rewritten in 2020 dec

Orphanage — II

"…and at night, the tables are pushed to side and the futon are laid out." Kamiji showed me the side cabinet where they stored their bedding. Currently it was empty, because the bedrolls were being aired in the courtyard, watched over by the orphanage staff. "You got all that?"

I got the distinct impression that she was testing me. To what end, I had no idea.

I nodded.

She stared at me for a few seconds, long enough that I became fidgety at the attention. Then she brushed a hand over my hair in a distinctly reassuring way, and it abruptly occurred to me that this woman knew of my circumstances. From her perspective, I, an orphaned kid, barely tall enough to reach her knees, had no business solemnly accepting drastic changes in living environments without complaint. If I was the adult in the situation, I'd be concerned too.

My situation already drew attention. The only thing I could hope to do was not attract more, but that was easier said than done.

A burst of sound: the staff had unhinged the doors to the courtyard so that the afternoon sunlight poured in along with the children, trailing laughter and dirt. The older kids were trying to help, herding the young ones into a semblance of coherence, while the staff counted heads and dusted the worst of the outdoors off their clothes.

Kamiji laid a hand on my shoulder as though anticipating my running off, which was hilarious. I had no inclination of joining the crowd. The nurses had been right: my social engine had stalled, and needed to be jump-started.

"Nonō-chan?" Kamiji called, and a little blond girl with big green eyes broke off from the group and came towards us.

She stopped an arm's length away, bouncing on the balls of her feet, clearly still shaking off the energy of the afternoon's activities. She glanced at me curiously before focusing on the matron. "Yes, Kamiji-obaa-san?"

"This is Haiko-chan. Can you show her around, watch out for her, make sure the boys don't pick on her?"

"Sure!" She nodded eagerly. Now given permission, Nonō turned her full attention to me, green eyes sparkling.

"Bring her to see me after lunch," Kamiji added, before Nonō's attention fully slipped away. The girl nodded absently, and then Kamiji gave our shoulders a light push.

Nonō began to gently tug me towards the other children. "Did you just arrive? You must be hungry, it's a long walk from the village to here. Do you have any questions? The staff here are all very nice, so you can talk to them about anything — and if you're shy, you can also ask me! Don't worry, you're safe here."

She said it with the ease of long practice. Clearly, she had introduced newcomers before. I wondered how old she was and how long she'd had to have spent here to be so familiar with this role.

Lunch was short, mostly because you couldn't get children to sit still for any extended period of time. I ate quickly, not really tasting the food, because all the staring made me uncomfortable.

Nonō made it a point to keep up a stream of idle chatter, which was really mature of her. The cadence of her voice gave me something to focus on even though I couldn't pay attention to the contents. Something about … schedules and duties? Now and again she'd snap to our neighbors, "Don't stare! It's rude," and they'll listen to her for the thirty seconds that their bowls held their attention, then I'd feel their curious eyes on me again.

At least now I knew pointed staring was a very normal kid-thing to do, so that's one card in my arsenal.

After lunch, Nonō excused herself (and me) — from some sort of group activity, the staff was putting away the furniture to make a big space — so we could go to Kamiji's office. I stood to the side, watching her earnestly talk to a staff member, feeling like a stage actor who's lost her lines.

Nonō trotted over to me then, smiling encouragingly.

"Don't be nervous!" she told me, cheerfully, as we left the bustling dining room where the tables were being cleared away. "Kamiji-obaa-sama just wants to give you something that belonged to your parents or someone close to you. She always gives the personal stuff herself, because that way she can be sure you actually get it, because a lot of us here don't have anything to call our own, and some of the younger ones who don't have anything will sometimes …" she trailed off.

We'd reached the matron's office.

"We don't have a lost-and-found box," Nonō admitted, then knocked on the door. This one had hinges. Kamiji called "Come in!" from the other side, and Nonō slid the door open, then waved me in.

I looked from her to the slice of open doorway, trying to follow the implications of her words. I had personal possessions? And the last part — was she trying to clue me in to the possibility of theft?

The matron was standing in front of her desk, one hand resting on the back of an armchair.

When I came in and shut the door behind me, she said, "How was lunch?"

I shrugged. The matron quirked her lips. "Has Nonō-chan been helpful?"

"A lot," I said, which was the truth.

"That's good to hear," Kamiji said. Then she turned a little to the side and patted the armchair. "I have something for you."

She was indicating a grubby little bag that I'd overlooked because it was the same burgundy brown as the armchair's upholstery, but now that I was looking, I abruptly recognized it: it was my mother's emergency pack.

The last time I'd seen it, that I was aware of it, had been ... in the cottage.

Suddenly the office seemed alien, with its bamboo shades and its artificial lighting and the potted plant on the desk. There was at once too much space and not enough of it.

That night, there had only been the flickering candlelight from the kitchen. My mother had geared up in a dark corner of the bedroom, draped in surreal shadows. Everything had moved so fast, both the progression of events and her figure around the room, and the strange lighting filmed the memory over with dreamlike fuzziness, as though it's been lightyears away instead of — but how long had it been, really?

"It'll be in my office until Hatake-sama comes to pick you up," Kamiji said, bending over to look me in the eye. "Is there anything you want to do?"

I met her gaze, trying to shake off the weirdness. Kamiji had crow's feet and laugh lines and she wasn't looking at me with pity or warmth or any of the usual faux-parental crap I expected. Instead, her eyes held a kind of fixed, guarded patience. I tried to form a response but all I could think of was why she was looking at me like that, why did she look so distant, was it because I was leaving soon and she doesn't want to waste emotional labor or was it because I was going into a shinobi family and she doesn't want to waste emotional labor since the livelihood was a terrible choice or—

"I was told this belonged to your mother," said the matron, and straightened. "Would you like to look through it?"

I hurried over to the bag, focusing on opening it and digging through it, so I wouldn't have to think anymore.

It held a set of clothes and some first-aid stuff like bandages and antiseptic and safety pins, and nothing else. I stopped, rifled through everything again, then looked over at the matron, who'd sat down at her desk.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"Something's missing," I said.

She frowned. "What's missing?"

I fell silent. "I don't know," I said, eventually.

But even as the matron called in Nonō to take me back to the other children, I couldn't shake the certainty that they took something.

After that, Nonō showed me around, but that was all she had time for. The next morning, she had to go to school — it was a Monday.

The orphanage was a relatively large horizontal sprawl of rooms, separated by movable walls. The offices were in the front, kids' space in the middle, with the back rooms for storage, and the upstairs rooms for staff. We weren't allowed upstairs, in the kitchen, or in the offices, and even the courtyard had one-third of its space saved for the laundry — it was as different from a cottage in the bamboo or an empty hospital ward as was possible.

The staff tried, unsuccessfully, to make me join in on the group games.

But they were understaffed and there was so much to do — they cooked and cleaned and managed the timetables of the kids who went to school in the village and kept an eye on the kids who were too young to go to school but old enough to cause trouble and on top of all that they had several infants to cloth and wash and feed and between all that they had no time for me. Since I was otherwise well-behaved, they left me to my own devices, which suited me fine.

Mostly, I observed the kids. There wasn't much to see — they were just … kids — but it was interesting to listen to them.

I spent two afternoons sitting on the little porch that wrapped around one side of the courtyard, listening to my peers play their made up ninja games, soaking up their words and their behaviours. They left me alone, too, probably put off by my silence.

My second evening there, I went exploring. I wanted to poke around a little, maybe find a quiet nook or cranny where I could sit and be alone and think, so I headed into the trees that pushed up against the other side of the yard since no one ever went there. It didn't take long for the sounds of kids playing to become muffled, and I walked deeper into the blessed silence, broken only by the scuffing of a foraging squirrel, or the non-disruptive sounds of birdsong.

The next thing I knew, the sky was darkening and the dinner bell was going off and there was someone calling my name on the wind. I went towards it.

"Haiko-chan! Haiko— oh, there you are!" Nonō came running towards me in the gathering dark, the orphanage's windows lit brightly behind her. She skidded to a stop in front of me and immediately began to check me over for injuries, brushing the leaves and twigs off my clothes. "Quick, we need to get back inside. They said you ran away, but that's not true, is it? I'll talk to Kamiji-obaa-sama. She'll understand it's all a big misunderstanding."

I let her lead me back inside and stayed silent when she found the matron and explained finding me in the forest. At that time, I simply detested being back in the noisy bustle. But when everything had quietened down in the dead of night, with Nonō breathing evenly on the bedroll next to mine, I recognized that I didn't want to think about what it meant that she'd appointed herself my friend.

A rough hand shook me awake. Rain drummed overhead. The sky outside the windows was still grey. The hall was full of sleeping children, but the staff woman who'd woken me was beckoning, already several steps away.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes and covering a yawn, I got up, put away the futon, then followed the staff member into the front rooms.

There was a teenager waiting for me at the main entrance, dressed in dark colors. She was standing in the genkan, shaking raindrops off a wax paper umbrella. When I drew closer, I caught the last bits of the whisper she was using to talk to Kamiji.

"—still haven't returned, so I'll be bringing her back here in the evening. If by tomorrow he's still not back, shishō said to bring her— oh, you must be Haiko-chan. Good morning!"

The surprise nudged me a little closer to wakefulness. I was still too sleepy to use my words, though, so I just looked at Kamiji and waited for the explanation. I didn't have to wait long.

"This is Katō Shizune. You'll be spending the day with her in the village."

Shizune smiled at me, so I bobbed a bow at her, and then the staff helped me put on raincoat, hat, and boots, and herded me out into the morning's drizzle under Shizune's umbrella.

There were more people on the streets then I expected of the hour, until I realized all of them were wearing similar things — open toed sandals, dark work pants with the pant-legs wrapped tight, and a jacket that looked a lot like the one my mother wore.

They looked standard-issue, almost military, though the men and women didn't look to fit a militaristic mold. They didn't have crew cuts, for one, or guns, and I picked out more little personal flairs to their outfits the longer I looked.

The sky was still grey; none of the shopfronts were open. These people were out and about for a different reason than groceries, and this definitely wasn't the modern commute to an office job.

So. They must the shinobi. Would I have to wear the bulky jackets too? They didn't look comfortable.

The shop Shizune stopped at was in the process of opening. She greeted the staff brightly and they smiled back and glanced at me in between putting away the shutters and lowering the diving curtain. The curtain was patterned with some sort of flower emblem, and what was visible of the front reception area made it pretty clear that this establishment was an inn.

There was a reception desk with a big book, a case of keys on the wall, and as Shizune led me round to the back, a woman with her sleeves rolled up put out a blackboard of writing. I caught a glimpse of opening times and a menu, and then Shizune was knocking on a door set into the side of the two-story building.

I glanced up, even though raindrops fell into my eyes: while the ground floor was sparsely lit, several shuttered second-floor windows were lit candleflame-orange against the grey light.

The woman who pulled the door open was not a staff of the inn— she looked too annoyed to be on duty in the service industry.

Blond hair, gold eyes, painted lips pressed together in a thin line, the woman looked from Shizune to me, then folded her arms and leaned on one side of the doorframe. Her gaze was sharp and grating; to make things even more uncomfortable, she seemed to be staring just to the side of me. It left an itching feeling over my shoulder.

The rain pitter-pattered on the wax umbrella and the stones and sprayed onto my shoes.

"So this is the brat," the woman finally said, toneless. Gold eyes flicked to Shizune, strangely accusatory.

Shizune glanced down at me uncertainly. "I—I think so? I mean, it'd be really silly for them to give me the wrong child, so—"

The woman tsked, loudly. "That wasn't a question. I know what Senko looks like." She bent down to my level, bracing her hands on her knees. Her nails were such a deep red they verged on black; a few fingers had chipped tips, and one of the thumbs sported clear signs of being gnawed on.

"What's your name, girl?" Her tone was a hair's breadth from rude. The novelty of meeting a new person had worn off.

"Haiko," I said, shortly.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"No." I saw no point in being polite to the woman who probably was the one to order me dragged out of bed at the crack of dawn.

The woman scoffed and shoved herself upright.

Sounding pained, Shizune said, "Tsunade-sama—please don't—"

"The boys have gone and caught that old geezer's paranoia," Tsunade said. "And now I see why. Get in."

She pushed off the doorframe and swept into the darkened interior.

The kids in the orphanage only had their imaginations to entertain themselves, so I'd sat through many a game of pretend. It was a little hard to tell first names from last, but there was always a fight on who got to be who. Jiraiya — everyone wanted to be him. Tsunade — only girls liked her. Orochimaru — no one played him willingly.

Who was I facing, a descendant or the legend? I'd hate for this blunt and brusque woman to be the namesake.

Shizune sighed, quiet enough that I wouldn't have caught it had I not been sharing an umbrella with her.

Upstairs, Shizune dressed me in a kimono that was completely black. The underclothes were white, as were the socks, but the little bits that went into the obi and disappeared from view were also a solid black like the kimono.

I caught on to what today was going to be about when the sandals were black, too, down to the straps.

Halfway through braiding my hair, Shizune quietly said, "I'm really, really sorry for the way Tsunade-shishō treated you earlier, but please don't think badly of her. She's going through some things—" Shizune's fingers shook, and she curled them into a fist, "—but she shouldn't have taken it out on you. Nobody likes attending so many funerals, but it's what we—" She stopped, blinking rapidly at the floor.

I'd have bet my sandals that she was thinking: how do I break it to the kid?

Shizune took in a deep breath. "We'll be going to your mother's funeral later on, Haiko-chan. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me, alright?"

When Tsunade reappeared, it was in dark blues. Shizune was putting the finishing touches on the obi, herself in a dark grey closer to black. Tsunade gave me a once over. "Good enough. Let's get this over with."

In order to reach me comfortably, Shizune had been kneeling. As she got up, her hands lingered on my shoulders as though to offer reassurances. "Yes, shishō."

What sort of funeral traditions did this place have? It wasn't going to be open casket, was it?

The cemetery was tucked behind two buildings that looked like apartments, lined on the other side by trees. It was ... maybe the size of half a parking lot? It wasn't big; I hadn't been expecting anything this modest.

—Or maybe burial just wasn't as institutionalized here and I've been unduly influenced by prior bias.

The headstones were flat, rectangular slabs laid into the ground, etched with the names of their inhabitants. There didn't seem to be any sort of order, but there were distinguishable rows and columns, and at the far end, where the headstones thinned, stood a handful of people dressed in dark colors.

Tsunade's expression had been growing darker and darker the whole way here, and Shizune's grip on my hand had tensed to constricting levels. The rain, though, had let up, and the sky was clearing into a bright, crystalline blue.

I'd never attended a funeral in broad daylight before.

Shizune loosened her grip as she led me through the tall, untrimmed grass between headstones, and kept her eyes downcast as we reached the knot of people. Tsunade jerked her chin sharply in a crude facsimile of a nod to the nearest person, a dark-haired, pale-skinned man, (in dark green, not black, and there was not a single one of them dressed in my shade of ink-black, now that I was looking).

"Glad you could make it," said the man, with a dry rasp.

"I said I would."

"So you did," he said, lightly, carefully, and finally glanced down at me. He had yellow eyes and bold purple streaks down the bridge of his nose, like make up. "And how are you, Haiko? Settling in well?"

I gave the man only the barest of nods as reply; I was busy looking past him. There were a few teens among the adults, looking grim and out of place in a graveyard in the morning's light, and just one other kid, a black-haired girl a few years older than me, staring fixedly into the freshly-dug grave, not realizing she had twisted all the fingers of her hands together into a tense, tight knot.

There was no table of flowers, no pot of incense, no candles, no picture. Just the open grave, and a man with cascading white hair paced to and fro before it: three steps right, turn, three steps left, turn.

As I watched, mystified by the weird atmosphere, Yellow Eyes went up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Jiraiya. Let's begin."

Jiraiya said, "Huh? Oh."

—It was him! He was the one that night! It was the same voice, even if this time he sounded off-balance. How had he known? Either my mother contacted him beforehand or he was in on the job and either way it meant he knew something— This man can give me the answers—

Then his name registered.

...This must mean Yellow Eyes was Orochimaru. I suppose his pupils did look a little snake-like.

"Well then," Jiraiya said with a heavy sigh, stopping at one end of the grave and turning to face the gathered adults. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and with his eyes still closed, said, "Thank you all for coming. I know all of this is unorthodox so I'm really grateful you're all able to look past what Senko did and come here today—"

He exhaled roughly, opened his eyes and stared into the grave. "Senko was a deserter, but she was still a soldier. She was still one of us. May her soul find peace in the Pure Lands."

Barely after he'd spoken, a shadow quivered to a stop next to him and resolved into a figure in a hawk mask; I flinched away, but no one else batted an eyelash. Shizune pulled me closer to her leg. The hawk-faced man made a sign with his left hand— the grave filled with soil— he made another sign— and the slab of stone slid over the open grave with a churning of earth. Duty complete, Hawk-mask vanished in a single astonishing leap into the treeline at the back.

As though his leaving was a cue, the gathered people began going up to the tombstone, one by one.

I thought they were going to pay their respects, and I suppose they did, but one by one, they merely pressed their hands together at chest height, bowed, held the pose for a few seconds, then straightened and, still in the same deathly silence, left. Just like that.

No flowers. No offerings. It was as though they didn't want to waste another second here, in this strangely secluded graveyard, acknowledging the death of a deserter.

I watched them go, unsure if I should get angry.

But desertion couldn't have been that bad, or else why would I be here?

There was a man and his son with white eyes and pale, flowing robes. Another one was wearing so many layers with a hood so deep and a collar so tall I only caught a glimpse of their tinted glasses. Several others had no distinguishing features. One had a big brown dog.

Of the crowd, only two people paid me any attention: a woman with dark hair and dark eyes shot an impressive glare my way before sweeping after her son (who was leading the little girl away, her hands still curled in a knot) and a young man with brown curls and purple stripes on his cheeks, who actually came over.

"Tsunade-hime-sama," he said, inclining his head. "Katō-san."

"Nohara," said Tsunade, curtly.

Shizune smiled weakly.

Nohara bent down to say hi to me. He was wearing dark purple, which matched with his cheek-markings.

"Hello," I said to him, as neutrally as I was able. "I'm Haiko. What's your name?"

His smile grew a little less brittle. "I'm Nohara Mikage. It's nice to meet you."

The last person to leave was a woman with striking red eyes and black curls. She glanced our way, her eyes flicking over the adults and landing on me briefly before snapping away. Her gait never faltered.

Tsunade was watching the red-eyed woman too, and when she left the cemetery, Tsunade said, "Shizune." like an order.

I let go of Shizune's hand, expecting her to go up, (and hoped she did something a little more concrete than just a bow,) but to my surprise she tugged me forwards gently and said, "It's your turn, Haiko-chan."

...Oh. Oh, so that's what Tsunade was watching out for. She'd been waiting for the cemetery to clear out so that no one would associate me with Senko — ostensibly. I hadn't forgotten her words at our first meeting.

I know what Senko looks like.

Shizune and I approached the grave.

The carving on the stone read:

Senko. 79—June, 103. Nature are my fingertips.

I can put two and two together, and if I can, everyone who was here knew I was Senko's daughter, back-of-the-crowd or no. Who were they acting for?

This was such a farce.

Shizune had let go of my hand to bow, and she did it deeper and lower than the others. When she straightened, her eyes were red. She saw me watching, and with a great sigh, placed a hand on my head. "...Senko-nee looked after me for a while during the war, when my uncle and Tsunade-sama were both busy. It wasn't for very long, and she had her own missions, but she took good care of me." Then she smiled ruefully. "I hope you grow up to not remember any of this, Haiko-chan. This is no way to treat one of our own."

Desertion wasn't just 'leaving'. It was leaving without permission. It was abandonment. Why did my mother leave? Was it to have me, was it just to have me?

"How're you holding up, Shizune?"

"I'll be alright, Jiraiya-sama."

I looked up. Jiraiya and Orochimaru had come up beside us. Nohara was gone, and though Tsunade hung back a little, she completed our vague semi-circle around the gravestone. They gazed at it, not speaking.

I waited for an explanation, until it was clear nothing was coming.

"Why am I here?" I asked, quietly, and the silence turned the question cutting.

The adults glanced at each other. It was clear they had no idea how to answer, and their unease stoked my growing anger.

I looked at Jiraiya, kept it steady and even. He was very tall, and it hurt to look straight up, but I did it. I addressed him. "You were there. You brought me back. Why?"

Peripherally, I noticed Shizune opening then closing her mouth, a puzzled expression on her face. She was looking between me and Jiraiya, who'd paled considerably. Orochimaru folded his arms.

The silence stretched.

Tsunade said, "This is fucking ridiculous."

She strode into the circle. "Why do you insist on this secrecy? Look at her. She's the spitting image of Senko, and she's got that seal on her face. You wanted to hide her? Why bring her today then? You think anyone with a brain is going to miss the fucking connection?"

"Hime—" Jiraiya began, but Tsunade swiped a hand through the air so viciously he flinched back.

"Either tell her the whole thing or don't. Is this how you raised those kids in Rain? By half-assing it? The kid clearly understands everything that's going on. Senko's letter said—"

"Letter?" I said, sharply. "What letter?" My opinion of Tsunade had risen for the singular moment when I'd thought she would speak up for me, but no. Nope, it was backhanded insults to Jiraiya instead. How in the world were those three famous in conjunction to each other? It was doubtful they could make an omelette together without burning down the kitchen, let alone cooperate under a high stress situation.

Then all three of them turned their — not inconsiderable — attention on me.

I shrank back into Shizune.

Tsunade settled back on her heels and regarded me with more interest then before, arms on her hips. Orochimaru studied me, tilting his head like a bird. Jiraiya looked torn.

Then— "See? She's got a backbone," Tsunade said, managing to sound both bitter and vindicated. "I don't know what you're worried about."

Orochimaru made a raspy, gravelly sound that I realized a beat later to be a laugh. "Can you read, girl?"

I nodded.

He exchanged a loaded glance with Jiraiya, and when the latter sighed and waved his hand, Orochimaru reached into his sleeve and withdrew a roll of paper. He handed it out, not moving, and after a second I left Shizune's side to take it.

The letter wasn't long. It was made even shorter by the dark splotches of ink what my mother had used to cross out her words, leaving large portions unreadable.

But I could read it.

I was returned to the orphanage unhappy and dissatisfied.

They took my scroll. It was mine, and although Jiraiya confirmed it was with him, he wouldn't show it to me no matter how much I pressed. Orochimaru and Tsunade didn't back me up. Apparently summons were dangerous, whatever it was. At least I didn't embarrass myself by dissolving into shouting. They obviously expected me to — Jiraiya even braced his shoulders after he refused me the third time.

Still. Foxes. That's something to look forward to.

Senko had called them 'friends'. She asked them for help, and they answered. And grating as it was, I understood Jiraiya's attempt to conceal the truth: this stuff really shouldn't be something a kid worried about.

Tough luck for me. Someone was hunting bloodlines. My bloodline.

But who? They refused to answer that. "That's not for you to worry about." Jiraiya had been firm about that.

What bloodline? They refused to answer that, too. "We'll teach you when you're older," Orochimaru had said.

(Tsunade had scoffed. "I don't know what you're expecting, giving her to the Hatake, who famously don't have a bloodline limit." At that point, Jiraiya had finally had enough, biting out, "What would you have me do, Tsunade? Leave her to the wolves?" Tsunade did not respond, just looked away. Orochimaru watched them argue with a frayed sort of amusement, like it used to be funny but now he's just tired.)

Then Orochimaru took back the letter and excused himself. Something about a project he has to look after.

Jiraiya took leave soon, too, after wishing me well and a long, contemplative look at Tsunade, who raised her chin and glared back at him.

It was some time past noon when we returned to the inn. The village's streets were populated with civilians now, and though some of them looked at me curiously (probably because of the mourning outfit) no one approached. The inn mistress came out to welcome us back, and as Tsunade headed straight for the dining hall, the mistress called to her, "The usual?"

"Make it three," said Tsunade, without looking back. Shizune sighed. To the inn mistress she said, "Please make sure she doesn't go overboard, I'll be back soon."

"Tsunade-sama will be in good care with us," replied the inn mistress, but a little dubiously.

As Shizune walked out of the inn, I dragged my feet, and was able to catch sight of a waiter bringing Tsunade three distinctively shaped bottles before Shizune told me to hurry up.

The trip back to the orphanage was done in silence. I spent the whole time coming up with a way to phrase my question and had just thought of an angle of attack—I was going to just ask her outright, straight to the point, and add a little childish whining, when can I go to Hatake-sama's house?—when the trees on either side of the dirt path faded away to reveal the orphanage.

It was quiet, so either it was afternoon class time, or it was nap-time. Soft birdsong filled the air was we walked up to the door.

Kamiji was waiting right outside, a small blond shadow at her side. It wasn't until we drew close that I realized it was Nonō, and that she was scrubbing at her red-rimmed eyes, sniffing quietly.

She looked up, saw me, and her nose went red. She ran at me, flung her arms around me, and burst into tears. I staggered back a step, and Shizune steadied me with a palm on my back.

Over Nonō's crying, I caught snippets of Kamiji and Shizune's whispered conversation.

"No news on Hatake-sama?"

"I'm not sure... He didn't show up and shishō didn't say anything, so I took Haiko-chan back here. Is... is the other girl alright?"

"Nonō-chan wouldn't stop crying since she heard Haiko-chan left."

"Oh dear..."

"I know I shouldn't be grateful for Hatake-sama's tardiness, but— Nonō-chan doesn't have a lot of friends, and it's never easy to explain to the kids that your friend isn't coming back." A beat of silence. "Frankly, I did not expect Haiko-chan to make friends."

"None of us did, I imagine."

"Mm-hmm."

"The Sannin ... they tend to forget we are people too, sometimes." Then, hurriedly: "Oh, it's not a criticism, only an observation. I mean ... I don't think Jiraiya-sama or Orochimaru-sama considered how Kakashi-kun would feel, when they asked Hatake-sama to... He couldn't very well refuse, not when it's Jiraiya-sama asking, right?" Shizune sighed, too deeply for a teenager.

They definitely wouldn't be saying so much if they knew I understood every single word. Especially not if they knew Shizune's words would make me feel guilty, too. I could've told Shizune to leave a word with the matron, or just prodded her with something like but what about my friend? It wasn't any skin off my back. But I didn't. Because I, too, had forgotten the world was made up of more than just me and my plans.

Worse, I had actively ignored Nonō.

The best time to do something is always yesterday, but today is second best. So I returned Nonō's hug, half-patting, half-stroking her hair. It was a little awkward, because she was taller than me and clutching me like a teddy bear, but I managed.

She took several hiccupy breaths and pulled back. "Are you going to stay?" Good opening.

I glanced up at the adults and repeated the question. "Am I staying?"

They traded an uneasy look.

"For now, yes," Shizune said.

"But how long?"

"That—" Shizune looked to the matron for help, but Kamiji only pressed her lips together and folded her hands together.

Possibly I was pressing the wrong person, and Shizune truly didn't know anything. If she didn't, how likely was the matron to know? Shizune was the one who was close to my mother's friends.

And what was Sakumo doing?

I remembered the sheathed blade on his back. It wasn't so hard to guess what's keeping Sakumo occupied then.

Why was it so hard for them to tell me?

I said, "Is Sakumo-sama busy?"

Shizune opened and closed her mouth, torn.

Slowly, doubt began to creep in. If Shizune was so hesitant, there must be a reason. But what?

Could Sakumo be in ... danger? —but Shizune's hesitation wasn't one of dread. Best I could guess, Sakumo should've just been inconveniently held up, so why did Shizune's hesitation read as embarrassment?

Before I could speculate further, Kamiji stepped forwards, drawing my attention.

Nonō, too, seemed to have recovered. The girl gave herself a shake and stood up straight, though she took my hand and didn't let go.

"You'll be with us a bit longer, Haiko-chan," the mateon said, firmly. "Now, Shizune-onee-san is busy, so we should leave her be. If you have more questions, I'll try my best to answer them."

Kamiji was taller than Shizune, and with her arms spread placatingly, she managed to block Shizune from view. It would've been enough to distract a kid, even though the attempt was as transparent as they came.

The matron placed a hand on my head and the other on Nonō's shoulders. "Nonō-chan, be a good girl and dry those tears. Haiko-chan, you must be hungry. Why don't you go inside for lunch?"

They had given Nonō the whole day off school. I gained a shadow for the day, not that I went anywhere interesting.

The other children had a reading lesson. I did my best to pay attention, but Nonō was a full head taller than everyone there, which made her stand out quite a bit. With the fact that I'd been gone half the day and came back dressed in black — some of the staff helped me out of it after I'd eaten — everyone was dying to know where I'd been and what I was doing. I told them the truth: a funeral.

Then ignored all their follow up questions, because helping a kid come to terms with mortality was the staff's job, not mine.

Thankfully, by the evening, they've forgotten about my little escapade and gone back to the usual: games and general ruckus.

I sat on the porch and watched them, swinging my legs. Nonō hovered behind me.

After a few minutes of that, I turned slightly, enough to indicate attention, and patted the empty space next to me. Nonō came to sit down.

I wasn't going to ask her about the afternoon and I still wasn't sure if she wanted to talk (she was usually the chatty one) but I tried to formulate a question just in case.

Instead, she spoke first. "You aren't going to join them?"

Oh, that's right. She hasn't seen me interact with the other kids yet. Or rather, not interact.

I shrugged. The silence stretched, and I decided impulsively that she deserved more than the crap I gave the staff. "I have other stuff to think about."

"Like?"

How to act within the realm of normalcy. The game was already half lost with anyone of import: the Sannin, Sakumo, and now Kamiji, though the latter didn't seem to care either way. What I said was, "My mother, and what happened to her."

"Did you lose your mother to fighting?"

"Of a sort," I replied, thinking of the dull roll of thunder under a clear sky. How else would she have died? And that letter, with its mention of mercenaries. It must've been combat that took her life.

"Mine too," Nonō said. Depressingly, she sounded truly emphatic. "Most of us here are war orphans. It was much worse a few years ago." She gazed across the yard, seeing something else. "It was really bad then. Some of us were adopted by the great clans to fill up their ranks, but some chakra techniques have to be inherited, so they came to test us. And then…"

After a long pause, she said, "We never knew who they picked until the clan members came to take them away." With a glance at me out of the corner of her eye she added, "It was hard to say goodbye when you don't know who's leaving tomorrow."

I watched the kids play tag. One of them got over-enthusiastic as It and pulled too hard on a boy's shirt in the effort to tag him, and they both went down in a cloud of dust. After a brief scuffle of limbs, however, they popped upright, laughing fit to burst.

"When I leave," I said, and it was when, not if, "I'll make sure to say goodbye to you."

Nonō smiled in a placating manner. It was clear she didn't expect me to keep my promise. "That'd be nice."

There was nothing much to say after that, and anyways we'd reached a strange sort of understanding, so we spent the rest of the evening sitting on the porch, watching the other kids play. Eventually, the staff came to corral everyone to dinner, and the brief period of noise and jostling passed like a dream. Before I knew it, the staff were laying out the bedrolls, then they were making the rounds to ensure everyone was tucked in properly. Then, lights out.

At first, the morning seemed like any other day, but the whispers started after breakfast.

I tried to ignore them, but when the staff came looking for me again, I finally heard them: an adult! a parent! who's he here for? it's that girl with the picture on her eye. I knew she was going away. I told you so.

I saw Nonō in the crowd of faces that parted in front of the staff member but couldn't catch her eye. Then I was staring up at Kamiji's wrinkles and tired smile as she thanked the staff and ushered me into her office.

"Congratulations, you're being adopted," she said. I couldn't tell if it was sincere or sarcastic; likely it was a mixture of both. She pointed at the chair, and I saw the backpack. "Don't forget to bring that with you."

"I don't see my new parent," I said to her, after pointedly looking around her office. "Don't tell me you're hiding him behind a plant."

She smiled a cracked, hard smile. "Don't get smart with me, girl. You'll have to get used to Hatake-sama running late."

That's ominous.

"While I wait, can I go find someone?"

Kamiji arched a perfectly drawn eyebrow. "Who?"

"Nonō-san. I have to thank her for helping me the past few days."

"You'd better stay here. Hatake-sama is due any moment."

"I have to say goodbye," I told the matron, holding her gaze, and after a long moment she relented. She opened the door into the orphanage, revealing Nonō standing in the corridor, fiddling with a loose string on her sleeve, looking lost.

I darted through.

Hearing footsteps, the girl glanced up, and surprise flitted across her expression when she saw it was me. "Haiko! I thought you'd already left?"

"I…" I swallowed, and admitted to myself I that as much as I wanted to leave, I didn't want to leave her behind. "I'm here to say goodbye."

"Oh," she said, then broke into a smile. "But you're still here!"

"The father is running late," I said, rather sheepishly.

Nonō kept smiling. We stood there in silence for a few precious heartbeats before I burst out, "This's a weird question, but what are you going do when you grow up?"

She blinked rapidly, startled. After a moment, she replied, "Run the orphanage, I think."

I let out the breath I'd been holding. Not a shinobi. That's good. That's safe. "Here?"

"Yes, here. Kamiji-obaa-sama is actually going take me on as an apprentice when I get older, it's already settled!" She looked genuinely happy at this.

"Then can you promise to meet me again in ten years, onee-san? Here?"

Nonō stared at me, and eventually managed to say, "In ... ten years?"

It was obviously too large a slice of time for her to process, but I stuck to my guns. I repeated, "Ten years. I'll be a full Hatake by then, and I'll come back and help you."

I'd still only be a lousy teenager, but I'll have more resources and hopefully be more well-adjusted to this world. I don't remember a Nonō from the story, but that doesn't indicate much since I'd read it so long ago, and if the promise kept her alive until then — jury's out on whether she'll even remember this, though I sure will, I'll make sure of it, and frankly I'll take any contribution towards survival no matter how small — all the better.

Plus, I needed something to show her I was thankful for her friendship, that I did care, that I won't forget her, and selfishly, something to remind me of my roots as a displaced orphan. Everyone kept calling Sakumo 'Hatake-sama' after all, so what would that make me, when I joined that household? I will not forget myself.

Hesitatingly, Nonō nodded. "Alright. Okay. I promise. But—" The matron opened the door and I could see Sakumo in her office. Kamiji didn't need to say it for me to understand her cue. It was time to go.

Nonō glanced between me and the adult and asked hurriedly, "Why?"

"I don't want to forget you," I said. I turned and gave her a quick, spontaneous hug; I was out of practice, and it ended up being more of a rough squeeze, but it got my sentiment across. At least, I hoped it did. "Please take care."

Then I went inside and took Sakumo's outstretched hand.