Hinata found solace in the solitude of missions. After deciding to return to the field, she made a conscious effort to avoid assignments that placed her alongside people she knew—her friends, her old teammates. It was easier this way. The weight of pretending, of keeping up the charade that she was fine, became too exhausting around people who cared for her. Instead, she opted for solo missions or ones where she was paired with unfamiliar faces, strangers who wouldn't question her, who wouldn't expect her to be the Hinata she once was.
Each mission became a reprieve, a temporary escape from the suffocating thoughts that haunted her in Konoha. The battlefield was simple. There were no emotions to sift through, no complex webs of relationships to navigate. There was only the mission—clear, objective, and tangible. She was colder now, more decisive in her actions. The hesitation that had once plagued her, the stuttering uncertainty, had vanished. She no longer flinched in the face of enemies, no longer wavered when making decisions that required swift judgment.
Hinata's new mindset was a sharp contrast to the quiet, gentle persona she had once embodied. She understood now that showing mercy to the wrong people could lead to destruction. The enemies she faced were criminals, dangerous individuals who would, if given the chance, tear apart families, plunge villages into chaos, and reignite the flames of war. They had to be dealt with swiftly, with no room for hesitation or doubt. The world could not afford more destruction.
With every mission completed, she found a strange kind of comfort in the cold efficiency she had adopted. Her movements were quick, precise, her mind focused solely on the task at hand. The weight of her guilt, her grief, still hung heavy on her, but during these missions, she could set it aside, bury it beneath the mask of a shinobi with a purpose.
Her reputation began to shift within the ranks of the shinobis. Her missions were completed faster, her skills honed sharper than ever before. Word spread of her ability to take on more dangerous assignments without faltering, and soon enough, she found herself serving on S-rank missions. These missions were grueling, requiring precision and a level of ruthlessness that she had once shied away from—but now, she embraced them. The danger, the challenge, all of it gave her something to focus on, something to lose herself in.
It was during these missions that her path began to cross with Itachi Uchiha's more and more. At first, it had been coincidental—a mission here or there where they were both assigned as part of the larger team. They worked together without issue, their interactions minimal, professional. It was efficient, silent. Hinata appreciated that there were no unnecessary conversations, no forced attempts at camaraderie. It was all about the mission.
Over time, however, their missions together became more frequent. Whether by design or coincidence, they were paired together on several occasions—sometimes alongside other ninjas, sometimes just the two of them. They worked well together, their skillsets complementing each other in a way that made each mission flow seamlessly. Itachi, ever calm and calculating, led with precision, while Hinata executed her role without question or hesitation.
In battle, they moved with the quiet synchronicity of seasoned warriors, barely needing to communicate as they dispatched enemies or completed their objectives. But it wasn't just on the battlefield that they worked together. Some missions were more tactical, requiring them to navigate complex situations involving politics or subterfuge. It was during these quieter, more technical missions that Itachi began to notice something unsettling about Hinata.
She was efficient, yes. Focused. But there was something beneath the surface that didn't sit right with him. Itachi had always been observant, attuned to the subtleties of human behavior, and something about Hinata's demeanor felt… off. She didn't make mistakes—far from it. Her performance was flawless, her dedication to the mission absolute. But his instincts told him otherwise. There was something else, something she was hiding beneath the mask of professionalism.
It was the way her eyes would occasionally flicker, not with hesitation, but with a deep-seated sorrow that she never allowed to show. The way her movements, though decisive, seemed driven by something more than just duty. Something darker. Itachi couldn't quite place it.
One evening, after returning from yet another mission with her, Itachi entered the small house he shared with Sasuke. The lamps were dimly lit, casting a warm glow over the room, and Sasuke was seated at the table, a scroll spread out before him as he read intently.
"You're back," Sasuke remarked without looking up, though there was a slight tension in his voice that Itachi picked up on.
Itachi hesitated, standing just inside the doorway as he removed his cloak. "Yes," he replied simply, his mind still lingering on the day's events. He moved towards the table, taking a seat across from his brother. For a moment, there was silence between them, save for the soft rustle of the scroll as Sasuke turned a page.
Itachi glanced at Sasuke, his thoughts churning. "Hinata Hyūga…," he began, his voice thoughtful. "Do you know her well?"
Sasuke raised an eyebrow, looking up from the scroll. "Hinata?" he repeated, clearly surprised by the question. "Not really. We were in the same academy class, but I never interacted with her."
"And how was she back then?" itachi asked
Sasuke looked at him, trying to remember the glimpses of academy days.
"She was… quiet, shy. Insecure. She barely spoke up, and when she did, she stuttered. I always thought she was timid, too hesitant to be a real shinobi."
Itachi's gaze drifted as he absorbed Sasuke's words. A timid, hesitant girl. It was difficult to reconcile that description with the woman he had been working with over the past few months. There was nothing shy or hesitant about her now. Yes she was polite, kind and well spoken but she was a far cry from the image Sasuke had painted—decisive, cold, efficient. Perhaps people changed,he thought. War had a way of shaping people into something they hadn't been before.
"She's different now," Itachi said quietly, more to himself than to Sasuke. "Much different."
Sasuke studied him for a moment, sensing that there was more behind Itachi's question. "Why are you asking about her?" he asked, his tone curious.
Itachi leaned back in his chair, his eyes thoughtful. "I've worked with her on several missions recently. She's… focused, skilled. But there's something about her that doesn't feel right. She's efficient, but it feels almost… detached. As if she's driven by something other than just duty."
Sasuke shrugged slightly, returning his attention to the scroll. "People change. The war changed a lot of us. Maybe she's just grown up."
"Maybe," Itachi murmured, though he wasn't convinced. His instincts rarely led him astray, and something told him that whatever was going on with Hinata wasn't just a matter of growing up or adjusting to life after the war. There was something deeper, something that lay beneath the surface of her cold efficiency.
As he sat there, his thoughts lingering on her, Itachi made a silent decision. He would keep an eye on her, not because he doubted her abilities, but because something told him she was walking a dangerous path—one that could lead to consequences she might not be prepared for.
Sasuke glanced up at him once more, but said nothing. He had learned long ago that when Itachi had an instinct about something, it was best not to question it.
The night stretched on, the soft hum of the village settling into the background as the two brothers sat in quiet contemplation, each lost in their own thoughts. But for Itachi, his thoughts remained fixed on the quiet storm brewing within Hinata Hyūga—a storm that he feared would only grow stronger with time.