Shisui sat in his cousin's chair, leaning forward eagerly as the two actors finished their pivotal argument about who was to blame. They each turned, dismissing the other with identical waves, and swore to never forgive each other.
One second, two, and then his cousin shouted—"Cut!" And everyone being chattering once more.
"So, what did you think, little cousin?"
"This is amazing!" His cheeks hurt from smiling so much. He knew his mother had fought with a lot of his father's side over this—they wanted him to stay in Uzu, where it was safe, but there wasn't any filming in Uzu yet—but his mother had sworn to him that she didn't mind, that she loved protecting him, allowing his interests to flourish.
He barely remembered being a ninja, now.
He was still squeamish around snakes, and stuff, but he figured that was fair.
Mostly, though, his time was a ninja was just a few weeks of play with some teenagers and his (former) Sensei.
It hadn't even felt like being a ninja, not really. Shisui knew he had a lot of people to thank for that, a lot of adults looking out for him.
…He knew his dad was trying to look out for him too, in his own way, but.
Ever since Shisui was pulled back, un-graduated, ever since Mom began taking a stand—
Dad had just gone silent.
Wouldn't talk to him, ever.
And—
It hurt.
A lot.
He knew, objectively, it wasn't his fault.
He knew, objectively, his Dad was in the wrong.
It just didn't feel like it.
He didn't like thinking about it.
And most of the time he didn't have to. He barely attended the Academy anymore, spent his days drawing and learning instruments and writing movies, and now—now he was here. On a film set, watching as a pivotal Uchiha story was recorded so that people even generations away could see it exactly as Shisui's cousin envisioned it.
One day, when he could convince someone to take out a loan for him on all this expensive equipment—one day it would be his own stories on film, his own stories being watched over and over and over again.
He couldn't wait.
.
They were getting closer.
It was obvious, from the agitation of the byoki.
They were almost there.
.
Kaede liked the Academy.
He liked having loads of friends to play with, and loads of things to learn, and loads of people to spy on.
His bestest friend was Itoku.
Itoku was the third son of a noble, and he'd only come part-way into the first semester, and he'd been kind of snotty, and kind of snobby, and he didn't really act like the rest of them, so Kaede decided to help him out, at least until he figured out how to make friends by himself.
And then Kaede had figured out that Itoku was really fun, actually, and knew loads of stuff Kaede didn't, and now they were best friends.
They were six years old, now, finally tall and strong enough to learn proper kata instead of the modified ones for babies, and Kaede laughed as Itoku whined, again, about how much work it was.
"I like exercise!" Kaede said. "It's nice outside, too!"
"It's raining!" Itoku complained.
"Drizzling," Kaede said. "My parents would say it's refreshing!"
Itoku didn't talk about his parents.
He didn't live with them, either.
Lived in a house with a bunch of other noble children who were attending the Academy.
Kaede had thought that was cool, when he'd learned about it. No parents, lots of kids—
It seemed awesome.
Now he wasn't so sure.
Itoku always seemed so—
It wasn't like he said anything, or anything. It was just… Kaede could tell. Itoku was jealous. Of Kaede's parents, of his home, of his aunts and uncles.
Even of being a Konoha native.
He'd mentioned, once, that kids around here were much louder than at his home.
Kaede figured that was probably true.
He thought about apologizing, for bringing up his parents. Itoku had been having fun despite his complaining, and now his mouth was closed, and Kaede felt bad.
But apologizing would probably just make Itoku more upset.
"Sensei's all the way on the other side of the field," he offered instead. "Want to learn some Yamanaka kata instead?"
Itoku grinned. "Sure."
.
Rin wanted to call for Sensei already, but Obito wanted to let it play out a bit more, let the byoki think they were laying a trap.
Kakashi sided with Obito.
Rin, always cautious, grabbed the seal anyway, prepared it so it would take less than a second to deploy.
.
She was healthy.
The Uchiha doctors had checked, and checked, and checked—
And her baby was healthy.
Completely, totally healthy.
"You're lucky," an auntie said, pursing her lips as she loomed over Hono.
"I know," she kept her voice soft, quiet. Kept bouncing her sleeping daughter.
"Does the father know?"
"Yes." Hono was sure every Uchiha and every Yuki knew. Healthy inter-bloodline babies were rare indeed, and her daughter would be subjected to significant scrutiny throughout her life.
Fuyuki hadn't been happy, exactly, when he'd learned that they'd stopped speaking because she'd learned she was pregnant.
Hadn't been happy that she hadn't told him.
Understood, though.
Admitted that the Yuki hadn't previously had one successful inter-bloodline pregnancy.
But Ame was tested, was definitely healthy. Was definitely theirs.
And she loved her.
And Fuyuki did, too.
They'd be living together, soon.
She was moving to Uzu at the end of the month, and they'd both be staying in an apartment in Kaiso.
Not in the same bed, or anything—she didn't know what they'd be doing about their own relationship—but it seemed the most fair option to let them both raise Ame, be a part of her life.
So much had gone wrong in recent years, so much had suffered—but Ame, she was perfect. She'd have been perfect no matter what disabilities she'd been born with, because Hono had started loving her before she even knew her.
Ame was perfect, and that was enough.
.
"Now?"
"Not yet."
.
He could feel the anger sizzling inside him.
He needed to find some way to get it under control, because it was clear now that it was an issue, was distracting.
But Suna was getting more and more pushy, all-but demanding a vaccine, handing him hundreds of people to experiment with—
And he'd tried.
He'd tried, pushed all his other plans to the side.
(He'd never been interested in vaccines).
He'd made the stupid vaccine, given it to them.
And then they'd come back, complaining.
It killed the old. It killed the young. People who took it still got sick, still died.
They wanted a perfect solution.
That wasn't him.
And Orochimaru was getting sick and tired of being treated like a tool.
He needed to pack up, move.
It was a shame—he'd made his lab exactly as he liked it here—but it was necessary.
He hadn't even managed to get through most of what his spies sent him—not to do more than skim and be disappointed, anyway—and he hadn't sent out a spy in—
Oh. Well, that was worse than he'd thought, actually; his mental math assured him that he had no living spies in Konohagakure anymore.
Yet another thing that made it hard to focus, hard to feel more than rage.
(He wished the rage was easier to control, that he wasn't so much a slave to his emotions. He needed to experiment more, figure out where he'd gone wrong when improving his brain. There just never seemed to be enough test subjects, enough time.)
The anger that simmered inside him wasn't about to go away, and all the Kazekage was doing was worsening the issue, making it hard for Orochimaru to think, to plan.
If he had his way then there would be no deadline, just years and years and years of immortal planning, of unending domination—
But that didn't mean he wanted to waste away any more time doing Wind's bidding.
The anger simmered underneath Orochimaru's skin, and he began to pack.
.
There was so much byoki.
So much.
They still weren't at the heart of it, at its control center, but they were getting closer.
Kakashi was beginning to struggle to murder all that went near, and Rin and Obito pulled out their acid sprays.
Any minute now, they'd call Sensei.
Any minute now, they'd be in all-out war.
.
Juro was never creative, not like the rest of his team.
He didn't really come up with novel ideas, novel plans, novel—
Anything.
What he was instead was focused.
And really early on he'd decided to focus on pediatrics.
Now he stood in front of another civilian family while they sobbed, hugged each other, hugged him.
It had been a tough surgery, definitely, but not one that had felt particularly unusual or dangerous—
But that had been in Konoha, where iryoninjutsu was commonplace, had been commonplace since a teenaged Tsunade had begun yelling about how useful it was even outside of field situations, about how every doctor needed to learn how to use it.
(It wasn't that iryoninjutsu hadn't been a thing before she came along, it had just sort of… been. And then the Sannin had begun exploring its strengths herself, become aghast that it wasn't more common, and just sort of… made it so.)
He wasn't in Konoha, though.
He was in the Capital.
And here, iryoninjutsu was doubted, was second-guessed.
And then Juro had come along.
He hadn't brought any new ideas, any unique spins—but he'd learned everything he could while still living in Konoha, and he brought that knowledge to the Capital, brought that life-saving ability along too.
Konoha had opened up ten spaces for non-shinobi non-Konoha doctors to complete two-year apprenticeships at the Konoha Hospital, and those spaces were already filled.
Juro set aside one day a week for instructional classes and he never had a single empty seat, a single empty section of wall.
There were still many—so, so many—who doubted him—
But it was hard to doubt when patient after patient after patient was brought to him as 'terminal', 'beyond medicine'—and he saved them.
Nobles were willing to do quite a lot when you saved their firstborn son from bone cancer.
Dissidents became a whole lot quieter after that too.
Juro didn't bring any new ideas to the table, not really, but he knew how to execute.
And that was exactly what he was going to do.
Konohagakure only had ten spots for non-Konoha apprenticeships—but if you moved to Konoha…
If you brought your family, brought your income…
And when the Hokage had all-but signed a blank check to hire as many medical staff as the hospital wanted…
Well, Juro was quite certain that Konoha's hospital wouldn't be suffering from lack of staffing for much longer.
.
"Now, Rin!" Kakashi shouted.
Rin was already triggering the seal, calling Sensei to their side.
And the byoki—
It was everywhere.