Every year there were a handful of new geniuses, of children far too smart and far too capable.

Those born to civilians quickly found themselves in the shinobi Academy, wraps tied to their legs and kunai in their hands, with little idea how they got there.

Those born to clans?

Well, it depended on the clan.

"He's only two!" Uchiha Shisui's mother snapped, gesturing futilely at the wall her son's bed lay behind. "He's just started the Academy!"

"The Academy is holding him back!" In another life, the father would have loomed over his wife, imposing in both ability and physicality, but in this one—

Uchiha Yota's face was barely recognizable, the left side of his body eaten away. He had a wheelchair, and he was quite mobile—still had plenty of chakra, could push it into the requisite seals to move as he wished—but he was no longer quite as menacing a figure.

Not after facing the Six-Tails.

He hadn't even been one of the main fighters—that had been Namikaze and Uzumaki—but he'd done the best he could, using his skill with fire chakra.

But fire did nothing to the beast, and he'd—

He'd gone down.

He'd suffered, stared up at the ominous gray sky as a little girl attended his wounds, and known his career was over.

His son, though, was a different matter.

Shisui was bright, so bright, and already capable of so much. But the Academy (understandably) bored him, made him act out.

Uchiha Yota didn't want his son to suffer unnecessarily.

Promoting him, making him genin then chuunin and so on as quickly as possible, that seemed to be the solution.

"We're not at war," Uchiha Hana said at last, sighing as she sank down, already knowing that her husband had set his mind, that nothing she could say would change it. "The Hokage—"

"The Hokage has a long history of allowing exceptions, and who knows how long this peace will last? We only have a ceasefire with Kiri, after all."

Hana grimaced, went for a different tack: "He has time to grow. Perhaps we should pull him from the Academy for a year, train him ourselves—"

"In my condition?" Yota snorted. "It's decided. I'll get him promoted tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?!" Hana shouted, startled at the stated immediacy.

"Yes." Yota said, and then he wheeled out of the room.

.

Future Research Head Uchiha (Hotaru, he wanted her to call him now. The name always seemed to get stuck in her throat, far too informal for so formal a man) came into their now shared office a little later than usual, his typical frown just a bit askew.

"Is everything alright?"

Future Research Head Uchiha—Hotaru, she really needed to start practicing saying the name—hesitated, then nodded. "I have a nephew, Shisui. He's two now, a bright young boy. Just started the Academy this summer."

Sakura hummed in acknowledgment, setting aside the requisition forms to listen.

Future Research Head Uchiha hesitated again, then continued. "My brother-in-law is having him tested out, making him a genin."

Sakura blinked.

The Yamanaka, Nara, and Akimichi never allowed their children to test out early—the most they'd do was let kids start a few years ahead of schedule.

"Isn't that… quite young?"

"Yes," Future Research Head Uchiha said. "There's precedent, of course, but—"

But, Sakura filled in, two years is still too young, too few months of innocence before being hit with the reality of the world, genius or no.

"You can't stop it?"

Future Head Uchiha snorted. "No. Not my call."

"Who will be his genin sensei?"

"They haven't decided yet," even as he said the words, Future Head Uchiha (Hotaru. Hotaru, Hotaru, Hotaru) sat up, realizing where she was going with this. "He hasn't been taught sealing yet, you know. Had to work on his handwriting first."

"I know Nara Kyo, over in Communications, is considering signing up to be a Sensei. Put Shisui on a team with two paperwork-nin, have him learn Research, Fuinjutsu, administrative functions…"

"Wouldn't be nearly as boring as the Academy, so Shisui would stop complaining, but would keep him far away from any dangerous missions," Future Head Uchiha, Hotaru, finished. "Maybe even allow for an extended genin-ship, as is more common with paperwork ninja; I could sell it as preparing the boy for a position of power later in life."

Sakura hummed in agreement. "I know the Military Police are expanding their forensics lab, too; if he understood that sort of technology…"

Future Research Head Uchiha Hotaru nodded slowly. "I think that could work." His eyes cut up, met hers. "Thank you."

Sakura considered the twist in her stomach whenever she considered the age most soldiers entered the field, how much worse that twist got whenever she considered the youngest age possible to do so. She considered Arden, and her true horror and disgust at the idea of children killing.

"I did not enjoy my first time killing," she said at last, "and I was ten. I can't imagine the ramifications on my psyche and personality if I'd had to go through that at two."

Future Head Hotaru nodded in agreement. "There's a reason I switched to research."

And then a genin runner entered with an absolute mountain of timecards, and both of them went back to work—Head Aburame was in the hospital for at least the rest of the week, and paperwork never took a break.

.

Nara Kyo grimaced, looking down at the tiny imps in front of him. He hadn't been that serious, really, when he'd said he wanted to be a sensei—he just wanted his teammates off his back, and they were always telling him to 'do something more' with his life.

A few years of work with a whole bunch of kids had, for reasons he'd no longer remembered, seemed the easiest way to accomplish 'something more.'

Perhaps he'd had a head injury the morning he applied? He couldn't remember any anvils falling on him, but that didn't mean it hadn't happened.

Nara Yoshino, twelve, late start to genin because of bone cancer (now in remission.) Described as unusually fiery, quick-tempered.

Inuzuka Katsuo, ten, just wrapped up six months bereavement. Dog was dead, had gotten some kind of infection. Described as unusually intelligent for an Inuzuka, but hadn't taken his dog's death well. (They never did.) Refused to find a new partner.

Uchiha Shisui, two.

Two.

Graduated early, on father's 'recommendation.' Genius.

Two.

Nara Kyo saw no reason to hide his grimace.

Yoshino grimaced back.

Of course she did; he still remembered when she was like three and threw temper tantrums because no one else wanted to play the same high-energy games she did.

(He'd played babysitter a couple times, never enjoyed the experience. She was far too overactive to be a Nara. Mom was some kind of taijutsu fighter, if he remembered correctly—must have gotten her personality from that.)

Katsuo wasn't even looking at him, was staring at the floor.

Shisui, the two-year-old, grinned.

.

The sewage system was in a bit of disarray, what with the repairs and remodeling, but it still functioned, taking tainted water from houses and even the street—they didn't bother with a separate storm drainage system—and funneling it away from civilization.

It really was a model of engineering, now several decades old and still functioning, even if it was never meant for the sheer number of people Konoha was now capable of holding.

But it would always have elements that required a more… human hand.

"Ewww…" Yoshino whined, backing up from the grate even as Shisui started forward eagerly.

"Stop," Sensei said. He gestured to Yoshino. "You do this one first, give the boys a break." They had, after all, done the first two.

"No! This is the most disgusting one yet!" That, unfortunately, was true. Build-up of sediment and debris was inevitable, after all, but most of the drains in the city were vertical openings at the bottom of government buildings. This one was a grate, placed square in the middle of a large, flat training area—the next several would be much of the same as they looped around the city, hitting every drain in the fourth quadrant, but Kyo saw no reason to tell them that.

"Well, the good news is you did nothing for the first two, so there's still plenty of room left in your sack."

Yoshino made a face, but by now all three knew when Sensei was serious.

She started forward, stopped. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"It's not fair!"

The boys, realizing that Yoshino was digging in for an argument, sighed.

Katsuo grabbed his far smaller teammate by the scruff, swinging him so Shisui could grab onto his neck, and the two of them began wandering back to town—it would take at least forty, fifty minutes for Yoshino to actually finish the grate, never mind that Katsuo could do it in ten with Shisui's help, so they might as well get lunch while they waited.

Shisui giggled, looking back as Sensei's neck began turning red at Yoshino's continued obstinance.

"I really wish she'd just do it," Katsuo said. "Make everything go much faster."

The boy on his back hummed, then wriggled his hands. "And Yoshino wishes you'd actually try during sparring."

That, Katsuo would readily admit, was true.

Shisui wasn't allowed to participate in sparring—Sensei refused, ending up getting in an actual fight with Shisui's dad over it—so he'd spend the hours practicing his fine and gross motor skills (or, in other words, running and playing—not that anyone would admit that to Shisui's father.)

Because Shisui was out of the running, the only partner the other two genin usually saw was each other.

And Katsuo…

He'd trained to fight with Tamotsu, to learn his clan's bloodline by his side and work in tandem with him for the rest of his life.

And then Tamotsu had died.

And Katsuo didn't want to learn any other kind of fighting, any other kind of taijutsu.

It infuriated Yoshino, made her feel robbed of a good fight, but that was her problem.

Katsuo wasn't about to change.

"Barbeque, you think?"

"Yeah!" Shisui shouted, and Katsuo turned accordingly.

.

Yoshino slumped against a tree, twirling one of its many fallen leaves as she watched the sleeping bodies of her team.

Finally being out of the hospital—finally being on the move again—she'd been so excited, so scared, so ready to take control of anything and everything life had to offer—

And then she'd met her team.

Shisui was one thing.

The toddler was young, far too young, to be a genin, but everyone—toddler included—knew it. (Except for his father, of course, but there were always a handful of idiots. How this one had enough power to get what he wanted done was beyond her.)

So Shisui—he was sweet, and he played while they exercised, and he picked up on everything around him like the genius that he was, and he smiled.

Yoshino didn't mind him.

It sucked that it functionally meant she was down one teammate in combat, but she had a jounin-sensei—the problem should have been far from insurmountable.

But that didn't take into account her other teammate.

Katsuo was surly, prone to hours spent drowning in misery. He always put in the bare minimum of emotion, or less if he could help it. He was nice enough to Shisui, at least, but that was it: he never put his all into their spars, he never wanted to do anything—

She'd been slotted for a Ino-Shika-Cho tracking team.

She'd learned alongside Yaminaka Sen as he practiced his sensing ability, sparred against Akimichi Mori as the two of them constantly vied to figure out who could do more, who could go faster.

And then—

And then she'd gotten sick.

And they'd been promoted without her, put with some orphan from the class above theirs and—

And she'd been left behind.

She'd been so excited when she'd learned she'd get to be on a team again.

Katsuo mumbled, rolled over in his sleep.

The forest around them was silent.

Of course it was—they were still within Konoha's walls, after all. This was just training, a test to see if the two of them could manage the four-hour watches they'd have to do when they actually went into the field.

Yoshino's was first.

She would pass, she knew.

She kept her eyes moving, kept watch over any movement—even though the only movement came from the sleeping bodies—and kept awake, alert.

Katsuo would fail.

He had the last time.

Hadn't even bothered to pretend to keep watch, just shrugged when Sensei asked him why he'd fallen asleep.

Yoshino wondered why he didn't just quit.

Shisui, from his position next to Sensei's head, squirmed.

He wasn't taking part in the exercise—wouldn't be put on watch for years, if Sensei had any say in it—but his father would expect him to be a part of this, to practice exactly the same skills his decade older-teammates were.

So the four of them had trooped to the woods, and Shisui had spent a few hours collecting bits of various flora for his teammates to practice identifying in between exercise reps and sparring.

And now the boy was asleep, leaning against the giant tuft of Sensei's ponytail, and Katsuo was—

Awake.

"My turn, right?" He mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

Yoshino, stunned, nodded.

"Great." He rolled his shoulders then stood, gesturing to the mat he'd emptied. "All yours."

"How'd you know it was time? I was supposed to wake you up!" Yoshino whispered.

Katsuo shrugged. "Wasn't asleep."

"Why not?!"

Katsuo shrugged again.

And then—

Yoshino didn't know what alerted her.

There wasn't a sound, smell, sight, nothing.

But she turned her head anyway, almost ninety degrees to the side, and Katsuo followed her gaze.

The snake appeared less than half a second later.

It was barely visible in the brush, in the fallen leaves, but—

Yoshino had been expecting to see something.

(She'd sit in bed later, wonder for hours what had caught her attention.)

She saw it.

And Sensei had been grilling them on native flora and fauna—that was not a Land of Fire snake.

Too big.

Too—too aware.

The snake hissed, realizing it had been spotted, and Yoshino threw a shuriken at it, screeching as she did.

Katsuo didn't hesitate—he ran straight at the summons, knives already in his hands as he jumped effortlessly to the snake's position.

But the snake had already moved on.

Moved forward.

Right to Yoshino.

Right to—

It lunged, but not at her.

Not at Sensei either, already wide awake and darting into the trees.

It lunged, instead, at the toddler in Sensei's arms.

Yoshino shrieked.

This was nighttime, her brain registered.

She was a Nara.

The summons was strong, so much stronger than she was expecting, and her tentative shadow hold—cast so quickly she hadn't bothered with signs—broke almost immediately, but that was enough.

The snake jerked in its lunge, and then Sensei was gone.

The snake's mouth bit at open air, and then it turned to her.

And that's when the ANBU appeared.