Updated 1/26/25

Winter Friday 11:24 am

x11 ANT (Eleven years after Nine Tails)

Negotiations were bleak; even if he could gather the attention of any other village, they would try to devour Konohagakure whole. Over the years, while Konoha was losing power, everyone else was reaping the rewards from them. The sight of other villagers flourishing, while Konoha faltered, was a bitter pill to swallow. From Asuma's knowledge, the cloud and stone were reigning with sand behind by a slim margin. The Mist, which was recently the weakest, rose above them by a sizeable gap. It was only a matter of time before one village wanted absolute control, and when that came, they had to be ready.

The warm green tea he finished making steamed, his thoughts overwhelmed on his next step. "Nara, Aburame, Akimichi, and Hyūga ended up tossing us to the side, which, on one hand, is scummy, but I can see where they were coming from." The Nine-Tails attack ruined so many great things and left many clans out of their homes, the wall that held Konoha together torn and burned. Most noble clans suffered great casualties, some losing loved ones and valuables to the estates and most lost comrades. Licking his fingertip, he put out the rose incense he used. After sealing the demon away, the Hyūga clan was the first to discuss uncertainty, finding blame in the deceased Hokage, and their poor defenses. The memory of their long, angry fight was sharp—he still heard the shouted words and remembered the spiteful names. Funny enough, they were not the first to disappear. The Nara clan left without a word, settling down in god knows where. His father's words were so firmly lodged in his memory, he remembered them perfectly. "If the attack was the bomb, the catalyst was the disappearance of the noble clans."

Swirling his index finger in the cup of tea, he plotted out his next step. All of this was for his father. The warmth of the tea seeped through his fingers, offering slight comfort amidst the bitter memories. To start, he would need to start a path that the children could take. From a diplomatic standpoint, they had other options. For one, marriage. Before his father's name burns and turns to ash, it will open doors if he finds an alliance with the promise of kin. Yet even that option had backlash to his situation. Sliding the door open, the sun peered through his hand, doing its best to protect his eyes.

Glancing at the dirt road, he watched the long shadows and dust particles dancing in the rays of light. Even in his current state, his father would clean the trash around the village and help anyone along the way. Stepping out, he picked up a piece of discard paper, stuffing it in his pocket. "Guilt is damn near impossible to thwart." As he adjusted his neck, a yawn escaped his parted lips.

Before he could do anything, Konoha needed the funds to expand. The library had standard techniques one could learn, such as the basic formula of chakra control and military taijutsu. While these techniques could sell for a few coins, they were not game-changing. However, there was another option he could consider - getting in the ring. Of course, he took a stroll in what people were calling the 'slums'. It wasn't anything special; sure, the money was lucrative, but that was about it. Some people went there for the men and women, while others went to blow off some steam. Nevertheless, the 'slums' were not a focal part of the village. If he wanted, he could just walk inside and take everything they had, but that would put some villagers in a pickle. He knew that if he were to waltz inside and take everything, he would have to kill anyone involved to ensure they wouldn't harm any villagers. The thought of dealing with the paperwork that would come made his brain ache. Plus, the number of 'soldiers' they had varied by days, but it would be better to take care of it sooner rather than later. The last thing they needed was Konoha morphing into a sanctuary for criminals.

Exhaling, a strong gust of wind came and went, his tea growing colder by the second. His shoulders felt heavy suddenly, and he wondered if the hokage felt like this daily. All these responsibilities overlapping, and even if he wanted to split the load; no one else would bother to put in the work he would. The fate of the village was all on him, and he had to get the hokage on board for any chance of survival.

Searching his pockets, he puffed his cheeks, blowing out hot air. With everything coming to mind, he needed a cigarette to alleviate some of the stress; unfortunately, he had none. The absence of his usual stress reliever left him longing, and he had to question if this was what Iruka meant by hard work.

Stepping back inside, he looked at a picture of his father and Danzō. Despite his controversial methods, he had a point before leaving. Maybe there was something to be learned from his approach.

Turning his attention to the old man who stood before him, Asuma adjusted the strap of his brown bag, the rough texture rubbing against his palm. From the number of bags he packed, anyone could guess the old man was leaving.

"This village is headed for destruction," Danzō said, pointing at a local ramen shop. "Asuma, what do you think the reason is?"

It was always riddles with this man; he had no clue how his father put up with him for so long. "Maybe our lack of understanding?" Blaming his laziness, he knew his reply was not accurate in the slightest.

The old man scoffed, dismissing Asuma's answer. "The Will of Fire is what will bring about the end of this village. If only they had listened to me, things could've been different. Such outdated philosophy."

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he yawned and shrugged his shoulders. However, he couldn't say whether he agreed or disagreed. Most of the time, he ignored the cryptic bullshit that left his mouth. Still, he had to commend the man for sticking to his ideals. Even if he didn't believe that throwing away trust, loyalty, and family to pursue power could never work. "Even if you wanted to rule with an iron thumb, nothing would change this outcome… this village is fated to die. Everyone born here from this moment onwards is a meaningless name."

"With time, you will change, and even people with meaningless names can be useful. Whether you see it doesn't matter to me now or in the future. I gave this village everything, and it sucked me dry." Danzō moved his luggage, shaking his head, "I left my mark here, and like fate, it'll find its way back."

Years had passed since the strange man left. For someone who cherished Konoha so much, he assumed his father's old friend would at least keep in touch. "I used to be so lazy," he admitted, while trying to hide his embarrassment, and took a sip of the lukewarm tea.

The wall he had to climb seemed endless. He had little to no knowledge of the students. No names, no faces, no understanding of their skills. Thankfully, get got Iruka drunk enough to work on that daunting task cause he sure as hell would not try. "I see you have convinced Iruka to help with your plan." Asuma rolled his eyes at his father's sudden appearance. It seemed he still had his skills intact.

"Yea… yea… just make sure you follow through when everything is said and done," and before he could forget, he added, "I made some green tea, drink some before you leave."

"Konoha was the center of peace when we reigned; now that people have a taste of power, they won't let it go." Turning his eyebrows knitted, was it a warning or a predetermined threat? "I'll indulge in your behavior; you may take one item from the treasury to make a profit. After that, crawl the rest of your way up," watching him disappear, Asuma sucked in his teeth. It was a flicker of hope, which meant the spark could blaze again. As his hand grazed his beard, the male embarked on a quest to locate his clothes, eager to start the day.


"My son is really trying…" Hiruzen Sarutobi crumbled the edge of the paper, feeling its delicate texture between his tanned, wrinkled fingertips. The once thriving Konohagakure, now stood on the edge of collapse. The era of peace was ending. "Still, he has a lot to learn." His eyes scanned over his notes, the ink invading his hindered senses. His hesitation in endorsing his son's plan stemmed from a concern that its success would lead other villages to poach their genin. Greed has taken over the world, and its reign shows no sign of ending.

With Kumogakure and Iwagakure locked in political disagreements, war loomed stronger than ever. If they were to make noise or even show a sign of gaining power, everyone would focus on them. Although both villages yearned for alliances, they had ulterior motives. Iwagakure, the very village that offered their support, wanted them to be slaves. They desired complete control over Konoha; the idea sending a shiver down Hiruzen's spine.

Staying neutral in this game of power was not an option anymore. Even Sunagakure and Kirigakure watched from a distance, waiting for the right moment to strike. It was like they were in a jungle, surviving off scraps while the predators watched. Moving his notes out of the way, he scratched against the letter that he received. Iwagakure was not just observing Konoha; they reveled, knowing that they held the power to devour them.

His muscles stiffened and his stomach grew hot as he kicked the chair. If anyone attacked, he'd take them with him to hell, even if he had to abandon his sanity. "Stone, Sand, Mist, and Cloud," he muttered, rubbing his temple. Everyone was a threat, only because they were vulnerable. If the political struggle escalated into war, Kirigakure would align themselves with a side or seek power for themselves, ultimately targeting Konoha.

Leaning forward, Hiruzen sighed, his breath trickling down the paper. The situation was unfavorable, and causing too much commotion would only worsen their position, something his son failed to realize. On the off-chance fate was on their side, they could tower above everyone else without fear. But if things failed, and they had no other option in order to protect everyone, he would have to choose a side.

As he hung the letter loosely, his eyes scanned over the words absentmindedly. If war were to start, they had neither the resources nor soldiers and if they did nothing Konoha would fall, regardless. Realization set in and he knew endorsing his son with everything to progress their students was probably the best course of action no matter the drawbacks.

The sudden issue of jōnin came to mind. If the students fell short, it would shatter the faith placed in them. Slamming his hand on his desk, he screamed out, quickly informing those nearby he was alright. "When did I become so feeble-minded?" Pencils and ink brushes fell to the floor, the clatter adding to the chaos. The wood of the desk chipped and fell to the floor, only adding to his mess.

Bending over, he began cleaning the mess he made, while trying to think of a way to help the students without increasing the funds. It seemed simple, but it set a lot of factors in stone. He only shortened the budget to give Konoha time to gather some much-needed resources. In addition, it fixed the problem of producing failures and deaths. The active jōnin had an increase in workload, but they bought much-needed help. "I'll have to hold a meeting before anything happens."


Winter Friday 8:12 pm

Iruka shifted the bookshelf, the sharp screech of wood against the marble floor hurt his ears. With each stroke of the broom and sweep of the dustpan, sweat would roll off his chin. Cleaning helped with his mental just as much as getting drunk, only this required more work. He would be lying if he said it didn't help avoid the looming guilt. Evaluating each student was a painful challenge. He had no clue about their strengths and weaknesses. "The number is already low, but if I classify them by clans."

While sweeping the floor, he let out a deep breath, paying no mind to the curious head poking through the door. "Hey, Iruka," his acquaintance Hayate popped in, slightly startling the male. "Some of us are going to drink; want to tag along?" With little thought, Iruka dropped everything and packed his bags hastily.

Sitting at the table, Iruka listened to his comrades speak and drink, the unpleasant smell of cheap perfume giving him a slight headache, as this a woman poured them another glass. The room was dimly lit and had a haze of smoke lingering around which he could gamble came from her. He knew he was using alcohol to hide his troubles, but the savory taste and effect was an indulgence he could not resist.

"I'm paying for the drinks today: everything is on me," Kotetsu Hagane declared, confidently throwing a wad of cash on the table while throwing his arm around the lady serving them. However, instead of cheers, everyone looked at him, confused. His best friend, Izumo Kamizuki, picked up the money and threw it back to Kotetsu.

"Your paycheck will never be that good," Izumo laughed, amused with himself. Iruka smiled, clearing his throat. Izumo and Kotetsu were fellow chūnin like him. As for Hayate, the one who invited him, they were friends to a certain extent, but they never had the opportunity for one-on-one time.

"Well, today is a special day!" The liquor seemed to get to Kotetsu as he moved the cash back on the table, his fingers slipping through the women's outfit as he rubbed her shoulder. "My training is finally paying off! Asuma has reignited the dying fire within me. Before this last batch of students become genin, I will receive a promotion!" He boasted, nudging Izumo, who caused his cup to topple over.

"Idiot," Izumo slurred, searching for a napkin to clean the spilled drink. His words were unsteady. "He asked us both, and everyone knows I'm more likely to become a jōnin than you."

As the two began arguing, Iruka excused himself, steeping out of the cramped room for fresh air. The cold felt inviting as he stepped outside. Alcohol always left him hot, and this was exactly what he needed. With red cheeks, he wobbled, and glanced at his sandals, now covered in a layer of snow. Wiggling his toes, he regained some feeling and stood there; an aggressive cough caught his attention, but he lacked the strength to address his friend.

"Do you think I can become a jōnin?" The random question left Iruka's mouth in a hurry. It seemed he was at the point where he was bold.

"Frankly, no," Hayate replied, stepping out past Iruka, the dark circles under his eyes hinting at a persistent medical condition. "I am merely a tokubetsu jōnin, specializing in my strengths. I can't see Izumo or Kotetsu coming close either. Well, maybe one of them could make something happen." Hayate's boots left a trail in the snow as he shook his head. "Everyone is making sacrifices, even I am. That's how deeply we care for this place, ya know?"

"Asshole." Gazing at the back of his plain Konoha flak jacket, Iruka let the soft snowflakes delicately kiss his face, their icy touch leaving a tingling sensation on his skin. Becoming a chūnin took immense effort, but no matter how much he pushed himself, the gap between him and it seemed to stretch endlessly. It reached a point where he couldn't go on. He knew deep down that he would never be the most formidable in combat, but he possessed the wisdom and experience that only time could provide. That was his wall. His mind far surpassed the capabilities of his body. He was eternally bound to perpetual mediocrity. No matter how diligently he trained, how many hours he poured into honing his skills, it seemed impossible for his body to keep up. So, he gave up.

Turning around, he itched for a drink or something to drown himself in. His role was to pass down his knowledge and the Will of Fire to the students, nothing more, nothing less. Navigating through the crowd, the table came to view empty bottle littered the floor and the men look wasted. All he could do was show the children their limits and give them ways to work around it.

As he sat down, he ignored the amount of money laying on the table and Kotetsu's hand rubbing on the woman's chest. "At least someone knows how to do their job." He muttered to himself, taking a random cup and swallowing the liquid.

"Iruka! Pour us another drink!" Kotetsu rang out, barely keeping his eyes open, the warm intoxicated smile gracing his lips. Returning the favor, he took hold of the nearest bottle of sake and pour everyone a glass. Trembling, the liquid spilled over the rim, and he couldn't help but let out a small self-deprecating chuckle.

He was both incapable and disinclined to stop. This was his new reality. Hayate joined the table, and he slid him a cup, smiling. "Here's to our future, boys!"


Winter Sunday 10:11 am

"Are you sure about this?" Asuma yawned, stretching his arms as the crisp winter air filled his lungs, causing his breath to form small puffs of mist. The snow-covered landscape stretched out before them, sparkling in the early morning light.

Hayate's hand fell to the hem of his blade. "Well," he murmured, "this will be the outcome of my decision." He knew a perfect victory was impossible currently, but as long as he could put up a decent fight, he'd feel good. Unsheathing his blade, the cold steel glinted in the sunlight, sending flashes of light dancing across their faces. "Don't hold back, or you'll lose a finger."

Asuma's fingers tightened around the trench knives, the snow beneath their feet crunching as they shifted their stances, the white powder brushing against their boots. "Just make sure you don't die on me, buddy."

'Let's see if I'm adequate enough for a cell.' Hayate zeroed in, lunging forward; sparks flew from their collision, his dark-brown eyes squinting in concentration as he kicked off Asuma's leg, his heels digging into the snow to maintain his balance.

Before offense came defense, so as Asuma swiftly closed in, he prepared himself slightly disturbed by his speed. The impact of their weapons sent vibrations through his arms, momentarily shaking his grip. Snowflakes fluttered down, landing and melting against his skin as he focused on blocking or dodging the onslaught.

The snow crunched like cereal as he ducked, rolled and slid. Sweat hit the ground, and his body felt like breaking from only a few shots. "Few people can block a close-range attack of that magnitude," Asuma taunted, jumping up and down.

Removing the navy-blue bandanna, it felt damp against his skin as he bent over, coughing uncontrollably. Pain and exhaustion aside, Hayate pressed forward, beads of sweat flinging around. He swung high and heavy, which was blocked, but with a thud, he landed a kick to the chest. Not leaving any room for error, he followed up with a shoulder bash.

Asuma stumbled back, the force of the kick knocking the wind out of him. Saliva trickled from the corner of his mouth as he regained his footing, the shoulder bash putting him on his back for a few seconds. "Are you the type that gets better the longer the fight goes on?"

Hayate ignored the question because of his body screaming at him to stop. Each movement felt like a chore, the difference in strength noticeably. Still, he could feel it, he could catch up. Digging his heels into the snow, he launched forward, his blade cut through the falling snowflakes and wind, narrowly missing Asuma's shoulder.

Asuma countered, using his elbow to disarm him and then throwing an uppercut. Hayate blocked and spun, quickly taking two kunai out. They clashed repeatedly, their footprints deep in the snow like they were dancing. It was a matter of who messed up first, each blow they threw either countered or blocked.

The fight intensified, neither man aiming to kill the other. The fight seemed endless until Hayate retreated, throwing his kunai and pursuing them, digging his sword out of the ground as he ran.

It raged on and on, and as both of them calmed down, Hayate's vision blurred, sweat dripping into his eyes. Despite knowing he was weaker than his opponent, he remained determined to prove himself. "Stop eating meat, you fat fuck." He failed to control his language and readied himself again.

"How about you put some muscle on, boy?" Just when Asuma thought the battle was over, Hayate's swift movements surprised him. They bounced off each other and Hayate's body turned into a log, the small smoke cloud hindering his vision. Emerging from the ground with a forceful punch, Hayate put Asuma on his backside. The taste of blood lingered on his lips. His jaw throbbed, a dull ache spreading through his face.

"You win," Hayate gasped, his voice strained. "Now buy me some food and something to drink."

"Yeah, after you tell me the point of this," Asuma replied, rising to his feet and adjusting his jaw, feeling the soreness intensify with each second.

Running his finger through his tousled brown hair, feeling the strands slip between his fingertips, he crouched down, catching his breath. "I work by myself," he admitted, searching for a better way to phrase it, "and carrying a cell is completely new territory; it's something I never saw myself doing." A multitude of scenarios ran through his head as he settled on sitting down. "Protecting little brats and maintaining a level head is harder than people say it is… and I could mess up easily." Everyone knew Hayate for his calm demeanor and sickly cough, but the chaos of battle could easily cause anyone to make a fatal error. "It was a personal test. I needed to see how I stacked up in the grand scheme of things."

Asuma sighed, tossing the empty box of cigarettes on the ground. Deep emotional talks were never his strong suit when he was sober, but he did not want his plan to unravel. "Uh, listen," he began, his mind working overtime to plan the sentence. "Those kids will make you push yourself beyond your limits," he continued, placing the cancerous stick in his mouth. "The experiences you'll face with them will erase all those thoughts. Think like building a bond? But they sometimes listen to you, maybe." He coughed, smoke leaving his lungs. The topic never came to mind when he took over some brats; perhaps it was a matter of pride or confidence that locked away such thoughts. Not taking it to heart, he let his gaze drift onwards. The inviting aroma of ramen overtook his nose, tempting his growling stomach.

"So… ramen?" he suggested, holding his hand out for Hayate.