Shimura Ryoma squirmed unhappily.

He was trying not to show it, but Uchiha Hotaru had seen that squirm one too many times.

"It was a brave thing you did," he continued, "saving my Clan Head's son."

"Thank you," Ryoma said, "but… you know I didn't know, right? I just sort of ran into the ward, because I figured they might need help, and they loaded me up with babies so quickly that I don't think anyone had any idea which child was which, and then I mostly just stood in the center of the room and tried very hard to not get in the way… or let the babies drop, of course."

It was a good kid who knew their limits, who didn't take credit for things they did accidentally. "How long have you been with us?"

"Since last summer."

"Hm." Hotaru flipped through the boy's file again. Ryoma was a rather meek boy, owing to his father's infidelity being rather well-known. He had a much older brother—Ryota—and no other living immediate relatives. Lived with an aunt who had taken pity on the boy after his mother died of cancer.

Smart.

Not the sort of smart that some children were, the sort of smart that couldn't help but change the world, but smart.

Shockingly strong sense of morality, all things considered.

Rather middling in ninjutsu, but according to the Academy notes his brother had taken the time to at least make sure his taijutsu was up to snuff.

A dab hand at seals.

"Your project won't work," Hotaru said, because he wasn't a fan of letting people down lightly. "You haven't accounted for the magnetic forces here, and here, or the electromagnetic forces here. Your suggested sealwork is such a mess that it is clear you simply threw everything at the wall, and in addition an acid sprinkler seems to have a very high risk of collateral damage."

The boy swallowed, nodded.

It wasn't all that bad an idea, really. Oh, Hotaru would never approve it, but most apprentices' first and second and third drafts were like that. Still, it had all the important things. He'd made sure to include every element that a project proposal should have, made sure each kanji was neat and had a purpose—really, it was a very good first attempt.

"I'm reassigning you," Hotaru said.

The boy swallowed again.

Afraid, Hotaru supposed, that he'd messed up badly enough to get one of those jobs that no one wanted to do, but that had to be done anyway.

Maybe a few months just sealing explosive tags over and over.

Hotaru supposed he might as well disabuse the child of that belief; he'd learn soon enough anyway. "Do you know chuunin Erigami?"

"The… architect regulator?"

Well, close enough. "Close enough. They have an idea for a sort of way to transport goods in and out of the city. Your sealwork is neat, and you understand how to keep a good accounting of a project. You'll be Erigami's assistant until reassigned."

Rapid nodding.

Ten-year-olds were just so… young.

"Dismissed."

The boy fled.

Hotaru made a few notes in Ryoma's file—the child had potential—and then moved on to the next.

(It was unfortunate that they had to constantly watch new people, now, unfortunate that two spies had underlined the necessity of doing so, but Hotaru had always found something intensely satisfying about watching students grew before your very eyes, and so he had volunteered to do the work himself.

(All the better, really; Sakura had enough on her plate.)

.

Shizune hadn't bothered with a genin team.

Well, technically it wasn't up to her—but usually if a kid wanted some time in a team, Konoha tried to accommodate.

Sometimes even if they didn't.

Shizune…

She knew her Aunt Tsunade couldn't handle her being injured, much less killed.

Her uncle Doi too, to be honest.

(Both of them had dealt with a lot of death in their lives.)

So she wasn't planning on being a field medic, being in the field at all.

Instead she went straight to the hospital.

(This had the added benefit of allowing her to continue taking classes at the Academy—you could take classes until you were fifteen, though some classes were restricted to those who weren't likely to miss most classes.)

And she liked her job, really, except that there were a lot of patients.

Too many.

So many, that even though she was only a few weeks into it, they were already letting her handle things her aunt told her would take months to work up to on her own.

And—

Well, it could be worse, she supposed.

The others who had started alongside her weren't given as much leeway, so clearly Aunt Tsunade being her aunt made her more 'trustworthy', but—

It just felt wrong.

That no one was looking over her shoulder when she administered medications, changed bandages, diagnosed people in the waiting room.

It really, really felt like someone should be double-checking her work.

So the next time a slug showed up at her window, Shizune wrote down her worries.

The response was…

Yes, her Aunt Tsunade agreed, the lack of supervision was insane.

Yes, her Aunt Tsunade agreed, many pills did go missing, were traded away or used or abused or all of the above, because medication tracking wasn't considered important enough, especially when the Hospital was full.

Yes, her Aunt Tsunade agreed, there were a lot of conditions that could be treated, but too few physicians—with too little chakra—to treat all of them.

Yes, her Aunt Tsunade agreed, the way civilians were treated (as if they couldn't really be in that much pain, as if their pain mattered less, as if their death mattered less) was awful.

This, her Aunt Tsunade explained, was part of what had made her initially leave—the many problems, in and out of the village, with how medicine was administered.

Her Aunt Tsunade also explained that she'd had to take a step back, try not to get too involved, because her therapist didn't think her obsessing over it was good for her health.

And the next day Shizune got a total of twenty-six scrolls on Tsunade's ideas of what should be done to improve the system, and how to go about it.

Shizune sat at the kitchen table, staring at the mass of paper in front of her.

Uncle Doi was busy with the vaccine and Aunt Tsunade's therapist was right: Aunt Tsunade could not deal with this herself given her 'current' mental state.

But Shizune was ten.

She thought about going to higher up officials.

Likely they'd listen, but Shizune had been at the hospital long enough to realize that all of them were operating on like six hours of not-work a day; systemic changes took time.

She thought about Research, but Research was overwhelmed too.

Too much to do, too few people to do it with.

She stared at the scrolls.

She picked up the first.

Maybe, hopefully soon, the hospital would calm down enough for one of her supervisors or a researcher to listen to Aunt Tsunade's plan.

Until then, Shizune decided she would get acquainted with it herself.

.

Kawata Okamoto took a deep breath.

The room he was in was shockingly—

Non-intimidating.

There was artwork on every wall, tranquil paintings of the forest and Konohagakure and some gardens.

While the room was technically not a chashitsu—it was part of a much larger building and Okamoto knew the room was used for purposes other than tea (for instance, why he was here)—it had a lot of the traditional aspects of one. It was the right size, it had a hearth, two entrances; the tatami mats were of surprisingly good quality…

It really wasn't what he expected.

The Yamanaka entered, and suddenly it was impossible to think of anything else.

This was an approximation of a tea room, and he was an approximation of a guest, so they began the ritual of the tea ceremony.

Time passed.

The Yamanaka was an excellent host.

While the elements of the tea ceremony weren't priceless, they were also of much higher quality than he'd expected, and definitely older than the village.

And then—just as it was time for Okamoto to leave in a traditional ceremony, he met the Yamanaka's eyes.

And—

And—

And then he left.

It had been so quick.

He'd been able to feel it, feel the Yamanaka's chakra piercing into his brain, but it hadn't hurt, and it hadn't been as overwhelming as he'd thought it would be.

It had been so quick.

So—

Seamless.

Not even a second, and then it was over.

He wondered if there was something in the tea, something—

And then he was in front of a desk.

"Hello, Kawata Okamoto. You have passed the Yamanaka examination, and may move your family and your dental practice to Konohagakure. If you will follow me, I will show you the exit."

"Thank you."

Okamoto—

He'd succeeded.

He'd been such a well-respected dentist in the Capital, treated some of the most high-ranking nobility—

And then they'd found out that he'd used some of his spare time to help homeless children, to try to save their teeth, and…

He'd lost all his customers.

All his income.

They hadn't wanted to be treated by a man who also treated the homeless, and so they'd found other options.

And Okamoto—

He'd chosen to become a dentist because of his memories, as a child, of his family elders and their toothless smiles. There was so much more understanding of how to care for teeth, prevent and teeth the many issues that could befall them.

He'd chosen to become a dentist because he hadn't been able to help his family elders as a child. But then, as a dentist, he'd looked around, and—

The wealthy, they could afford prevention. Treatment. Dentures.

The poor, they couldn't.

There were some clinics that treated their medical issues, that took donations to give the poor vaccines and crutches and the like, but they didn't do dentistry. It was too niche a specialty, too new, too rare.

And Okamoto, he'd had the time.

His son was grown, his wife understanding.

So he'd begun to help.

And then he'd been caught.

He could have stopped treating the homeless, tried to claw back his previous prestige, but then a friend of a friend had introduced him to Akimichi Juro, a medic from Konoha, and he'd offered another option: Konoha.

And Konoha…

Well, it was high risk.

There was the byoki attack.

But his reputation in the Capital was ruined, and property was cheap in Konoha, and Konohagakure had offered him a flat rate for treating any children attending the Academy once a year, and when he'd put out feelers he'd found plenty of higher paying customers too.

Okamoto knew the gossip was that most people were fleeing Konoha, fleeing the risk—

But for him, it made sense, and so he chose to take the risk, come to Konoha anyway.

He stepped back into the Immigration Services waiting room, walking towards the exit, and looked around at the number of people waiting their turn for the Yamanaka check.

It seemed he wasn't the only one.