Suzuki Tomoa stared at the slats of the bunk on top of him, his eyes aching in exhaustion.

His bunkmate was a snorer.

The thing was, from the beginning of the war he'd been positioned in Kumo. He'd had some time off, but in one month—when he got his first official break—he'd be back in Konoha, the upcoming influx of hands allowing him to finally relax, have time off.

The alliance with Iwa was, hands-down, good for him.

And Tomoa knew that, really he did.

But—

But he couldn't stop imagining it, was the thing. Imagining if it had been the other way; if it had been Kumo the Hokage had gotten to back down, if it was Kumo they were suddenly supposed to be best buddies with.

Kumo had killed his best friend, was the thing.

Killed so, so many.

And Iwa had too, but not his best friend.

And so Tomoa kept thinking, well—what if they had? What if he and Kai had been on Iwa's front, or if it was Kumo they'd formed an alliance with, or—

And he knew it was just hypotheticals, he knew it didn't actually matter—

But it did, didn't it?

And why couldn't he find an answer?

Why—

Why couldn't—

It should be easy, shouldn't it?

It should be no, of course not, they murdered Kai.

Or yes, it's worth it for peace.

Not—

Not nothing.

He squinted, flinching against the light and noise that exploded into the space as one of his bunkmates opened the door, let the outside in.

"Hey, you're not awake, are you Suzuki?" the Inuzuka asked. His dog jumped on his bunk, ignoring the people drama.

"Just a bit," Suzuki whispered. "It's whatever. I'm fine."

"If you're sure."

And he was.

After all, it wasn't like anything new had happened, so he had to be okay.

And he was okay.

He was.

.

The inn stank.

Whatever alcohol it served clearly wasn't kept the most cleanly, and whenever anything ended on the ground—whatever it might be—it tended to stay there.

The beds on the second story, few though they were, were not regularly turned over.

Despite all this, the inn remained quite busy. It was the cheapest in the area by far, and its location between the Capital and the port of Miyagi meant business was always passing by.

Arato sat at the table closest to the door (to the fresh air), sipping at the only soup on offer and waiting.

He was down on his luck, downtrodden by everything that had happened in the Land of Water. He'd tried and failed to woo his way in with any of the Fire noble castaways that had been sent to monitor their pet projects, tried and failed to nab just about any opportunity. Now he sat here, traveling up and down the coast and living on borrowed money.

This was not how Arato was meant to live. Not how, as he got further into character, Nagisa was meant to live.

He was meant to be draped in finery, meant to be admired.

But he was sure his luck was about to turn.

"Hey, Nagisa," Kuroshio said, slipping into the bar next to him. Kuroshio was—was a far more decent man than he, and it made it so much harder to live a lie around him. Kuroshio made him blush, made him laugh… but Kuroshio thought he was Nagisa, and so that is all it would be.

"Kuroshio!" he said, throwing his arms around his friend. "Have you found a place for me?"

Kuroshio tried, very hard, not to look upset. He'd tried, over the years, to convince Nagisa that he deserved more than to be a consort. He'd tried, over the years, to convince Nagisa to choose a life with far more autonomy, as he had done.

…he'd tried, over the years, to convince Nagisa to choose him.

It hadn't worked.

It hurt, to never be able to tell the poor man why.

"I've tried, I've tried. Your reputation continues to precede you, though."

A known issue with dipping in and out of cover. They'd even intentionally made it harder, made it seem as if he had left willingly, taken a chance and bolted.

"You know I couldn't stay with him, though!" Nagisa said.

Kuroshio grunted. "Shouldn't stay with any of them. They don't deserve you."

"They may not, but I deserve to be treasured, and that costs money."

Kuroshio looked at him, eyes searching. He had no money (open homosexuals were not exactly treated well outside of Konoha, and even within Konoha it tended to depend on the family), but he'd grown increasingly less convinced over the years that Nagisa actually cared about that.

But what could he do?

So he leaned in, eyes imploring. "Come on, do I look like I fit in here?"

Kuroshio sighed. "I know of a young man who is… interested, in being shown the ropes. He's in the Capital, a child of one noble or another. Name's Date. He's willing to spoil you in exchange for discretion. He's young—can't be more than a few years past puberty—but he's finished with his training."

Nagisa smiled. "Perfect, I knew I could count on you."

Kuroshio couldn't meet his eyes.

(This was it. The final betrayal. Arato was loyal to his clan above all, and his clan was loyal to Konoha. The Daimyo was not providing sufficient stability, and so in one fell swoop—in one fell swoop, Arato would betray his first love, his Daimyo, and himself.

(He hoped it was worth it.)

.

The Spring Session had started in the Capital, and all Shin wanted was for it to be over.

It wasn't—

He was used to dealing with the nobles.

Used to dealing with the Daimyo and his many faults.

He did that all year long, every year.

They weren't the issue.

The issue was Konoha.

(That wasn't fair, actually. Konoha was fine. The genin were fine, and the career diplomats. It was just… the Ambassador this year was Sarutobi Hiruzen.

(And then, of course, there was Shin's long-term project.)

This was an important session, given the alliance between Konoha and Iwa. Iwa and Earth had both sent additional gifts with their caravans, were clearly showing their support for the tightening relations between the two hidden villages.

This was an important session, and Shin just didn't know how he was going to manage it.

Manage anything.

Sarutobi, he knew, was very focused on getting rid of the tobacco tax entirely (especially because the year of reduced taxes was only possible due to the work of mind-walking Yamanaka, who were entirely unwilling to do the same thing again next year). Shin—well, he didn't smoke, he supported the Yamanaka and their mental and physical health, and the Hokage hadn't told him to interfere, so it wasn't any of his business.

And then there was Jiraiya.

Jiraiya…

Was…

Struggling.

He could barely focus on anything but Orochimaru, and Sarutobi could barely focus on his former student(s) at all.

And then there was Shin, in the middle.

Trying to deal with Iwa, trying to keep the Daimyo under control, trying to keep his proteges in line, and dealing with the two of them…

"Are you drinking?" Juro asked.

"Just wanting to," Shin said. He squatted in front of his collection of sake, trying to decide what to bring to a poker party he was attending that night.

"That bad?"

Shin put a finger to his lips, glancing up.

It only took a moment of silence for the two men's voices to come down from the second floor.

The only shame, or more accurately relief, was that they weren't quite loud enough to understand.

"How long have they been arguing?"

"Since Sarutobi arrived, of course."

"I didn't know the Hokage didn't get along with Jiraiya."

"It's… it is what it is." It wasn't up to Shin to expose their weaknesses. Allowing Juro to listen in to what they weren't trying to hide was one thing, speaking ill another. "Which maker do you think says 'expensive but I don't like you'?"

"That's… specific."

Shin rolled his neck. "He's trying to do the same shit I am. Trying to get the Daimyo's ear. And, unlike me… he's fleecing the Daimyo's money while he's doing it."

"Gee, fun. Do that one—it's very expensive, but functionally just a cooking sake."

"Noted, thanks."

"No problem."

"How goes wedding planning?"

Juro smirked. "Do you actually want to know?"

"No, not really, but I need to leave to meet with the Iwa Emissary in an hour, so I would absolutely love to talk about anything but that."

Juro shrugged. "Her family is warming up to me the more I say yes to additional expenses. Worth the cost."

"If you say so."

He smiled. "I'm Akimichi; we like to party."

Shin grinned, meeting his best friend's eyes. "I'm invited, right?"

"Idiot."

.

"Utatane Yasuo?"

"That's me."

The man continued rattling off jounin names. There were more than Yasuo expected—about forty—and he wondered if there really were 120 students who were expected to graduate to genin in the summer. Regardless, this was just supposed to be the introductory meeting—maybe they expected some jounin to change their mind about the amount of work teaching required.

"…and that's everyone. Alright, I'm Nara Fukuro, and I'll be instructing you on how to be a competent jounin-sensei. We will be covering adolescent psychology, genin objectives, mandatory curricula, trauma responses, recommended routines, and possible career paths. This is a minimum five-week course. If you are uninterested in completing it, you may leave. There will be regular tests, but only the tests taken during the final week are pass-fail. Let's begin with an understanding of the average ten-year-old—"

Yasuo blinked. He didn't have any paper, or writing utensils, but that wasn't going to stop him. He stood, walking out of the room and grabbing a newspaper from a vendor on the street, buying his pen from him at the same time.

Less than two minutes later, he was back in the room. About half of the other jounin also had paper; he wondered who had made the right choice.

Four hours later they broke for lunch, and Yasuo nodded at a Yamanaka he vaguely recognized. "Trade the first few minutes for my notes today?"

"Absolutely," Inohina said. She grinned. "So, how've you been since the Academy?"

"Oh, you know, a few promotions, marriage, a baby…" Yasuo said. "You?"

"Oh, you know, a few promotions, a side business, a new summoning contract…"

"Really? One of the new ones?"

She grinned. "Lemurs."

"Nice!"

"I know, I'm super happy about it. So, why'd you opt for becoming a jounin-sensei? The pay boost? The longer home stays?"

"Aiko recommended it, actually," Yasuo said. "Thought I'd do a good job, and I liked the idea of helping other kids like me."

"No guarantee you'll get an orphan."

Yasuo smirked. "No guarantee I won't."

"True enough."

"You?"

"I—I don't think I was very ready for life, as a genin. It took a lot more experience before I realized what I was doing wrong, what I was doing right. If I can help some other kids skip the same years, or at least recover more quickly, why not?"

"It's so weird that we're adults now."

"Isn't it? I was doing my taxes yesterday and—just—what?"

Yasuo laughed. "I made a person! A whole human person!"

"Terrifying."

"Absolutely terrifying."

"Want to head to the library, start studying up on everything we're supposed to be learning?"

"Sounds like a good idea."

.

Compared to the end of the not-war on the western front, Konoha's budgetary issues weren't even whispered about.

One, after all, was public.

The other wasn't.

One was flashy.

The other wasn't.

One would result in immediate changes.

The other wouldn't.

And yet.

Sakura leaned back in her chair, trying not to wince as Minato's teeth ground next to her.

No one else was doing any better.

Budgeting wasn't sexy, but it was necessary.

And now, with the overall budget issues, with Health specifically (which was still being phrased in primarily overspending terms to the masses, but this room knew the truth)…

Now it was urgent.

"Who else," Minato said. "Believes that there might be siphoning occurring in their department?"

And Sakura watched as three hands went up.