The Forgotten

Naruto

A plot bunny that wouldn't leave me be, so I ended up writing it down. The concept was to take the concept of the Professor (The Third) or Shikamaru - but as a civilian. Basically, it's the origin tale of something like Batman in the Naruto universe, in which a nominally powerless individual can nevertheless have an impact and even far outstrip many of his 'superiors'.

Chapter 1 - White

"I didn't want to start a war without end. I certainly never imagined I'd stand at the center of that cyclone, flanked only by those whose loyalty had never wavered, and be utterly powerless to stop what I unleashed. Through violence, I 'solved' one problem, but sowed the seeds for another. I should have realized that in my moments of weakness.

Weakness pulls at me from across the void, ghostly arms reaching out for love or wrath, their spindly fingers tearing at my skin. But - this is not over. Not yet. But if I should perish, let those who write the history books remember: I meant well. And I am truly sorry."

"You're just a simple civilian, you can't take that kind of tone with me! Do you want to die?" The words darted over the tall man's lips with nary a blush, and his gaze was vicious as it was focused on me. The air seemed to crackle with unspent rage as the insult hung between us, but I refrained from answering. I knew better. When no challenge came, the man finally sniffed at me with a shake of his head, picked up his purchases, and left.

The silence that followed was deafening, and it only broke when I let out a long-suffering sigh that I'd been keeping in for just such an occasion. It was a small blessing that there weren't any other customers who could see my trembling hands, clasped tightly around the wooden edge of the counter, or the sweaty brow that I wiped off with my sleeve.

One of these times, one of them will follow through...

There was a soft shuffle behind me, and I closed my eyes in resignation. It figured he would be watching, right when I made a pathetic blunder like that. Things never seemed to go as I wanted them, especially where people were concerned.

"You're not making many friends with that rudeness of yours, you know..." Han said mildly, his hands clasped behind his back as he shuffled up to the little shop's counter. His muddled green eyes looked up at me from behind tangled eyebrows, and though pity and exasperation were etched into the old man's face, there was no anger. There never was.

"I'm sorry. I was just…"

Han cast my words aside with just a look. "I know that young people are hardly fond of the old ways, but with people like that, you have to pay attention to your words."

His admonishment was nothing new, and I looked away with a blush. Six times now,I'd misjudged a person as they walked in, and on each occasion I'd ended up hating myself for the mistake, probably far more appalled than Han was. The first time it had been honest ignorance, the second an accident, but now it was simply negligence, a careless slip of the tongue.

"He didn't even have a headband," I muttered at last, a feeble defense if there ever was one. "I thought he was just another civvie, you know?"

Han raised an eyebrow as the corners of his mouth twitched. "Well, for someone who reads so very much, you take a long time to learn the simplest of things." He shook his head, the few remaining plucks of grey hair brushed out of his face with barely a gesture. "Ah, such is the idiocy of youth..."

Annoyance flared up from nowhere, and I gritted my teeth. "I'm twenty-four years old, I'm not a kid!" I exclaimed in protest.

Han responded with a laugh so clear and pure that it lighted up the room, and I couldn't help but relax and let anxiety fade. This was usually how it went with Han - he was entirely too forgiving. I rubbed my fingers distractedly, glad that I avoided getting splinters, and smiled reluctantly. I had fucked up - but worse things happened all the time. I could hardly complain.

"Only a few would take offense to minor disrespect, these days," Han said easily. "Most people would not even tell you even if they did get offended - freedom of speech, and all that." His expression was sincere, though his eyes were still crinkled up as if his laugh had never ended. "Just remember that some people might actually, you know..." He drew a finger across his throat, an all too clear message. "Understood, Jiron? This is for your own protection."

"...Yeah, I know what you mean. I'll try not to do it again." I slumped down on my chair, studying the hardwood floor for a long minute before I met my boss's gaze. "I'm just not any good at this sort of thing, and you know it. I told you that from the start. I get so caught up in all the numbers and measurements that I forget there's other people around, and then mistakes happen."

Han raised a bushy eyebrow. "Thoughtfulness is rarely considered a poor trait."

"It isn't - but you're putting me in front of people." I grimaced uneasily. "I get too familiar with people, I forget my place. It doesn't help that everyone sees right through my false smiles, either…" I don't even mention the times when I forget where I even am. Focusing on things to the exclusion of everything else could be an asset - diversions had little meaning to me. Here, though, it just turned me into an asshole.

"Perhaps you're right. But you mean well," my boss opines.

I couldn't hold in a snort at that. "I always do. But that hardly matters. I'm the worst salesman this side of the southern wall, and you're crazy for tolerating half of the mistakes I make, much less all of them. Back home, I'd have been thrown out three times over." I leaned back in my chair, studying the ceiling. "Sometimes, I wonder why you took me in at all…"

"Do you really mean that?" Han moved into my field of view again, his expression as calm and unperturbed as ever. "You have said such many times, but you work diligently and show a willingness to learn the ways of my trade and my village. That, my boy, is infinitely more valuable than the rest. And someday you'll master that silver tongue of yours - sometimes, it is almost too sharp."

I wondered how Han had gotten to be so damn wise - and not for the first time. Maybe it was just a phase that old people went through, though my own grandpa had not been half as coherent. It had to be an experience thing; Han had seen damn near everything and everyone, even the First Hokage.

"I did mean it. Taking me in was risky," I said at last, frowning. "You know what kind of people are out there, what monsters hide under the guise of a simple villager. I would be terrified to open the door to a stranger at night, much less drag one inside!"

There was pity in the old man's eyes again, and I felt like I shriveled up under that gaze. "Trust me when I say that the expectations I had have been exceeded by far," he stated. "I know that you fear what the world offers - violence, war, a murky future - but you keep your schedule, and you help an old man without complaint or even pay. The risks I took has long since been repaid."

"No pay, eh? You give me food and clothes, and all the books I could hope for - that counts as far as I'm concerned. I've got everything I need." That was the honest truth - having somewhere to crash was a godsend too, and I would hardly jeopardize that by demanding a paycheck. Given that there was little to nothing that I cared to buy which Han hadn't already gotten for himself, I hardly needed the bonus, either. Without the old man, I'd still be on the damn streets, trying to scrounge up an evening meal. I could never forget that.

"That sentiment, my boy, is why I keep you around," Han said reverentially, as if I'd revealed some great truth about the world. "If half the village was as selfless, this could be a very different place." He smirked. "Though I would hope they might be a little less forgetful or rude."

"You're the one who is selfless here," I pointed out. "Taking in stragglers certainly counts."

"I wouldn't dare to presume." He sniffed. "Even those who do good deeds must have the money to pay their debts, though, so I greatly appreciate your help with that. It's nice to see that you've loosened up a little as well. Back when we first met…"

"Don't remind me," I muttered as I stood upright, stretching to full height, which was a good bit taller than most of the people I'd seen around town. My wiry build and rather flimsy constitution prevented me from using that size for real intimidation though, even if I dared to try that. In any case, the only feature that people ever seemed to notice was my shock of blond hair, which turned out to be a surprisingly rare color in the Land of Fire, especially among civilians.

Another comment from Han was stopped in its tracks as the old man's eyes suddenly shot to the door. The bell didn't even chime to indicate anyone entered, but I didn't need to around to know who had arrived, and a chill ran down my spine. An odd sensation already tickled at my ears and nose, warm and peppery, with a sharpness that was hard to describe. It was chakra, and there was only one person that visited this corner of town who had energy potent enough for even lowly civilians to pick up on.

"Hello, Hatake-san," I said smoothly as I turned to the entrance, smiling in recognition despite my earlier faux-pas with one of his colleagues. My smile didn't reach my eyes, though - not with him. "How may I help you today?"

"To read is to sustain the soul, that is what my mother taught me. She cared little for it herself, quipping that she'd sold her soul long ago, but she sated my appetite for new information as often as she could. She brought more and more volumes on every journey out of the country, when she would wander far afield for months at a time. Until, one day, the books stopped coming - and so did she.

By the time I was twelve, my collection had grown to encompass an entire room - by twenty, there was no nook or cranny left anywhere that would fit more than a scroll. And among those stacks, man-high, sat the one who had read every word. The library was a treasure trove, a goldmine. There were facts there that could topple rulers, treatises that brought to ruin the very finest of intellectual achievements.

I burned them all, so that none could steal them away."

My feet dangled over the roof's edge as I looked down and imagined jumping. I thought of landing in an amazing three-point crouch, as a shinobi would - or on the side of the building, perhaps. The sun slowly made its way down the sky in the distance, painting the horizon with reddish colors, and the dull glow highlighted the great stone faces that looked out over the village. I paid no mind to that, however. I was contemplating doing something very, very stupid.

Three months had passed since I arrived in the village of Konoha, the Hidden Village in the Leaves, but it felt like years. I never really intended to move to Fire Country; not until rebellion and economic collapse left my village without a future. Tea Country fell prey to bandits and lowlifes, and with my family gone, there was no reason for me to stay there. I'd set off with only the clothes on my back, hitchhiking my way across the continent by offering my services to passing caravans, and ended up at the end of the road.

Many things were different from my sleepy little home on the outskirts of civilization, not the least of which was the heavy presence of shinobi everywhere you went in the village. Though traders and caravans had occasionally hired guards, the only ninja I'd learned about back home were the ones that had whole books written about them, or who were writers themselves. A few shinobi passed through the village on occasion, but they were always silent, and their expressions cold as ice.

Far from the stories of dashing heroes and glorious combat, real shinobi were terrifying to behold. It wasn't surprising, really, and I'd already told myself off for my warped expectations. Violent and capricious, ninja tended to be paranoid to a fault, and each and every one of them was a force of nature. The lowliest of Genin was quite capable of cutting someone's throat, of wrestling a full-grown man to the ground with disturbingly little effort; as a civilian, I had less than nothing to defend myself with.

Konoha was an eye-opener - the idealistic world of storybooks brought to life with all the roughness and bloody edges that reality worked with. I'd come to a village where killers were trained from childhood. Here, all the stories I'd read were brought into startling reality.

I was a pacifist in a warrior's heaven.

The first time I'd walked into Konoha's center, obliviously strolling into unknown territory, I froze at all the suspicious eyes that followed my every step. Eyes of cold steel watched me from under colder steel inscribed with the village's symbol - and not with kindness. Suffice to say, getting involved in ninja business was not my intent. I'd quickly made my way to the less insane parts of town, where people didn't vault from roof to roof like they were in a circus act, and convinced myself not to run away, not to tuck my tail between my legs and scamper back to the obscurity of my oppressed home, risking the bandits if it meant there were no shinobi to deal with.

After that disturbing wake-up call, I'd spent hours wandering the streets - the civilian sector spanned the majority of the village, and the streets all seemed the same. Dehydrated and hungry from being on my feet for nearly two days before even reaching the village, and too terrified to take a nap among dozens of accusing eyes, I'd finally dropped down behind a cozy-looking house half a dozen blocks from the nearest shinobi residence, and got some much-needed shut-eye.

And I woke up in a bed.

Han Nohara, the man who had discovered me napping in his garden, turned out to be a hell of a guy. At seventy-two years of age he didn't get around too quickly, but he'd still somehow managed to drag my exhausted ass into his house before the cold rain could give me a nice case of pneumonia. When I'd jumped out of the bed in shock, and then managed to get myself awkwardly tangled with the blankets while falling on my face, the man had burst into laughter. I´d snickered despite myself, and so a truce was declared without a single word.

He had insisted that I stick around for dinner and tea, even though I was tempted to get the hell out, and ultimately I'd relented. I figured the stranger clearly had a few screws loose, if they took in people that slept on their porch, but I was hungry enough that I didn't much care. Han decided that if I didn't have a home to go to, I could consider his couch my new bed.

For lack of a better option, I'd reluctantly accepted, realizing that having a warm place and some grub was better than living on the street. I then introduced myself as Jiron, which was at best a former nickname of mine, but Han seemed unperturbed by my hesitance. And there, warming myself to a cup of tea as firewood crackled in the hearth, I felt safe for the first time in months.

It took only minutes after I was left to rest until I spotted the books and scrolls that lined one wall of Han´s little house, most of them old and worn. There were a lot of titles that I didn't recognize from my own collection, and I'd spent ages combing through the vast amounts that my village had gathered over the years. I'd spent a long afternoon just reading, which was how Han found me at the end of the day, two great tomes spread out on the table while I was cross-referencing with another. It took him several long minutes before he'd finally spoken up.

I was rather embarrassed to realize that my host hadn't actually thought I could manage something as elementary as reading. Evidently, very few wandering youths had much in the way of literacy, and he had assumed I was an uneducated street-rat like the rest of them. When he was disabused of that notion, however, a speculative gleam had appeared in his eyes. It took not even a full day before he offered me a job at his shop. I took it with both hands, of course, and I'd have thrown in my feet too if I thought it'd make a difference. I'd have tolerated cleaning duty if it meant I had a place to stay.

Months passed as I helped Han run his little shop of curiosities, and I began to adapt to living in a big place like Konoha, so far removed from home. By necessity, I learned how to survive in the shadow of the jutsu-flinging terrors that dominated the center of town. Adjusting to actually performing civilized and formal habits was pretty hard, even if I'd long read about such things, but I was getting better. Maybe, someday, I could strike out on my own and make an honest living.

The moment I imagined a calm future, of course, was like a strike upon a gong of doom.

A familiar face had walked through the door of Han's shop on an unremarkable day; he was the first person I recognized from my books. Though his puffy face betrayed a startling lack of sleep, and his bloodshot eyes were marred by pain, that silver hair was unmistakable.

Sharp chakra seared in my nose, and the man's friendly expression was mimicked by my own, but something in me broke. I recognized something profoundly disturbing in his expression, and though I could not pinpoint what it was that made me so uneasy, it felt as if the ground gave way, like the world would swallow me up right then and there.

I realized I'd been staring when Han said my name with some urgency, probably for a second time, and I managed to seamlessly finish the transaction - but that momentary flash of insight wouldn't let itself be forgotten, and I mulled about it for days.

That was a week ago, and now that man had returned. I could see him below me, shopping at a fishmonger across the street, as if reluctant to leave. I had found him in Han's books, and re-familiarized myself with all the publicly available information, scarce as it was. Then I listened to the rumors that I'd thus far been ignoring, inquiring offhandedly about the man when I'd next gone out to buy groceries - and people were all too happy to talk.

I wasn't sure he'd ever come back - but when he did, I knew exactly what to look for. His expression was as bad as before, his voice listless and his eyes dim. There was no mistake; my intuition had been flawless in this instance, and a rational analysis did nothing but confirm it.

Startling resolve smashed my sworn intent to stay away from all things that involved shinobi. Yes, I was a coward who would rather stay in obscurity - but I damn well wasn't going to let injustice happen right in front of my eyes. I stood up, fear making way for what could charitably be called courage, and I headed downstairs.

"I am a learned man - I pride myself on knowing things, on being aware of all the secret wheels upon wheels that keep the world spinning, that make our system tick. But even the worst of fools knows the value of loyalty and courage, and though I gathered allies without nefarious intent, I surely take advantage of my hard-won assets.

Without allies, I would never have survived my first year among assassins - I would have been forgotten in the refuse pile of history. Perhaps that would have been preferable, in retrospect, but we must play with the pieces we have been given.

And mine were very good."

I stepped out of the shop hesitantly, my simple clothes blending in with the people around me, and sought my quarry. The first time that man had entered the shop, I'd been surprised, even shocked at my thoughts; still he had scarcely even looked at me. This time, however, he had seemed intrigued, which was a poor omen when dealing with assassins.

And yet, I was doing the unthinkable. With an odd sense of relief, and a spark of terror, I found that my target had refrained from using his ninja speed techniques to leave me in the dust. Instead, he sauntered away, a wrapped piece of fish under his arm alongside the basket of spices he'd bought from me. His long, silver hair swayed in the breeze as he made his way along the streets of the civilian sector, his head bowed and his hands deep in his pockets. If not for his clothes, I would hardly have guessed he was a ninja at all. He looked - defeated.

I wasn't stupid enough, of course, to believe that the man was oblivious to my presence. You didn't become a legend chronicled in history books without having situational awareness, and I was hardly as sneaky as even the weakest shinobi would be. So I trudged along easily, not even trying to hide my presence, and pondered about what I could say, what I could do. Because if nobody did anything - and I doubted anyone would - then soon a legend would die.

Hatake Sakumo, the legendary White Fang of the Leaf, was going to kill himself.

I didn't know the man, scarcely even knew the legend, but I recognized heart-felt misery when I saw it, and the doomed gaze of someone who aimed his weapon at his own heart. The rumors about the White Fang were toxic, the implications of the public's response rather disturbing. But above all, there was the child. I'd read plenty about that eight-year old genius, already making waves in the shinobi village with his displays of raw talent. That boy deserved to have a father.

Nearly fifteen minutes after he left the shop behind, Sakumo finally changed directions, turning towards a side-alley with barely a glance back - though I was sure that even if he did, I'd miss it. I knew this part of town, and it set my teeth on edge when I realized how many suspicious eyes passed me by. Still, very few seemed to care about me. Most of their focus was aimed at my target, who seemed to shrink into himself as their gazes landed on him, though his steps did not falter. There weren't any spoken words, no shouts and yells of derision as I'd halfway expected. Just silent disapproval and disgust, a simmering judgment.

In the grand scheme, perhaps that was far worse.

As the trek wore on, my reluctance at approaching shinobi was overshadowed by my decision to try and be of help - I'd come too far to back out now. The busy streets made way for more spacious lanes that contained larger households, and I knew that if I left now, and in a few days or weeks the news of Hatake's death would reach me, and I would never forgive myself for failing.

I didn't realize the man had stopped until I almost walked into him, too immersed in my own thoughts. He halted before the unmarked door of one of the homesteads, slight confusion in his eyes as he considered me from over his shoulder, though mostly he just seemed tired. He cracked open his door, stepped through, and then left it open behind him.

Taking a long, daring breath, I followed.

The inside of the house was - traditional. Unlike the simple little houses in the civilian sector, the Hatake household, because that's what it had to be, seemed to be set up very much as ancient homes were usually described. Paper-like walls were stretched out between rooms, and the guest room contained a table that scarcely came halfway to my knee. Long and complicated scrolls were displayed on the walls, many of which had artistic depictions of dog, and on one of the few wooden walls, a dozen blades were arrayed below each other, each of them gleaming bright in the eerie light that flowed in from the windows.

Sakumo stood by a doorway that led deeper into the house, his expression guarded, even a little pensive. He slowly removed a sword from his back, as if aware that quick movement would be startling to a civilian, and placed it on the wall with its brethren. He hardly needed such a tool, I thought distantly - he would certainly have dozens of kunai hidden on his person.

"Jiron-san," he said slowly. "I am unsure as to why you followed me."

There was a long silence as I sought for words. "I know…" I stammered momentarily. Even now, I could barely meet his eyes. "I know that you're in pain, Hatake-san."

He huffed and raised an eyebrow mockingly. "To be a shinobi is to know pain." He removed his gloves and headband, ruffling his silver puff of hair. "That's not a new discovery among civilians, I trust? Is that why you followed me into my home? How presumptuous."

"It's not." There was a brief, solemn silence. "Besides, I don't believe a shinobi's duty is just to know pain. That's asinine," I added, half-formed thoughts resolving into words, thoughts from my books merging with my own. "A shinobi endures hardship and pain, doesn't he?"

Sakumo looked at me for a long moment, his eyes haunted. "Endurance, huh? I've been told something like that before - but not by you." He turned away, shaking his head idly. "It's simple-minded idealism."

"Maybe. But you might have heard it from Jiraiya of the Sannin," I suggested calmly, considering the treatises on the Third Hokage's work that the notoriously inattentive shinobi had written early in his career. Even Han had copies of those. "That man certainly believes as much, as does his teacher, the Third. And of course so did Hashirama Senju, our First Hokage. The man who exemplified the Will of Fire. They are all wise men, so perhaps you should consider their suggestions."

Sakumo's stare lingered this time, and a hardness moved across his face for a moment, a cold flash of suspicion. When I said nothing in response, he seemed to relax a little, and he gestured to the far side of the small table that stood in the center of the room.

"Please, be seated. I will get us tea."

For a long moment after Sakumo turned his back, I was tempted to cut and run. But I knew that I'd be hunted down without trouble if the man cared to do so, and there had been no word of threat yet. Very slowly, careful not to disturb the room, I squatted by the offered table, shuffling in place until I found comfort on the hardwood. I stared at the shōgi set that was set up on the table, unfinished - perhaps a game between father and son.

To keep my mind off worrying about what I might say, well aware that I would be far more likely to trip myself up by over-thinking things, I considered the best next move my side should make in the game. I knew that Sakumo was probably sending a message about me right then, perhaps to the Hokage himself, but I hardly cared. If the Third would tell me off for spreading his own message to someone who needed it, then I would gladly debate the topic with him. Sarutobi-sama's deliberations on the Will of Fire had been enlightening, speaking of the man's character, just as Jiraiya's had. Out of all the village's shinobi, those were perhaps the ones I was most familiar with.

Finally, after a few long minutes, I moved a piece on the board. It seemed as if Sakumo had been waiting for that, as he softly stepped back into the room. The silver-haired man took his place across from me, setting down a platter with two cups of steaming tea, doubtlessly made in seconds with an application of chakra. It smelled rather delicious.

"You made an interesting move," he spoke after a moment. "Have you played before, then?"

"Yes - but only against Nohara-san," I murmured. "I've mastered another variation of shōgi which doesn't seem to be very popular around the village, though. Most of the thinking required is similar, so I've only lost twice." I smirked. "I won a competition in the past, though the victory was hard-fought. A less strenuous battle than a shinobi's, I'm sure."

"Interesting," Sakumo said, his eyes focused on the board for a moment. "You are bold for a civilian."

"Or foolish."

He smiled, a thin gleam of teeth momentary visible as he moved a tile. "I doubt that. You are insightful, or perhaps I am imagining the look I see in your eyes when you meet mine." He shook his head slowly. "You speak of shinobi matters easily, but you were clearly never taught the arts. Why is that?"

I moved a tile in response to his move, part of me trying to figure out his next one - mildly interested in measuring myself against this so-called genius - while I considered my answer. "I read a lot, including shinobi material. I'm interested in what goes on, though only peripherally in the ways of the ninja themselves. I care more about the way they function."

"Know thine enemy?" Sakumo asked sardonically, frowning at the board as he made his move. "I've seen the way you watch shinobi on the street, or even myself. If not for your daring steps into this room, I'd say you're afraid."

"Of course I am," I responded flatly. "I'm also scared of venomous snakes, and snarling tigers. A shinobi is twice as lethal as either of those, even at the best of times. Fear is sensible. On the other hand - we tend to fear what we don't understand." I shoved one of my tiles across the board with a small smile, and enjoyed the momentary expression of surprise on Sakumo's face as one of his own pieces took a tumble. Got you.

"You think you know me enough to follow me into my own home?" Sakumo inquired, the slight wrinkles at the corner of his mouth curling up the tiniest bit. "We have hardly ever met, Jiron-san. I question your snap-judgment."

"Hm. But just as we fear what we don't yet know, the reverse is true as well. You cannot truly come to know that which you fear. I resolved the paradox by taking a leap of faith," I explained, staring out at the encroaching darkness outside the windows as I drank my tea. "You know what I saw when you first walked into Nohara-san's shop. I think you even recognized that I saw it, and that is why you came back. I am probably the first to notice, and that surprised you, just as it did for me."

"Hm. Insightful - spookily so." Sakumo frowned as he stared at the board, probably in order to avoid my eyes. "Are you sure you're not a shinobi?"

"Yes. I can't even channel chakra," I admitted with a shrug. "I've never learned how to, and I'm probably too old now for it to make a difference. And I don't want to throw myself in with your lot, anyway, given how pitifully short your lives tend to be." That got a wince out of him, if a small one. Good. "The reason that for my - insight - is that I read a lot, and knowledge can sometimes lead to understanding. You're aware that I know what happened last month."

He nodded darkly. "I assumed as much. The story is everywhere, now." He sighed. "Even..." He stopped himself, but I could guess the rest of what he would have said.

"Yes. I know all the details that have been publicized - and some that haven't. You acted as you should have, from all that I've heard. Even based on descriptions by your detractors, you acted honorably," I argued. "Your mission was important, of course, and failure is terrible. But to leave behind the people you trust..." I scoffed as I put down my cup. "That would be a far greater failure yet. Anyone who thinks differently is simply wrong."

"You make it sound so cut and dry," Sakumo observed neutrally.

"That's because it is," I snapped, not discouraged by his apathy. "Yes, a mission ended terribly, and you get scorn for that failure. But your teammates came back alive, and the next time they go out and complete a mission, that's thanks to you. And anyone they save will also be people you saved. Don't forget that for a second." I gestured at the board between us. "It is a disastrous long-term strategy to put the mission above all else. If you keep sacrificing all your pieces, you will inevitably lose. Far better to show restraint."

Sakumo frowned. "Ah, but even in shōgi, sacrifice is important. Those who are too hesitant to act will be overrun. You cannot get around losing pieces altogether."

"Eh, that's true. But then we're not talking about unnecessary sacrifices anymore," I countered. "To guard and protect the King, you would sacrifice anything on the board, even the most useful pieces. But those sacrifices could only be made if the pieces to do so are still present, if they have not been spent unnecessarily. It is better to keep your strength in reserve than to spend it without forethought, and then be caught empty-handed."

"All to protect the King, huh?" the silver-haired shinobi inquired gently, his gaze sharp. "And who is that?"

"Can you guess?" I inquired mildly. "The Third Hokage came up with this analogy, you know. He kept the answer to your question vague, so that people would need to think about his words." I smiled mischievously. "I believe it goes a long way to explaining why I decided I should talk to you, despite all the risks." I tapped the king on my side of the board. "What should such a piece represent, do you think? Who must we guard, even lowly civilians like myself, so that the dream of the Leaf continues?"

Sakumo leaned forward, his eyes brimming with more life than I remembered seeing in them since we first met, and he stared at the shōgi board with a strange intensity. It betrayed his indecision, or perhaps even his wish for the lifeline I was offering. I thought back to Han's home, to that beautifully written copy of the Third's commencement speech, and I silently thanked him for his unwitting help. Though Sakumo certainly knew the answer on some level - perhaps he needed a little reminder.

"...Hm? Did I hear talking in here…?" asked a muffled voice, and I glanced up to the door in surprise. Wiping his bleary eyes, his lower face covered by a black mask while a wildly tangled tuft of silver hair hung haphazardly down his face, Sakumo's son looked for all the world like a regular eight-year old child - if they were at a particularly weird costume party.

"...Kakashi-kun," Sakumo whispered carefully, and he glanced back to me momentarily with a strange expression. "Ah, I'm sorry that I woke you - I forgot you had a night shift yesterday. I thought you were still out."

"It's alright, it doesn't matter." Kakashi said as he looked over to me, puzzled. "Who're you?"

I sipped from my drink as I met the boy's eyes, and I could see the hard steel of shinobi life already, though his expression was genuinely perplexed; I doubted he had been listening in. I raised a hand distractedly. "Ah, I am Jiron. Your father - invited me." I smiled thinly. "I'm sorry if we woke you with our game. I will try to be more quiet."

The boy nodded slowly, his eyes flickering to the table, and he blinked in surprise. "Hey… You're actually winning against my dad?"

"Hm. It does seem so," Sakumo murmured noncommittally, a smile flickering across his face as he looked at his son. "I was never very good at this, you know - I should see if the Nara boy would come by, I'm told he has never lost a game in his life."

"Shikaku-san is kind of boring, though," Kakashi said with a cross expression, before he took a step back, pausing in the doorway. "I guess you're still busy with things, then - so I won't bother you anymore. Night, dad."

"Sleep well, Kakashi."

The door closed slowly behind him, and for a long few minutes, Sakumo and I listened to Kakashi's distant steps as he headed back to his room. The silence was not uncomfortable, and I realized with surprise that I was calm, which was peculiar given the shinobi legend who sat across from me, entirely in his own element. I guess I understood him at least a little, now.

"So, that is what you meant with the King, huh?" Sakumo said as he looked at me with sharp eyes. "...I see what you were trying to say."

"Do you, really?" I picked up the King piece from my board, flipping it and catching it from the air. "You have been disgraced, and your family name is tainted, at least for the time being. The answer to this problem seems obvious to you, and I witnessed that reflected in your eyes the first time we met. Unfortunately, your solution is flawed. You are not that much of a coward."

He winced, harsher this time. Good.

"Consider that I am a civilian, Hatake-san. I could not hope to catch a punch from a shinobi without breaking bones, nor meet one's blade without bleeding. But there are some things that all people share, masters of chakra or not. It is our collective task to protect the next generation, whether they are our own children or those of others, so that they make take over from us when the time comes. That is what the Third Hokage meant with his analogy."

I leaned over as I steepled my hands together, meeting Sakumo's eyes. "Nohara-san took me in out of the goodness of his heart, and I work to repay him for that every day. I have no fame, nor a name worth a single coin. I don't have children to teach, nor am I likely to produce any in the near future. I am nobody - and yet I endure the hardships that are put in my way. If one such as I can do that, what excuse could a legend like you have to abandon his life, or his child?"

"Now you do sound like Jiraiya-san," Sakumo said dryly.

"I take that as a compliment. He is a lot wiser than people give him credit for." I leaned back slightly, meeting the other man's eyes. "The whispers that speak of you will fade, and in time your mistakes will be forgiven - trust me on that. Meanwhile, your son will grow up under your tutelage, and he can take up his father's legacy when the time comes, and do it with honor..." I shook my head. "And not in grief."

Sakumo grimaced. "You speak too easily of these things. I can't go out onto the battlefield again, and risk another disaster because I might show the same - weakness. I - " He swallowed thickly. "No - I can't."

"Then don't do that," I said flatly, and he paused.

"...What are you saying?" He looked genuinely baffled.

"You remain one of the village's greatest shinobi, an expert in many ways of fighting, right?" In asked rhetorically. "You already have a proven track record that you will look out for your team, no matter what else, something which is vital for low-ranking missions. You know that Genin must have time to grow up - the King must be protected. Kakashi-kun would love to learn from you, of course, and there are others that you could teach. The Third would hardly deny such a request."

Sakumo narrowed his eyes. "You're suggesting I - take a Genin team? Me?"

"Is that so strange? No shinobi would blame Genin for the sins of their teacher, and by doing something like this, you could give yourself time to deal with what happened, allow the village to calm down and move on. You can reassess the situation in a year or so. I am sure that things will look rather less bleak then."

Sakumo was silent for a long while, and his gaze lingered on the board, as if it could give him answers. Finally, he looked up again. "I - will consider your suggestion," he mused. "I can bring it up with Hokage-sama when I see him. It has been many years since I last had a team, and I hardly remember such days..."

"A welcome change, I would say. You are old for a shinobi, Hatake-san - perhaps it is time to come to terms with that." I smiled. "Maybe you can write a book. I promise you'll have at least one avid reader."

The White Fang shook his head and looked away, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "You are a very strange person, Jiron-san."

"I am a scholar, after a fashion. Nothing more," I muttered, and as I made my last move on the board, I stood up. "I'll head back home before Nohara-san becomes worried. I hope that you take my words to heart - and that we'll speak again in this life."

He nodded shortly, his frame still betraying his exhaustion, but his eyes were sharp and lively.

I would wait for his return at my counter.

"Konoha produces many geniuses, that is common knowledge. Other nations look on in jealousy as generation after generation, masters of the shinobi arts appear from the most obscure of families, as well as those with long-established histories.

Why have none ever questioned whether such geniuses were born among civilians?"

Author's Note : I attributed the analogy that Shikamaru and Asuma share to the Third Hokage, seeing as he seems by far the most likely to have actually thought of it, if it wasn't Asuma himself. I wanted to use it as a callback, but the timeline got in the way. ;)

For anyone who follows other stories of mine - I promise I will update, I have simply been quite busy with other projects, and they need considerably more attention than something like this. I hope you can forgive the delays.

Cheers.