~Chapter 1: Five~


(Sunday September 14 Konoha Shikaku Nara's Office)

~Nina~

A dizziness pushed upon Nina. When did I last have a fucking break? Casting her eyes to the clock on the wall directly in front, she tracked the second hand's clockwise movement. Tick, tick, tick, tick. The perpetual ticking tapered into an all-too-fresh recollection of hers.

~Flashback~

(About a week agoKonoha's HospitalTreatment Room 3)

"Call it!" Tsunade barked out the order.

Only Nina answered, "Time of death, 2.33pm."

One by one, the ear-splitting bleeps from the medical devices ceased to sound. The latex snapped as Nina discarded her bloodied gloves into the over-full bin in the corner of the room. She watched as two staff flumped a white sheet to cover the deceased patient that laid on the steel gurney. The clacking of Tsunade's heels on the tiled floor slowly faded out to nothing as she returned to her office.

Hidden under the veil of a starch-creased sheet was the lifeless body of a young boy. He was barely nine years old. Being the first medic on the scene, and despite their patient being dead on arrival, Nina had made an attempt at revival. However, once Tsunade entered the treatment room, she immediately instructed Nina and the other staff to commence the end-of-life process.

Nina insisted on being the one to inform the parents of the boy's passing. But before that, she needed to slip into the bathroom to remedy her dishevelled state. Her hair was a mess. Little remained held in a loose bun; most had fallen to curtain around her face, which was spattered with drying blood.

Sliding the heavy wooden door along its' metal tracks, Nina entered the small room awash with white features from floor to ceiling. Inside the only furniture was a white leather-backed two-seater chair. Positioned across from it, a single matching chair. The victim's parents were sitting on the larger of the two. Closely clutching each other's hands, anxiously waiting for news about their child.

Although it hadn't been Nina's first time carrying out such solemn duties, losing a young life was notably more difficult. She perched herself on the very edge of the single chair—never shifting her eyes from the couple out of respect. The man embraced his wife while the tirade of their tears fell upon hearing the outcome involving their one and only son. Sadness turned to anger. Firmly grasping the collar of Nina's medic jacket, the woman shook her and bellowed rhetorical questions. Eventually, the anger subsided, making way for the snotty sobs smeared against Nina's clothes until the man took over consoling his wife.

Standing out in the deserted hospital corridor, the seasoned medical-nin grappled to contain the urge to cry over her latest victim. Nina exhaled, "That makes five".

~End of Flashback~

Fuck. Nina's focus was abruptly righted when the pencil that she'd been twirling between her fingers snapped. Flopping backwards into the high-backed office chair, she stretched her arms upwards—as if aiming to press the palms of her hands to the ceiling itself. Tugging out the tie sent her muss of long brunette locks cascading over her shoulders. Tch. One of these days, I'm going to fucking cut it all off. Freeing the strands caught between the chair's armrest and backing, Nina internally rescinded her threat of a drastic lop of her hair. Instead, she knitted it into a single, thick braid that then hung down one side of her front.

Snuffing her nose in frustration, she dropped another scrumpled sheet of fruitless notes onto the floor to her left. There has to be something in all this shit. Well, the Nara Clan Medical Encyclopaedia wasn't shit—far from it. The highly regarded resource was a behemoth in size and weight. Propped up on a custom-made timber stand, it took up two-thirds of one length of the desk.

Thumbing the bottom right-hand corner of the next page, Nina rolled it over and swept the back of her right pinky finger across the parchment to flatten it. She had been meticulously poring over the Encyclopaedia's contents for days, knowing the slightest hint of data could prove helpful to the investigation.

As a medical-nin, Nina's record had rarely been marked with such a death rate in a long time, and it fucking irked her. Five shinobi presented to Konoha's hospital in varying progressions of the same symptoms in the past two weeks—all succumbed to death. The first four didn't warrant serious concern, given they were ANBU operatives. That was, until the fifth victim—the young boy. He and a handful of other students from the Academy were out practising in one of Konoha's many training grounds. According to his close contacts, he had been perfectly healthy, but he was in the morgue by that day's end.

With new mounting concerns about a possible link between the five deaths, Tsunade—Konohagakure's Fifth Hokage—sought collaboration with Ibiki—the Commander for Konoha's Interrogation Unit and ANBU Operations. On their approval, Nina was selected to lead the investigation into the origin of the deaths. Selected was a loose term. After attending the boy's funeral, she'd practically belted down the door of the Hokage's office, demanding outright that she be given the job and no one else.

Upon being appointed, Nina's first hurdle was finding a workspace that met all her criteria. She would need ample space—suitable for working with five victims' worth of paperwork. Additionally, she'd need privacy—anything about the ANBU operatives was automatically classified. Finally, proximity. She'd need to be in a central position to Konoha's library, hospital, and ANBU base of operations. Preferably within walking distance to each other because she would collect and collate resources from all three locations.

Somehow, Nina had wound up in the doorway of Shikaku's office. It was located within the adjoining buildings of the Hokage Tower and hospital. By far, it was the most ideal of all the places she'd checked out. Fortunately for Nina, and whether by her humble request or Shikaku's disdain for participating in a bothersome argument with the opposite sex, Konoha's Jōnin Commander offered to share his workspace.

That was almost a week ago. A week tomorrow.

Needless to say, she'd exercised a certain amount of liberalness when interpreting the terms of their arrangement. Nina stared at the nest of piled books and articles she'd built around herself. Shit. The timber floor was littered with junked notes and scribblings that hadn't made their way to the bin. Precariously piled on the outer edges of the timber L-shaped desk were various books with pages marked with sticky notes. Some were nothing more than torn pieces of paper marking a point of interest.

Tch. She clicked her tongue at herself. The cleaning will just have to wait. The inability to heal any of the victims had already left Nina feeling deficient as a medical-nin. With each passing hour without a resolution, her self-deprecation only worsened.

Based on the incident and medical reports, Nina surmised a poison may have been used. However, the post mortem examinations didn't discern a point of entry. Wishing to rule out every possibility, she performed secondary exams herself on all of the victims. She, too, didn't find anything. Therefore, and maintaining her assumption, the poison had to have been ingested. Whether it travelled through the body's chakra or blood channels was irrelevant. It was the same straightforward treatment—stabilise the patient's organs and vitals and remove the poison. Simple but time-consuming.

Curling over the next page, Nina discovered she had reached the end of the poisons section of the Encyclopaedia. Empty-handed, she dejectedly dropped her forehead to the backs of her hands which gripped the edge of the desk.

~Shikaku~

Shikaku Nara leant against the framework of the open doorway to his usually immaculate office. Strong-willed women were troublesome on their own—an opinion most Nara men agreed on—let alone when they were hell-bent on finding a solution to a challenging problem. Shikaku had left Nina to her own devices for the most part, but it had been a week. "No luck, eh?" he asked politely, pushing off from the door trim.

"Nope, nothing," Nina grumbled at the floor before lifting her head and sitting up properly. "It would be a lot fucking—"

"Language, Nina," Shikaku cautioned the kunoichi, taking a standing seat on the other—tidier—portion of his desk. He folded his arms across his chest, smirking in mild amusement at her scrunched face in response to being chastised. Over the years, Shikaku had become well acquainted with Nina's tell-tale quirks, which arose whenever she was bested by her emotions. He'd narrowed them down to three stand-outs- her scrumpled facial expression, cursing as soundly as any sailor (thanks to the influence from Genma Shiranui), and a toddler-like foot stamp.

Shikaku didn't willingly offer to share his working quarters with just anyone. However, the spirited kunoichi sitting at his desk and trashing his office wasn't just anyone. Nina Sarutobi was the youngest child and only daughter of the late Hiruzen Sarutobi—Konohagakure's Third Hokage. If you came into contact with her, you either met an angel who'd risk it all to save your life or a hellish fiend who'd wipe you from existence without a bat of an eyelid.

Leading up to Nina's graduation from the Academy—at the tender age of eight—Hiruzen openly voiced his belief that his daughter's obstinacy would be too much of a nuisance for any of the available Jōnin squad leaders to handle, despite her potential. Without an official posting, Shikaku stepped forward and offered to be Nina's teacher.

True to the Third's concerns, Nina proved to be a particularly troublesome student. In the long run, Shikaku came to appreciate the kunoichi's more stubborn qualities. There was an element of Nina that drove her, disallowing her to do things that were easy. It was as if the old saying 'what comes easy won't last. What lasts won't come easy,' was permanently embedded in the girl's genetic make-up.

Through sheer hard work and grit, Nina earned a well-known reputation across the Five Great Ninja Nations. Her adept shinobi skills have her currently serving Konoha as an Elite Jōnin and accomplished medical-nin. This makes Nina something of a protected commodity—a valued and an almost indispensable weapon to the Village Hidden in the Leaves.

"It would be a lot easier if it wasn't so fast-acting. I need time…" Nina trailed off.

Shikaku inched closer to her, clearing the mess of crumpled up paper from the floor as he went. "Taking care of yourself isn't a reward you get after being useful. You need to rest."

"I need to fix this," Nina rebutted. "Go mother-hen someone else," she continued, waving Shikaku off dismissively.

Hmpf, apparently gone were the days she called me Sensei. While obviously weary, Shikaku's former student hadn't lost any of her mulishness.

~Nina~

Nina had paid no mind to Shikaku walking around to her side of the desk—wholly absorbed in rereading her notes. She yelped when the chair—and she—were swivelled to the right and tipped forward, dumping her onto her feet. Nina's rather ungraceful grounding was primarily due to fatigue and also her damned petiteness. She was lucky to weigh forty-five kilograms sopping wet. Out to unleash a mouthful of expletives at Shikaku, Nina whirled around to face him—cheeks puffed and with her hands on her hips.

Shikaku's balled fist poorly covered the upturn of his lips. About as much as clearing his throat stifled his laughter. "As Konoha's Jōnin Commander, I'm ordering you, Nina Sarutobi, to go home, eat, shower and sleep," he instructed, stowing the chair under the desk.

Shinobi Rule #20

A shinobi must never question their commander.

Dammit! Nina's arms flopped to her sides, and she hung her head in resignation. It was one of over one hundred rules of the Shinobi Code of Conduct. For Nina, these rules were absolute as a shinobi. That, and no ninja in their right fucking mind, would pass up the opportunity for a proper hot shower. Already facing Shikaku, she cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow, "Are you saying I smell?"

"Take it as you wish," Shikaku quipped, handing over her medic-jacket from the back of the chair.

Gratefully. Nina's limbs were stiff, and honestly, she was mentally spent. Bundling her jacket over the crook of one arm, she looked around the room. "I'm sorry about the mes—"

Shikaku huffed and seized Nina by both shoulders. "Yes, I'll clean up your mess," he jibed, leading her to the door.

Apparently, Nina was too tired to register sarcasm; her right foot rose, bending at the knee.

"You may have gone and grown-up, Nina, but you're my student." Shikaku's voice inflection had her quietly dropping her foot. "You are my responsibility."

Nina peered up to her commander's face, giving him a small smile, then bowed. "Thank you, Sensei."

Shikaku—a man of few words—returned her smile and continued tidying. She, on the other hand, would 'go home, eat, shower and sleep.'


(Konoha's Jōnin lounge)

~Kakashi~

Afforded a brief break for the afternoon, Kakashi retreated to the hopefully uninhabited Jōnin lounge. The lounge was a lesser-known addition brought in by the Fourth Hokage. A space where the Jōnin and high ranking Chūnin were able to mingle amongst themselves. Shielded from interruptions by civilians and lower ranks alike. It wasn't anything remarkable—a collection of mismatched pieces of furniture thrown together. But it sufficed and was well used.

Fortune favoured Kakashi; the place was deserted. He stretched out on the three-seater lounge and began reading.

*A few hours later*

'K-Ka-Kakashi…'

Startled awake, Kakashi's hands gnarled into the lounge. He blinked several times, taking stock of his surroundings to ground himself. It was just a memory. Somewhat calmer, Kakashi quickly realised his copy of Icha Icha Paradise was not in his hand. Swinging his legs off the lounge, his left foot scuffed his missing book that had fallen to the floor. Others may have regarded Jiraiya's work as smut, but that wasn't a reason to mistreat his belongings. Kakashi checked for damages—thankfully none barring the creased spine and worn corners from his repetitive reading. Laying his book on the coffee table, he slowly rotated his hands to look at his palms. It's still there.

Standing at the sink, Kakashi removed one glove at a time and placed his hands under the running water. It may have been an awful trick of his mind, but no matter how thorough or often he scrubbed his hands, the blood was still there—her blood.

~Asuma~

Sliding open the door to the Jōnin lounge, Asuma's typical cloud of cigarette smoke drifted into the room before him. The place was empty, excepting the silver-haired Jōnin standing at the sink. It wasn't the first time he'd caught Kakashi in the ritualistic act. To each their own.

"Kurenai made some biscuits. Help yourself." Asuma set down the plastic tub of home bakes onto the coffee table beside Kakashi's orange book. Although intended as a drop-an-go, he decided there was no harm in hanging around for a bit.

Under the far outer wall of the room was a round café-style table with two metal chairs on either side. It was Asuma's preferred… actually, it became his spot. With thanks to Nina. His kid-sister frowned on his smoking habit more than anyone, but she didn't hound him. Instead, Nina said things in a way that left you believing the alternative was much less kind than her request. On this occasion, it'd worked out for the better. The windows, which took up half of the wall space from the ceiling down, offered plenty of ventilation and a great view of the village life below.

Flicking his butt against the edge of the chipped clay ashtray, Asuma pawed through the pile of outdated magazines. "So,"—taking a long drag—"plans for your birthday, Kakashi?"

~Kakashi~

Kakashi yanked his second glove on with more force than the first. Birthdays weren't anything he paid any attention to, least of all, his own. If he said nothing, Asuma may take the hint and return to their quietude. When Kakashi passed a sideways glance at Asuma, he appeared preoccupied with whatever was happening outside.

Regarding Kakashi's palate, sweets didn't make up his usual food intake. But he was hungry; it was homebaked, and it was free. Eyeing off the smallest biscuit in the container, Kakashi pulled back his hand, replaced the lid and picked up his book.

"Ka-kashi,"—said with extra emphasis on the 'k's'—"my rival, what are you doing tomorrow?" Guy asked. Konoha's Blue Beast, his terrible bowl haircut and gaudy green spandex ensemble, leered expectantly over the top of Kakashi's book.

Having my day ruined by whatever you're going to ask me to do.

Kakashi kept his first reply to himself. Unwilling to engage in a conversation that pinned him as the centre topic, he lifted his shoulders into a half-arsed shrug.

"Oh come on, you know the Copy-Nin wouldn't have any plans," chided Genma, clenching a senbon between his teeth.

Guy's exuberance with some things had taught Kakashi the importance of picking his battles. In this situation, any effort of avoidance would likely spur on both Guy and Genma. About all Kakashi could stomach was something lowkey—a couple of drinks, an hour or two tops, with a handful of people. That would be plenty enough.

Capitalising on the lull, Genma declared, "I'm voting Shushu-ya." Taking the chair opposite Asuma and spinning it, he sat on it backwards. "It's been ages since we all went out. Hatake's birthday seems enough of a reason to hang out."

Without skipping a beat, Guy joined in. "I will not miss a chance to celebrate my rival's birthday." Striking a dramatic pose—his fist representing a microphone, "We may be able to finally settle who the better Karaoke singer is!"

~Asuma~

Asuma finished his cigarette, stubbing the butt into the bottom of the tray. The rivalry—if you could call it that—between Guy and Kakashi was an oddity that spanned decades. Presently, Guy was skylarking about the current score of wins versus losses with Kakashi—who was now sitting up and couldn't look more disinterested in the whole affair if he tried.

Asuma found himself smirking because this is how it'd always been for the Copy-Nin. Following the death of Sakumo Hatake—Kakashi's father—Guy self-appointed himself to ensure Kakashi's birthday was always celebrated. Just another part of that friendship, which made it unique to those on the outside.

Asuma beat the bottom of the cigarette packet with the heel of his palm. Wrapping his lips around the smoke that stuck out the farthest, "I'm in," he muffled.

Kakashi stood up from the lounge, "Fine,"—clipping his hip pouch closed after tucking his book away—"Shushu-ya, 7pm tomorrow."

Asuma watched Kakashi weave a seal and vanish in a puff of smoke, leaving him in the company of Genma and Guy. Resembling a couple of excited Academy kids, the pair were already scheming to get the word out about the celebration to as many people as possible. Asuma hadn't turned the next page of the magazine before they up and left.

We really need to update these magazines.

Alone and staring out the window, Asuma wondered if Nina would make an appearance tomorrow night—he had happy news to share with her. No doubt, Kakashi would welcome the shift in attention onto someone other than himself.