure. Only Nara children were banned from using their hijutsu in taijutsu lessons because of its absolute ability to disengage, but bloodlines were allowed, the instructor was explicit on that. Not that I could take advantage of it, but if Obito had the Sharingan… Most kids weren't a paranoid ass like me. He'd be using it if he had it.

So, no trauma in the immediate past.

Low self-esteem, to be scared so quickly. Yearning for recognition, from his focus on unseating Kakashi as the best student in class. Bad analytical skill — if he really wanted to beat me, he should've known from observation that I lost to kids who could catch my openings, and I always won against bullheaded aggressors.

But who was he?

He closed the distance, but I saw the wind up of his arm and was ready for the hit. A step to the side brought me into position to deflect his arm and I punched his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

He dropped to his knees, wheezing. I'd pulled my punch, too.

"Excellent form, Haiko-san!" said the instructor, before turning to the class. "Can anyone tell me what gave Haiko-san the win?"

Ikue was a good instructor. She always framed display matches in from a positive angle: 'how was the fight won?', 'what was a good move?', 'why was that a good form?' She made sure to point out where we were correct. It was good positive reinforcement.

I made the seal of reconciliation, made sure Obito saw it, then sat down next to Kakashi. He nodded at me, but I just sighed at the show of approval. It wasn't an effort to win against Obito, not like it was an effort to win against the Sarutobi — Asuma, I think. Another name that was just that little bit more familiar than it should.

It did not escape my notice that Ikue never pitted me against Kakashi.

When the class wrapped, I still had no idea why Uchiha Obito was familiar. He was saying something to Rin when I glanced over, and she was patting his shoulder comfortingly.

So he had a support system. Why, then was I feeling more and more uneasy?

"What's with the interest in the Uchiha?" Kakashi said, as we were filing out of the dōjō into the summer afternoon.

"I wanted to see for myself what an Uchiha was like, since you so kindly compared me to them." I replied, faking offense.

He sucked in a breath between his teeth — which, astonishing that he could do that through a mask — and said, "I apologized for that."

I grinned, but before I could rib him further, Uchiha Obito was standing in front of us, looking comically determined. On his left, hanging slightly behind, was Rin. I aimed my curious look at her, and she returned a slightly desperate one.

"I hereby declare!" Uchiha Obito cried, one hand raised high, index finger extended, the brought it slashing through the air to point at Kakashi's nose. "I will replace you as the best in class! Just you watch, Hatake Kakashi!"

Rin sighed, quick and soft and exasperated. I was doing a poor job of reigning in my amusement; my brows were straining from the effort of climbing upwards.

"Actually," Kakashi said, and wow, I'd never heard his voice so dry before. "Haiko and I are getting transferred to grade four next month."

It was news to me, but to preserve the effect he was going for, I didn't reveal my surprise. (Rin, however, gasped, and looked like someone had just crushed all her dreams.)

Obito gaped. "Transfer… to year four?"

"Let's go," Kakashi said — to me, apparently, then brushed past Obito without another word.

As I passed Obito, I said, half in a genuine attempt to cheer him up, half delighting in his crestfallen expression, "Some day you'll manage it." Then I jogged to catch up to Kakashi.

It might be true, too. He was an Uchiha. I just hoped he could recover from the inevitable trauma that's needed to trigger his Sharingan.

When Kakashi told Sakumo about the request for a transfer, I saw the exact moment Sakumo resigned himself to his fate and decided to take pride in his son's achievements instead.

His answering smile was strained, but genuine.

During the few days we had to wait for Sakumo to return, I attempted to speak to Rin. In a roundabout way, of course: passing notes. I hadn't passed notes since primary school a lifetime ago, and I was pretty excited to do it again.

-Nohara Rin, right? How did you know Uchiha Obito?- I wrote, then scrunched it up into a ball, and, when the instructor turned his back to the class to write something on the board, I pitched it towards Rin.

Score! It flew in a perfect arc, sailing over several heads to land in Rin's lap. Kakashi, who didn't clue in to what I was doing until I threw it, stared at me, aghast.

I shrugged a shoulder, mouthing, "Leaving soon." I'd rather not speak aloud. This instructor had sharp ears.

He scowled, then turned his disapproval on Rin, as though he could stop her from participating in a class-disrupting activity by the sheer force of his stare.

Which, I noted with amusement, might actually be possible.

At the paper spitball landing in her lap, Rin started, then immediately looked at us. She must've determined the path of the paper from how it landed. It's good to know she was more perceptive than average.

I waved, my grin growing wider when Rin saw Kakashi's scowl and ducked her head. Kakashi glanced between us, shook his head, then very pointedly looked straight ahead.

To my disappointment, Rin didn't throw the paper back at me. She tapped on the shoulder of the kid next to her and whispered something, pointing at us. I sighed into my hands, even as the kid glanced at me dubiously but took the paper and passed it on, repeating Rin's request.

When it got to me, Kakashi's pencil was pressing into the paper harder than necessary, but I ignored him. If Rin wasn't going to play the game, then there wasn't any point in me continuing it.

-Hello!- said the note. Her handwriting was cute and round, nothing like the hasty scrawl of mine. I placed more effort into brush calligraphy and sealing forms, and that did not translate to penmanship. -I've known Obito for a long time. Our parents were friends. I don't think you should pass notes this way, Hatake-san, it's disrespectful to the teacher.-

I huffed. A stickler for rules, huh? She and Kakashi would get along fine—

The paper slipped from my fingers.

I remembered.

We haven't seen Minato around for some time, so he must've been on missions of some sort. Sakumo had always been busy. But Jiraiya … away from the village? Him, a member of the great Sannin?

Flimsy straws made for a flimsy picture, but I snatched the scrap of paper and flipped it to the other, clean, side. I wrote down Team Minato's composition — Nohara Rin, Uchiha Obito, Hatake Kakashi. Beside that I wrote 'Third War'. It was a reach, but what if one of the reasons Sakumo no longer sent us baby sitters was because all his friends — skilled jōnin, promising chūnin — were out in the world, scouting for war sentiments?

How did the Third War start? Beside the words, I made a note 'origin unknown'. I wanted to write it in English, but I no longer remembered the alphabet enough to write it. Disturbed and angry, I made another note: 'revise old life'.

Obito lost an eye and his life. Kakashi lost his father and gained a Sharingan. I put that down. Sometime between now and the formation of Team Minato, Sakumo would be pushed to suicide. I put that down, too.

Genin teams were formed from fresh graduates. Kakashi was clearly gunning for graduation next spring, but Rin and Obito wouldn't graduate until two years later, so barring extenuating circumstances, I had time.

Only two years.

I stared at the messy scribbles taking up the piece of paper.

It wasn't that long at all.

My brain was whirring. What could I do? There was no way I could prevent a war. Maybe if it was ten years later, I could start making connections now, but two years — and the formation of Team Minato was by no means a timestamp for the beginning. It was simply the only concrete timeline I had to work with. But … I searched for a sot on the paper, then put down 'child soldiers'. At some point during the war, Hidden Leaf would be pushed to sending children onto the battlefield. This would conceivably be after some months of fighting. I didn't want to entertain the thought of the fighting dragging on for years, but World War II lasted from 1933 to 1945, and while shinobi guerrilla warfare was superficially different from trench warfare… the battle-lines would shift rapidly, there might not even be a clear front, and it was entirely possible for the attrition to set in.

No, there was nothing I could do for the war. I could only hope to reach out to those close to me.

There wasn't any more space on the paper, but I circled Sakumo's name. I'd try to stop — damn, this sounded impossible even in my head — turn him away from suicide. That'll be the only solid contribution I can make. Not only would he be a grounding presence for Kakashi, he was the White Fang. He was a valuable chess piece.

I scowled at my own thoughts. Could I stop Uchiha Obito's death, somehow? It was a cave in, on some mission. His skill was terrible, so if I helped him... Was he likely to accept my friendship?

I glanced at Kakashi. He was still focused on the instructor. The horrors in his future… how do I divert them? Could I do it?

I folded the paper, tucked it into a pocket. When I got home, I would make a more comprehensive map of what I remembered.

For now, the clearest thing I could do was train. I held no delusions — there was no way I could reach Kakashi's level of skill, bloodline or no bloodline. The Ryokugan, however, was a wildcard that I needed to master. Influencing the future wouldn't be possible if I died in the next decade.

guess whos dumb and almost messed up the ages. me.

also, am i the only one who finds it damned hilarious that haiko can't remember the really important stuff?

disclaimer: i don't own Naruto