Chapter 14: Purple Hyacinth
Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself sitting upright in a blank, white room. It was sterile and empty, devoid of sound. Not even the rhythm of her breaths broke the oppressive silence.
Was this death? Had she finally pushed herself too far?
"Not quite," came a familiar voice from behind her.
Before she could react, she was no longer lying down but seated upright in a chair she hadn't noticed before. Her head whipped around to find the source of the voice. Her gaze landed on a strikingly beautiful girl, her crimson eyes glowing faintly, framed by cascading black hair, and her alabaster skin gleaming like fresh snow.
It was her.
Or rather, Kimiko Yuhi.
"Is our life really so worthless that you decided to practically commit suicide?" the figure asked, her tone sharp yet laced with amusement.
Kimiko's lips parted, but no words came out. Finally, she managed, "...Where am I?"
Her mirror image chuckled, shaking her head as though Kimiko had asked a childish question. "Where do you think you are?"
Kimiko frowned. "I don't have the time for cryptic nonsense. Am I dead? Delirious? What's going on?"
Her double laughed, a short, mocking sound. "Alright, fair enough. First things first." She held up a finger, crimson nails catching the light. "No, you're not dead. But let's just say… that's not necessarily a good thing, either."
Kimiko's stomach churned as her double's gaze turned piercing.
"Eating a poison pill? Seriously? What the hell were you thinking?"
Kimiko rubbed the back of her neck, a sheepish reflex that felt out of place here. "Yeah, yeah. In hindsight, it was… reckless. But I couldn't afford to fall behind, you know that."
The other Kimiko's lips twisted into a smirk—one Kimiko recognized all too well. "I'll let the people we care about have that lecture with you later," her double said, gesturing lazily. With a sudden motion, the figure was walking beside her, though Kimiko hadn't realized she was standing. The blank white room stretched endlessly around them, their footsteps echoing faintly despite the void.
"What I want to know," the double continued, her tone quieter now, "is why you go that far."
Kimiko hesitated. "I just told you," she said, her voice firmer.
"Yes, but why?" the mirror image pressed, her crimson eyes narrowing. "You could cruise through life if you wanted to. You've got a complete family. You're practically royalty, the daughter of the sister to your country's daimyo. You could live a life far more comfortable than the one you had before. Why push yourself so hard?"
Kimiko's eyes narrowed, the words stinging more than she expected. "I'm a kunoichi of the Leaf. That's my path. And with everything coming, doesn't it make sense to push my limits? To be as strong as I can to deal with what's ahead?"
Her double's smirk returned, sharper this time. "So, altruism, huh? Why does it have to be you?"
Kimiko's frustration flared, and her voice rose. "Because I'm part of Team 7! That's why!"
The figure chuckled again, shaking her head. "Ah, yes. Team 7, the team that will change the world. Even though you've displaced Sakura." Her tone softened, but the words still cut. "But you know, don't you? She's bound for greatness anyway, no matter where she stands."
Kimiko's chest tightened at the words. Something about them stirred an uncomfortable truth she wasn't ready to confront. "What's your point?" she demanded, though her voice wavered slightly.
The double shrugged, her tone casual but her eyes piercing. "I'm just asking. Do you feel a responsibility to succeed as a shinobi because you owe it to someone? Is it really altruism? Or is it something… selfish?"
Kimiko's jaw tightened, her mind racing as she tried to form an answer.
"Do you push yourself because you believe your team needs you to be powerful enough to stand beside them?" The double leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Or… is it because you think you're better than Sakura? Or Ino? Or any of the others who could've taken your place?"
Kimiko froze, the words striking her harder than any blow she'd taken in battle. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, but she didn't speak.
The other Kimiko tilted her head, her smile softening into something almost sympathetic. "It's a question you'll have to ponder," she said, her tone quieter now. "But don't worry. You'll have plenty of time to think about it when you wake up. And no, I'm not the omnipotent being who sent you to this funny anime world."
The stark white room began to waver and blur, the figure's voice fading as the light dimmed around her. Kimiko stood frozen, her thoughts a whirlwind of doubt and determination.
And then, everything went black.
Her eyes didn't snap open. No, they cracked open slowly, her blurry vision struggling to focus on her surroundings. A wave of disorientation washed over her as she blinked several times, trying to clear the stars dancing in her sight. This time, she didn't have to ask where she was—the sterile smell of antiseptics and faint trace of herbal remedies were too familiar to mistake.
Kimiko groaned softly, her throat dry, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Nng…"
She took inventory of her body. She didn't seem mute or crippled in any obvious sense, so that was something. But when she tried to lift her arm, it felt impossibly heavy, like someone had strapped weights to her limbs.
"You're finally awake," came a dull voice from beside her.
Kimiko blinked, startled by the voice. She only now sensed the faint presence of chakra nearby. How had she not noticed before?
Turning her head slowly, she squinted at the figure beside her. A tall, gangly man stood there, his long limbs giving him an almost awkward presence. A mop of unruly brown hair framed his thin face, and glasses perched low on his nose reflected the overhead light. He looked at her with a detached expression, the kind of calm that comes from routine.
As he stepped closer, she noticed a small light in his hand, which he raised to her face. "You're lucky," he said, his voice clipped and matter-of-fact. "If Hinagawa-san hadn't come in with an antidote and flushed the toxin from your system…" He sighed in irritation. "The damage would have been irreparable. Not that you didn't sustain any damage, mind you."
Kimiko's brow furrowed as the light flickered in front of her eyes. The brightness stung, but she followed it obediently, her gaze tracing the path of his finger.
"Good," he murmured, jotting something on the clipboard in his other hand. Without looking up, he continued, "Answer a few questions for me."
He didn't wait for her response.
"What's your full name?"
Kimiko blinked, her voice hoarse as she replied, "Yuhi… Kimiko."
The man gave a curt nod, still scribbling. "What is your current ninja rank?"
She hesitated, her mind feeling sluggish as the words came to her. "…Genin."
"And who are your teammates?"
"Uzumaki, Naruto. Uchiha, Sasuke. And our sensei is Hatake, Kakashi," she said, her voice rasping over the names.
The man paused, looking up from his clipboard to meet her gaze for the first time. His stoic demeanor didn't waver, but his sharp, assessing eyes softened slightly. "Good," he said again, his tone flat and devoid of warmth. "You seem to be fully conscious. No neurological damage. Acceptable."
Kimiko let her head fall back against the pillow, the exhaustion pressing her into the bed like a lead weight. Even the simple act of stretching her fingers felt like a monumental effort.
"Sorry," she rasped, her voice hoarse, "what exactly… happened?"
The gangly man blinked once, then twice, as though the question surprised him. "You poisoned yourself with a volatile and elementary poison of your own creation," he said bluntly.
The sting of his words made Kimiko wince. Was he always this rude? "I meant… how did the hospital get to me in time?"
The man tsked under his breath, setting his clipboard down with an irritated sigh. "I'm already late for my rounds. Direct all additional questions to your family or my colleagues during their shifts."
Kimiko opened her mouth to press him further, but he raised a hand, silencing her as he continued. "Haruno Sakura and Yamanaka Ino informed Hinagawa-san of your intentions. She arrived in time with a general antidote that slowed the toxin's progression long enough for surgery. I assisted her in extracting all remaining traces of the poison from your system." Ah. So that's why Ino asked where I intended to mix my poison.
He paused, pushing his glasses higher on his nose as he scrutinized her. "I assume you were attempting hypermithridatism?"
Kimiko's brow furrowed. "Hyper… what?"
"Conditioning your body to tolerate poison," he explained curtly. "There is a thesis on the topic co-written by Orochimaru and Tsunade before they left Konoha. I assume you were inspired by it."
She shook her head weakly, her frustration mounting. "No, I… I was trying to get my chakra to adapt the poison."
The man's stare turned into something sharper, his interest finally piqued. "Explain."
Kimiko frowned, the words slow to form as she forced her thoughts into coherence. "I… read about how Hanzo the Salamander could generate poison from his chakra because of a poison sac implanted in his body. The familiarity with the poison allowed him to knead it into his chakra. I wanted to replicate that."
The silence between them stretched uncomfortably long as he stared at her, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke.
"That," he said flatly, "was ill thought out."
Kimiko bit back a retort as he continued, his tone matter-of-fact but cutting. "Hanzo the Salamander's process required advanced surgical techniques and medical ninjutsu far beyond what is currently available to Konoha. Attempting to emulate it as a genin was reckless to the point of absurdity. And suicidal."
Her frustration bubbled over, though her voice remained weak. "I wanted to get stronger," she snapped, or at least tried to.
He didn't flinch. If anything, his tone grew even colder. "I see. Then not only are you reckless, but you are woefully uninformed. Attempting this with no research and rudimentary preparation goes beyond ambition—it is self-destructive."
Kimiko glared at him as fiercely as her drained body would allow, but he didn't seem offended or even particularly invested in her feelings. If anything, his tone bordered on disinterested.
"So… it didn't work?" she asked finally, her voice quieter now.
"No," he replied bluntly, picking up his clipboard again. "It didn't. There was no chance of it working. Less than zero."
The finality of his words hit her harder than she expected. Kimiko turned her head away, staring at the far wall. Her chest felt heavy—not just from the lingering pain, but from the crushing weight of failure. She had expected this outcome… but hearing it confirmed was something else entirely.
"...You said I sustained some damage," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes," the man replied bluntly, his tone unyielding.
She hesitated, bracing herself. "...Care to share what these were?"
Without missing a beat, the man adjusted his glasses and began listing in a clipped, clinical tone. "You suffered multiple organ failure. It would have been fatal if not for advanced medical ninjutsu and your overdeveloped chakra, which shielded parts of your body from the worst effects. However…"
He paused, glancing briefly at her before continuing. "This also drained your chakra reserves completely, leaving you in severe Chakra Fatigue."
Kimiko's fingers curled against the sheets as she listened, the words settling over her like lead weights.
"We managed to repair your organs to full functionality," he continued, his expression as stoic as ever. "But some of the corrosion damage to your liver and heart was beyond repair through any available medical methods. These areas will remain permanently weakened."
Kimiko swallowed hard, the lump in her throat growing heavier. "...And?"
The man pushed his glasses higher on his nose, his tone as matter-of-fact as if he were reading from a textbook "And your lifespan has been shortened due to the extreme stress placed on your body. How much time has been lost is difficult to estimate, but it is significant."
Kimiko's breath hitched. Her vision blurred as her chest tightened, but she forced herself to keep looking at the wall. Her voice cracked as she muttered, "So… I poisoned myself, ruined my body… and all I managed to do was shorten my life."
The man offered no comfort, his voice as flat and clinical as ever. "That would be an accurate assessment. "
Kimiko balled her tiny hands into fists, her knuckles turning white against the sheets. "And… my shinobi career?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
The man paused, adjusting his glasses before meeting her gaze. "Ill-affected but not irreparable," he said matter-of-factly. "You sustained no injuries that would permanently disable you from taking the field. In fact…"
He glanced at his clipboard, tapping it lightly. "Your chakra reserves may have expanded slightly as a result of your pathways overworking themselves during the incident."
Kimiko blinked, her lips parting in surprise. "Expanded?"
"With proper maintenance medicines and sufficient rest, you should suffer no long-term effects that would inhibit your ability to perform fieldwork," he continued, his tone neutral, as if discussing the weather.
Her fists loosened slightly, a faint flicker of relief breaking through the tension in her chest.
Kimiko exhaled shakily, the tension in her chest loosening just a fraction. At least she had that going for her—something to cling to in the wreckage of her choices.
"If there are no further questions, I'm already seventeen minutes late," the man said, his tone tinged with slight indignation. He didn't wait for her to respond, his long strides carrying him briskly out of the room without a backward glance.
A thousand questions flooded Kimiko's mind as she watched him go. What would her life look like now? How would she move forward from this? Why had it come to this in the first place? And, more urgently, what could she do differently next time?
The thoughts buzzed incessantly in her head, too chaotic to make sense of, until exhaustion finally took over.
Letting out a long breath, Kimiko laid her head back down on the pillow. Her eyelids drooped, heavy and unrelenting.
For now, she closed her eyes.
The next time her eyes creaked open, Kimiko was greeted by the familiar sight of her white-haired sensei, seated in a chair beside her bed, his nose buried in his ever-present book.
"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey," Kakashi said casually, not bothering to glance up.
Kimiko groaned, shutting her eyes again as the familiar, sloshing sensation of a chakra pond rippled in her core. Good. At least part of my chakra's returning.
"So," Kakashi said, snapping his book shut and finally turning his one visible eye on her. "You… really don't like listening to people, do you?"
Kimiko winced, looking away. "I'm sorry… I thought—"
"You thought you knew better," Kakashi interrupted, his voice flat but not harsh. "I can relate to that, at least."
He reached out, his hand landing softly on her head. The gesture was surprisingly tender, but the words that followed hit harder than any scolding.
"I'm disappointed, Kimiko."
A sharp tinge of pain pricked at her heart. She turned her face away, her voice defensive and shaky. "I already said I'm sorry."
"No," Kakashi said, his tone shifting somberly. "You're sorry it didn't work."
Kimiko froze, his words striking too close to the truth.
Kakashi sighed, leaning back in his chair. "You promised me you'd take care of yourself. That you wouldn't risk your life unnecessarily."
She swallowed hard, guilt twisting in her gut. Why was he making this harder than it already was? "I know, I'm sorry. But… I needed to get stronger, quickly."
"You're already strong," Kakashi said, his voice gentle but firm. "But I—"
The doors to the room burst open with a loud bang.
Marching in was Kurenai, her face twisted in fury, her fingers clenched into tight fists at her sides. Shinku, their father, followed closely behind, his usual calm demeanor shadowed by concern.
"Kurenai, Kakashi is—"
"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" Kurenai's voice was sharp, slicing through the air as she stormed inside.
Kimiko flinched instinctively, but Kurenai's rage wasn't aimed at her—not yet. Instead, her furious red eyes fixed on Kakashi like a predator cornering its prey.
"Why did you let her go through with something so stupid?!" Kurenai's voice trembled with anger, her chakra flaring in waves. "And why am I hearing about this from Sakura Haruno instead of you, her sensei—the one responsible for her training and education?"
Her finger jabbed toward Kakashi's face, her entire body trembling. Kimiko stared, stunned. It was the first time she'd seen Kurenai truly, truly livid.
Kurenai's chakra filled the room, a vivid, floral scent carried by an unseen wind. Normally, her presence was warm and comforting, like a blooming garden in spring. But this time, it felt hostile. The wind was colder, more aggressive, and accompanied by creeping vines that seemed to choke the air itself.
"Kurenai-chan," Kakashi said, surprisingly calm in the face of her fury. He lowered his book to his lap. "I can't just stop her from doing what she believes is—"
"AND WHY NOT?!" Kurenai snapped, her voice thunderous as her chakra flared even higher. "Especially if it's as asinine as poisoning herself!"
Shinku stepped forward then, his voice steady but carrying a weight of authority. "No sensei has the right to deny a student knowingly seeking growth, even if it leads to tribulation. Kurenai, you know this."
Kurenai whirled to face him, her anger shifting slightly but not cooling. "Tribulation?" she repeated, her voice incredulous. "She's twelve. A genin, not some seasoned shinobi ready to shoulder the risks of an experiment like this!"
"And yet, she chose this path," Shinku said firmly, his dark eyes boring into Kurenai's. "We might not agree with her methods, but you cannot place the blame solely on Kakashi."
Kurenai's fists trembled at her sides, her lips pressing into a thin line. She turned her gaze back to Kimiko, her anger now mixed with a deep, visible hurt.
"Kimiko," she said, her voice quieter but no less intense. "Why didn't you come to me?"
Kimiko's throat tightened as guilt rose in her chest. She couldn't meet Kurenai's gaze, her eyes dropping to the sheets as she whispered, "I didn't want to worry you."
"Worry me?" Kurenai's voice cracked, her anger giving way to raw emotion. "Kimiko, do you think this is less worrying? Do you think I'd rather see you like this?"
Kimiko stayed silent, her head bowed as tears threatened to spill.
Kakashi sighed, standing and placing a hand on Kurenai's shoulder. "She's already learned her lesson, Kurenai. Let's not pile it on while she's still recovering."
Kurenai shot Kakashi a glare but relented, stepping back. Shinku, ever calm, placed a steadying hand on her arm.
Kurenai didn't shift her gaze from Kimiko, though. Slowly, she raised her wrist, the delicate gold and ruby bracelet she wore catching the light. Kimiko's eyes followed the movement, glancing down at her own wrist, where an identical bracelet rested snugly against her skin.
"We're sisters," Kurenai said, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. "What kind of older sister have I been that you would poison yourself in some misguided attempt to gain power? Why do you even think you need to do that?"
Kimiko hesitated, her throat tightening. How could she explain? She couldn't very well tell Kurenai about what was coming in the future—about how her lover, Asuma, was destined to die, or how she wanted to eliminate the threats looming on the horizon before they could wreak havoc.
Her gaze dropped. "...Sasuke and Naruto are getting stronger," she said quietly, trying to piece together a truth that wasn't the full truth. "Sasuke unlocked his Sharingan, and Naruto…" She paused, closing her eyes. Though she avoided speaking it aloud, the truth about Naruto being a jinchūriki hovered at the edges of her words. "I can't let myself be left behind."
For a moment, the room was silent, Kurenai's chakra still pressing against the air like creeping vines ready to ensnare.
It was Shinku who broke the tension. "Kimiko," he said, his voice firm but carrying a fatherly warmth. "You're in no danger of 'falling behind.' Do you even understand what you've already accomplished?"
Kimiko didn't look up, her fingers curling slightly against the sheets.
"You are the top kunoichi of your year," Shinku continued, stepping closer. "You completed an A-rank mission as a fresh genin. You're a genius. A prodigy." He let the words hang in the air before adding, his voice tinged with disbelief, "How is it that you see all this and still find yourself lacking enough to willingly ruin your body?"
Kimiko clenched her jaw, but her throat felt too tight to form a response. She looked away, unable to meet his steady gaze.
Kurenai knelt by her bedside, her voice softer now but no less serious. "Kimiko," she said, "you're my sister. You don't have to carry this alone. Whatever you're trying to prove… you don't need to destroy yourself to do it."
Kimiko's fingers twitched, her grip loosening slightly on the sheets. The weight of their words pressed against her, threatening to smother her. But buried beneath the guilt was a quiet, nagging doubt.
They don't understand what's coming. They can't.
"I'll do better," she murmured, her voice cracking. "I promise."
Kurenai frowned, unconvinced but unwilling to push further. She rose to her feet, exchanging a glance with Shinku, who nodded faintly.
As if things weren't tense enough, a knock echoed at the door. Before anyone could respond, it slid open, revealing Sakura, Ino, and Hinata. The three girls stepped inside, their eyes darting around the room with the nervous energy of people walking into a lion's den. Their postures were stiff, and their gazes flickered between Kurenai, Shinku, and Kakashi, like they'd stepped into a confrontation they had no business witnessing.
"...Shinku-sama, Kurenai-sama, Kakashi-sensei," whispered Hinata, her voice small and soft, like she was afraid her words might shatter the silence. "A-apologies, we just heard that Kimiko's… awake, and we wanted to… see how she was doing."
Shinku turned to them with a smile, his eyes kind but weary. "Of course," he said, gesturing lightly with his hand. "We were all about to leave anyway."
He glanced at Sakura, his smile growing a fraction warmer. "And… we owe you our thanks." His words carried weight, drawing everyone's attention. "Kimiko would have been dead without you and Ino." He shifted his gaze to Ino as well, before moving back to Sakura. "I've heard from your sensei that you played a crucial role in saving my daughter."
Sakura stiffened, her eyes darting down to her feet. "O-Oh, no. Hinagawa-sensei is too kind," she muttered, wringing her hands. "I just warned her that Kimiko was… you know…" Her voice trailed off, her gaze flickering toward Kimiko with uncertainty, as if unsure whether she was allowed to finish that sentence.
"Sakura's being too modest," said Ino cheekily, stepping forward with her hands on her hips, her grin as sharp as ever. "She didn't just warn Hinagawa-sama. She helped out a lot with synthesizing the antidote." She tilted her head toward Sakura, her voice filled with playful pride. "Hinagawa-san said she wouldn't have been able to finish it so fast if Sakura hadn't been there to help."
Sakura's face flushed a deep red, her eyes wide with embarrassment. "I-It wasn't that big of a deal," she mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck.
Kimiko felt it then. A sharp, piercing jab of pain—but not the kind that came from her body. This one sank deeper. Her heart felt suddenly heavier, like something in it had cracked just a little.
Sakura.
The girl she had dismissed. The girl she had quietly convinced herself wasn't "strong enough" to do what needed to be done. Kimiko had brushed her aside so many times, thinking that she was better equipped to handle Team Seven compared to Sakura.
But here Sakura was.
Sakura had saved her life.
Not just by reporting Kimiko's reckless plan, but by actively working to make sure she lived. She could have done nothing. She could have stayed silent and let Kimiko's plan fail on its own. She could have left her to suffer the consequences of her own hubris. But she didn't.
No, Sakura had stepped up. She'd gone out of her way to protect her. And she didn't just play the messenger—she had contributed to the antidote itself, a feat Kimiko knew wasn't easy.
Her breath caught in her chest, and for a moment, it felt like the weight of all her mistakes had doubled. Sakura didn't just save her life. She proved Kimiko wrong.
I was wrong about her.
The realization hit like a kunai to the gut.
Her eyes shifted to Sakura, who was still awkwardly fidgeting in place, glancing between Kurenai and Kakashi like she was waiting for someone to dismiss her. This girl who Kimiko had underestimated… had quietly, humbly, proven she didn't need recognition. She didn't need a stage to be powerful. She had done what was right—not for glory, but because it was simply the right thing to do.
It was a bitter pill to swallow. But it went down all the same.
Her gaze dropped to her lap, her eyes catching on the bracelet around her wrist. The same bracelet Kurenai wore. The weight of that symbol—of family, of connection—now felt far heavier than it had before.
Kimiko squeezed her eyes shut and took a breath. It was humbling. No, that wasn't the word.
It was crushing.
Her fingers twitched against the sheets, and she slowly lifted her head. Her eyes, though heavy with exhaustion, were clear now. She gazed at the three girls in front of her—the very people she had underestimated in her pursuit of power. They had seen her at her weakest. Worse still, they had saved her when she had done nothing to deserve it.
Kimiko's gaze softened, her pride chipped away but her resolve quietly reforged. She reached forward, her hand slow but deliberate, and smiled at them. A genuine smile.
"Sakura, Ino, Hinata… arigatou gozaimasu," she said, her voice hoarse and cracking at the edges. Her chest ached, but she forced it out anyway. She coughed lightly, clearing her throat. "Thank you… for saving me."
The girls exchanged glances, surprise flickering across their faces. Sakura blinked like she didn't know how to respond. Hinata's eyes widened, a small blush dusting her cheeks. Ino grinned like she'd just been handed a prize.
That seemed to be Shinku's cue, and he stepped forward, his gaze lingering on Kimiko for a moment longer than the others. Pride and relief flickered in his eyes, though he didn't say a word. With a small, approving nod, he turned and began to head for the door.
Kurenai followed next, her eyes watching Kimiko closely. Her chakra had settled, and with it, her earlier storm of anger had calmed to a quiet breeze. She didn't speak, but as she passed, she briefly reached out and ran her fingers across the top of Kimiko's head—a wordless promise of understanding.
Kakashi was the last. Of course he was.
He walked past the bed with slow, easy strides, but just as he reached the doorway, he stopped. His hand reached back, ruffling her hair the same way he always did. It wasn't harsh, just a soft tousle that made her feel like she was still his student—still his responsibility.
"See you later, Kimiko," he said with the faintest trace of warmth in his voice.
Kimiko watched him leave, her eyes lingering on the doorway for a moment longer.
Her gaze returned to the three girls still standing by her bedside. They didn't look uncomfortable anymore. They didn't look nervous. In fact, for the first time, they looked like they actually belonged here.
"Hi, Kimiko," said Hinata quietly, stepping forward. Her voice was timid, but there was warmth in it. Her hand reached out slowly, almost as if she was afraid to touch her. Kimiko smiled and reached back, their fingers curling together. The small squeeze from Hinata's hand was enough to make something in Kimiko's chest loosen.
"So…" said Ino, breaking the moment with her usual flair. Her grin was wide and playful, her hands on her hips. "You poisoned yourself, nearly died, and you're still the prettiest kunoichi in the room? Seriously?"
There was a beat of stunned silence—then giggles broke out across the room.
Sakura covered her mouth, her eyes squinting with barely contained laughter. Hinata let out a tiny, breathy giggle that was far too soft to be noticed if not for the stillness of the room. Even Kimiko snorted before letting out a hoarse chuckle, the sound rough in her throat but no less real.
They weren't berating her.
Not for her mistakes. Not for her choices.
Instead, they were here. With her.
For the first time since this nightmare began, Kimiko felt something lighter in her chest. It wasn't pride. It wasn't guilt. It was something simpler. Something warmer.
It was peace.
To her surprise, Kimiko was recovering fairly quickly.
She wasn't Naruto with his insane durability and ridiculous healing factor, but she had to admit—this was fast. Faster than she would have expected. Judging by the pleased expressions on the physicians' faces, it seemed her progress was more than just "good." She'd even overheard one of them mutter, "More efficient than projected timelines."
Her recovery exercises were tough, but she was handling them. Her arms were still sluggish, her legs sore, but the results were undeniable. Each stretch, each controlled movement, was a reminder that she was still here—still alive. But being alive meant facing everything that had happened.
Her initial suspicious were proven correct. Ino had asked her where she planned to create the poison pill, playing it off casually, but did so in order to know exactly where to send the medical-nin to in order to stop her. According to Ino, Sakura's decisive actions had drawn the attention of Konoha's medical corps. Apparently, one of the medical-nin described Kimiko's poison as "crude, but terrifyingly effective."
The feat had earned Sakura more than praise from her sensei. The senior medical-nin had taken notice of her, too. Rumors were circulating. Some said the medical corps was considering waiving their usual "Must be a chuunin to join" rule, just so they could start cultivating Sakura's talent as soon as possible.
Kimiko tried not to let it get to her, but it did. She felt it—the subtle, creeping feeling of envy. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was there. It sat quietly in her chest like a stone, small but impossible to ignore.
Sakura had stumbled into success. She hadn't planned it. She hadn't clawed her way toward it. She hadn't poisoned herself for it. She'd just… been there. She'd done the right thing at the right time, and the world opened up for her.
Her fingers grazed the edge of the blanket, gripping it tightly. She owed her. No amount of jealousy could overshadow that fact. She had been reckless, cruel and dismissive, and Sakura had been kind. She'd been thoughtful. She'd been ready to act, even when she didn't have to. And that knowledge wiped away most of Kimiko's insecurities.
"Most of them," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head.
Her musings were interrupted by a knock at the door. Three gentle taps echoed into the room, light but deliberate.
Kimiko's eyes shifted toward the door, her posture stiffening out of habit. No one knocked like that unless it was important.
"Come in," she said.
The door slid open, and in walked two familiar figures.
"Kimiko-chan," Naruto greeted, a small frown tugging at his face. Beside him was Sasuke, who, while trying to maintain his usual aloof demeanor, couldn't quite hide the concern in his eyes.
"Oh, you two are back?" Kimiko said, surprised. She'd heard from Hinata that the two were away on a mission, which was why they hadn't visited earlier.
"Yeah," Sasuke replied, slipping his hands into his pockets. "We were out on a D-rank. Shame you had to miss it." He glanced at Naruto, then smirked. "We got saddled with some random genin. Loser over there almost got bitten by a dog."
Naruto's face scrunched up in frustration. "It was a big dog, bastard!"
"Still a dog," Sasuke shot back, approaching her bedside. His gaze lingered on her, eyes narrowing slightly. "Heard you poisoned yourself. Something about 'experimenting,' huh?" He tilted his head, his curiosity evident. "You really thought that would get you power?"
Kimiko tilted her head back, letting out a slow breath through her nose. "You ever read about Hanzo the Salamander?" she asked dryly.
Sasuke blinked. "Of course I did."
"Then you know he had a poison sac surgically implanted into his body, allowing him to create poison with his chakra," she said, glancing at him. Her voice was flat, but there was a tinge of defensiveness there. "I was trying to replicate that process."
Sasuke's eyes narrowed further. "That's not the same thing, and you know it."
"Why'd you do it, Kimiko-chan?"
The words cut through the room like a blade.
Kimiko turned, surprised. It wasn't Sasuke who spoke. It was Naruto. He stood there, head bowed, his fists tight at his sides. He wasn't looking at her.
Her heart twinged.
"Naruto, I…" She glanced away, gripping the edge of her blanket. Her throat felt dry. "I… didn't want to get left behind."
The silence that followed was sharp and suffocating.
Sasuke glanced between Naruto and Kimiko, his face unreadable, but his eyes lingered on her a little longer than usual.
Naruto, however, wasn't still. His shoulders shook as his fists trembled. His knuckles whitened as his hands clenched tighter.
"So you decided to risk yourself?" Naruto's voice was low, but it wasn't calm. It was shaky, strained, barely holding itself together. "Without telling either of us? Not even Kakashi-sensei?" He took a step forward, and for the first time, Kimiko noticed something terrifying.
He looked close to tears.
"Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?" Naruto's voice cracked, his head still bowed, but his voice grew louder. "Do you have any idea what it's like to watch you and Sasuke get stronger and stronger while I stay the same?!" His voice trembled, his breath uneven. "You're both always ahead of me! I'm doing everything I can to catch up, but you—" His head shot up, his teary blue eyes burning into hers. "—you just leave us behind like we don't matter!"
Kimiko's heart shattered.
"Naruto…" she frowned, her chest aching with something far worse than chakra exhaustion. "You wouldn't understa—"
"Of course I wouldn't!" Naruto's voice roared, loud and raw. His eyes, wet with unshed tears, burned with betrayal. He jabbed his finger at her like it was a kunai aimed at her heart. "Because you didn't bother telling us!" His voice cracked again, but he didn't stop. "What happened to all that stuff about us being family, huh?! Weren't you the one always saying that we're supposed to have each other's backs?"
Her breath caught in her throat.
"I always looked up to you, Kimiko-chan!" Naruto's voice broke, his chest heaving. "You were so talented. So friendly. You always knew how to lead me and Sasuke on missions. I thought you were… I thought you were different." His voice lowered, trembling with barely controlled emotion.
He sniffed, his eyes red as he looked at her like she'd done something unforgivable.
"But you're just a hypocrite."
Her whole world stopped.
Hypocrite.
Her fingers curled so tightly into the blanket that she swore she felt it rip. Naruto's words stabbed deeper than any blade could. Even Naruto felt that way about her? Her vision blurred. Her throat felt like it was closing.
"Naruto," Sasuke's voice came in, low but sharp, like a warning. Even he looked a little stunned by Naruto's outburst. He took a step forward, eyes flickering with something between frustration and understanding. "That's enough. She needs rest."
"Stop it, Sasuke!" Naruto barked, whirling around. His face was twisted with anger and grief. "You know you feel the same way!"
Sasuke's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything.
Naruto turned back to Kimiko, his breathing heavy, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.
"If you really meant it when you called us family, then treat us like it!" he yelled, his voice cracking with raw emotion. "Comrades don't do this to each other! You don't just drink poison and expect us to smile and say it's fine!" His whole body shook, like he was holding himself together with sheer willpower alone. "Comrades don't do that! Family doesn't do that!"
His words hung in the air, searing into her like fresh burns.
He was right.
He was absolutely right.
Her eyes dropped to her lap, her vision blurring with unspoken guilt. She didn't know what to say. There was nothing she could say.
"Kimiko…" Naruto's voice was hoarse now, no longer loud but no less painful. "You're always looking out for everyone else, but why don't you let anyone look out for you?"
Her breath hitched.
"Why don't you trust us?"
Kimiko didn't answer. Her throat felt like it had been sealed shut.
Sasuke stayed quiet, watching her with those calculating, thoughtful eyes. No scorn. No ridicule. Just watching.
Naruto sniffed and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. His voice was quieter now, tired and raw. "I'm not mad because you messed up, Kimiko-chan. I'm mad because… you didn't trust us enough to ask for help."
He sniffled again, looking away, rubbing at his nose like it was nothing. "That's what family's supposed to do, right?"
Kimiko's hands trembled as she clutched the blanket. Her head tilted forward, her hair hanging in front of her eyes like a curtain. She didn't say anything.
"We're going to head back later, Kimiko. Recover well," said Sasuke, finally breaking his silence. He turned on his heel, hands in his pockets, his face calm but unreadable. "Come on, dead-last. We need to do the paperwork."
Naruto lingered for a moment longer. He glanced back at her, his blue eyes still puffy and red from earlier tears. He frowned, his gaze soft but distant, before turning away. As he walked toward the door, she saw him rub at his eyes with his sleeve, as if trying to wipe away the evidence of his frustration. "...Promise me you'll come back to us,"
Kimiko paused, stunned. Even when he's mad, he just wants me back?
"I promise," she answered, automatically. Without another word, he followed Sasuke.
Kimiko watched them both leave, the sound of the door sliding shut echoing in the silence that followed. And in the silence of her thought, she came to a realization.
Her hands tightened around the edge of her blanket.
Naruto was right.
She had been reckless. Worse than reckless. She had been irresponsible. She had tried to do something so stupid and so ill-conceived that she didn't even have the sense to tell anyone what she was doing.
What did she have to show for it?
A frailer body. A weakened constitution. Damage to her organs that even advanced medical ninjutsu couldn't fully heal. Her lifespan—shortened. All of it because she wasn't smart enough to do it right.
Or maybe, because she wasn't wise enough to know when to quit.
Her fingers twitched. She felt like she needed to move, but she couldn't. Her body felt like lead. Her throat felt tight, her chest felt hollow. Her breath was shallow, uneven.
Her boys were mad at her.
Not just disappointed. Mad.
Sasuke's quiet dismissal and Naruto's raw, tear-stained words played over and over in her head. Each line repeated like a mantra, growing louder every time.
"I always looked up to you, Kimiko-chan."
"I didn't think you were a hypocrite."
"Family doesn't do that!"
Kimiko's breath hitched. She curled forward, burying her face into her pillow. Her heart pounded in her chest, fast and erratic, like it was trying to break free from her ribs.
Her breath came out shaky.
Then came another breath—shorter, rougher.
Her shoulders trembled, her grip on the pillow tightening until her fingers ached.
The tears were hot and uncontrollable. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she bit her lip, trying to hold it in. But no amount of self-control could stop the flood.
Her chest hitched. Her face pressed harder into the pillow.
She screamed.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't earth-shaking. But it was raw. It was the kind of scream that didn't come from anger or fear. It came from grief. From frustration. From the suffocating realization that, no matter how much she trained, no matter how much she planned, she still made the wrong choice.
Her voice was muffled in the pillow, but it didn't matter. No one else was there to hear her. No one else needed to.
When she finally ran out of breath, her chest ached like she'd just sprinted a mile. Her arms felt too heavy to lift. Her whole body felt heavier now than it had been before.
Her face stayed buried in the pillow, her breath coming in slow, shallow gasps. Her fingers went slack, releasing the edge of the blanket she'd been clutching. Her thoughts felt quiet now, like everything had been wrung out of her.
Her eyelids felt heavier.
Her breath came slower.
Her chest still hurt, but it wasn't from screaming.
It was from everything else.
Her eyes closed, and for the first time since waking up, Kimiko let herself be still.
"Alright, try to take another step," said the medical-nin, his eyes fixed on her every movement.
Kimiko stood barefoot in her hospital-issued nightgown, one hand gripping the smooth, cold surface of an oak cane. She'd refused the walker. She wasn't going to be seen clinging to some clunky, wheeled crutch like she was helpless. She was a kunoichi. Injured, yes—but still a kunoichi.
It would be a cold day in hell before she resigned herself to the fate of a lame person.
Her fingers gripped the cane tighter as she steadied her breath. Her eyes narrowed on the far end of the room like it was an enemy. No hesitation. Just action.
Her first step was slow but sure. Her foot landed firmly on the tile, and she immediately pushed forward. She didn't wait for the medical-nin's approval. One step became two. Then three. Then four.
Before she realized it, she'd crossed the room.
Her breath was steady, but her heart was not. Her heart ached with frustration. Kakashi had once called her the fastest kunoichi of her year, and now here she was—gripping a cane, walking like a toddler learning how to walk for the first time.
Her jaw clenched. Her nails dug into the wood of the cane.
"Wow," said the medical-nin, his tone genuinely impressed. He scribbled something onto his clipboard, glancing at her with raised brows. "You're doing far better than expected. Your chakra levels are even back at seventy-five percent capacity." He shook his head with a short laugh. "Alright, no reason to keep you here any longer. I'll be discharging you from the hospital. Just make sure to take the medicine I'll be prescribing, and…"
He glanced up, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "I think you'll be ready and cleared for active field duty by next week."
Next week.
Kimiko frowned. A whole week. It didn't sound like much, but to her, it might as well have been a lifetime.
"That long?" she muttered, the bitterness clear in her tone.
The medical-nin tilted his head slightly, as if reading her mind. He must have seen the way her eyes sharpened, or maybe he'd seen that look on other shinobi before. Frustration. Restlessness. The fear of being "left behind."
"You can do light exercises," he said, his voice calm but firm, like he'd dealt with this a hundred times before. "Stretching, chakra control drills, basic movement training. No jutsu, no sparring." He looked at her over the rim of his clipboard, his tone serious. "Use the time to catch up on backlogs. Mission reports, strategy notes—whatever it takes to keep your mind sharp."
"...Thank you," Kimiko replied curtly, her eyes still locked on the far wall.
Her voice was polite, but her mind was far from it. A whole week.
The thought lingered in her mind even hours later as her family arrived to fetch her. Or rather, when Kurenai arrived, accompanied by Asuma, who she kept insisting wasn't her boyfriend.
That might have been funny to Kimiko on another day. But right now, it wasn't. Not with the weight of "recovery" dragging her down.
She hated the idea of being grounded for an entire week.
When they arrived home, Kurenai and Asuma excused themselves, citing an urgent mission. Asuma offered her a casual wave, and Kurenai gave her a pat on the shoulder before following him out the door.
That left Kimiko to walk into the house alone.
The familiar scent of roses and tea leaves filled her nose, a subtle fragrance that always reminded her of home. She took a slow step forward, her cane tapping softly against the hardwood floor.
"I didn't know you'd be home today," a familiar voice said from behind her.
Kimiko winced at the sudden sound, twisting too quickly. Pain shot through her side, sharp but bearable. She turned to see her mother, Kaori, standing in the hallway.
"Mother," Kimiko said, bowing her head. Her gaze stayed low, her voice tight with formality. "My apologies for the suddenness. The doctor said I'm recovering quickly." She winced as she coughed.
Kaori, dressed in an elegant but simple informal kimono, glanced at her with a neutral expression. Her beauty was as immaculate as ever, her features composed like porcelain. She held a bundle of purple hyacinths in her hands, her fingers curled delicately around the stems.
"I see," Kaori said lightly, turning away. Her gaze shifted to the flowers in her hands. "It's good to hear you're recovering well."
Her footsteps were quiet as she began walking away.
Kimiko blinked, watching her mother's back with a mixture of confusion and something else she couldn't name.
"Mother," she called, her voice firmer now. "Forgive me for asking, but… why didn't you visit me in the hospital?"
Kaori stopped mid-step. Her grip on the hyacinths didn't falter, but her shoulders tensed ever so slightly.
"...Apologies," Kaori said quietly, not turning to face her. "I didn't think you would have wanted me there."
Kimiko's brow furrowed. "Why would a daughter not want her mother to attend to her?"
Silence hung between them.
Finally, Kaori turned. Her face was calm, but her eyes carried a quiet sadness that made something in Kimiko's chest tighten.
"I haven't been your mother for a long time, have I?"
Kimiko felt her heart sink.
"Mother… what are you talking about?" she asked, a frown pulling at her lips.
Kaori sighed, lowering the hyacinths. "A mother nurtures her daughter. She teaches her the arts of grace and survival. She chides her for being too flirtatious with boys, and she combs her hair so it grows well. But I haven't been able to do any of that for you, have I?" Her eyes flickered to Kimiko, distant but firm. "Not since you became a kunoichi."
Kimiko's jaw tightened. So this was about that. Again.
"I won't apologize for my choices, Mother," she said sharply. "I always wanted to be a kunoichi. It's the same path Sister took. The same path Father supports."
"And what of what I want?" Kaori's voice cut through the air like a blade.
Kimiko felt fear.
It wasn't like the fear she felt when Haku's icy chakra surrounded her, or when Zabuza's killing mist flooded her senses and obscured her vision. It wasn't like the creeping and suffocating chakra that she felt radiated off Kurenai. No, this was different.
Kaori didn't need to leak chakra to be terrifying. Her silence was sharper than a kunai. Her eyes, as still and cold as a frozen lake, watched Kimiko without blinking. There was no aura of chakra pressure, no bloodlust, but her displeasure was ten times more frightening.
"Do you think I enjoy hearing that my daughter—barely a woman—has been sent to fight bandits?" Kaori's voice was steady but hard, each word striking like a hammer to stone. "To escort bridge builders? To face off against corrupt merchants? To cross blades with a man that hundreds of older shinobi and grown men fear?"
Her voice rose slightly, not in volume, but in sharpness. She took a step closer, the soft padding of her sandals somehow louder than thunder. Her eyes never left Kimiko's.
"Or do you think," Kaori continued, her eyes narrowing with icy precision, "that I would be pleased seeing you in that hospital bed? Seeing you lying there, pale as death, because you decided to ingest poison? And for what, Kimiko?" Her voice cracked, just slightly, the weight of the question hitting harder than any jutsu. "For what?"
Kimiko clenched her fists. Her breath was shallow, and her eyes darted to the side, unable to hold Kaori's gaze. Her nails dug into her palms as she tried to steady herself, keep herself composed, keep herself from falling apart.
"Mother, I… I don't expect you to understand," she muttered, her voice quiet but firm.
Wrong answer.
"Do not talk down to me." Kaori's voice dropped into an icy whisper, and the stillness in the air suddenly felt suffocating.
Kimiko's head snapped up in shock.
"You are still under my roof," Kaori said icily, stepping closer. Her fingers curled tightly around the stems of the hyacinths she held, crushing them just slightly. "I understand more than you think I do. Just because I am not a kunoichi like you or Kurenai does not mean I am blind. It does not mean I know nothing of your world."
Kimiko took a step back, her heart pounding against her ribs. Her breath came quicker.
"Even Kurenai never went to these lengths," Kaori continued, her eyes sharp as glass. "And she is one of the highest-ranked kunoichi without becoming the Hokage. So tell me, Kimiko…" Kaori's gaze hardened. "Why do you feel the need to go further than her?"
Her words hung in the air like a noose.
Kimiko's heart was racing now. Her eyes darted left, then right, searching for an escape that wasn't there. Her throat felt tight, her breath shallow. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears. Her mother wasn't yelling, but it still felt like she'd been caught in a genjutsu with no release sign.
Her eyes burned. Her nails dug into her palms so hard that she felt the sting of pain.
"Why, Kimiko?" Kaori's voice softened, almost pleading now. "What are you chasing?"
Her lips quivered. She bit down hard, hard enough that she thought she might draw blood.
Her chest heaved once, then twice.
Her eyes snapped back to Kaori.
"Because I don't want to be like her!"
Kimiko's voice exploded, raw and sharp like shattering glass. Her body trembled with the force of it. Her chest heaved as the last of her breath escaped her lungs.
For a moment, everything went still.
Kaori's eyes widened, her lips parting in shock. She said nothing.
Kimiko was breathing hard, her fingers trembling as she dug her nails into her palms. Her heart pounded so loudly she thought it might burst. Her eyes burned with tears she refused to let fall.
Silence.
Her voice was hoarse when she spoke again, quieter this time, but just as raw.
"I don't want to be like her," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Her breath came uneven, short and ragged, like she'd just finished a long sprint. Her gaze dropped to the floor, her fingers twitching at her sides. "I love her. I love Kurenai. But I want to be better than her." Her voice wavered, like she was afraid of her own words. "I can't be satisfied with being an average jonin. I want to be bette—"
"You will not talk down to your older sister."
Kaori's voice was a quiet, controlled snap, like a bowstring releasing. Her words hit Kimiko harder than a kunai to the chest.
Kimiko flinched, her breath hitching.
When she looked up, her mother's eyes were already on her—sharp, steady, and unyielding.
"Kurenai has sacrificed more than you will ever know," Kaori said, her words slow and deliberate, like each one was carved from stone. Her eyes didn't waver, her gaze pinning Kimiko in place. "She has risked her life countless times. She has bled for this village. For you."
Kimiko opened her mouth but stopped, her breath caught in her throat.
Kaori's eyes narrowed. "You will not talk down to her. You will not diminish the legacy of a sister who has done everything in her power to pave the way for you."
Her mother didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to. Her words were cold steel, sharp and clean, cutting through every defense Kimiko might have raised.
Kimiko's shoulders slumped. Her head dipped forward, and her gaze fell to the floor.
It was true.
She had to remind herself, once again, that this wasn't some anime. Kurenai wasn't just a character to be judged for one bad decision. She wasn't some "meme" of a kunoichi getting clowned for using genjutsu on a master of it. No—she was Kurenai Yuhi, a woman who scratched, clawed, and fought her way to where she was now. A woman who had family, friends, and respect. A woman stronger than most shinobi.
Her situation wasn't "simple" just because most of the people back from her world saw her that way.
And now here she was—Kimiko Yuhi, an arrogant little sister—looking down on someone who had done nothing but love her.
"...I apologize," Kimiko muttered, the weight of her own arrogance pressing down on her chest. Her voice was quiet but sincere. "I… didn't think about what I was saying. I didn't choose the right words."
"You didn't," her mother agreed, her eyes sharp and steady.
Kimiko glanced up. Her mother was still watching her, still holding the crushed purple hyacinths in her hand. The faint fragrance filled the air.
"I…" Kimiko sighed, her gaze flickering back down to the floor. "I just want to carve my own path, Mother. I want to succeed. To grow stronger. Strong enough to protect you."
Kaori's eyes softened. Her fingers loosened their grip on the flowers, but only slightly. "You… remind me of a soldier," she said quietly, "This is the kind of conversation I'd expect to have with a son marching off to war." She shook her head, her expression distant and heavy. "But fate is cruel. It gave me two brilliant, beautiful daughters—only to shape them both for war. You and your sister could live life as noblewomen in my brother's capital, you know? Never wanting for anything. Pursued by the wealthiest of men from the most noble of lines."
"I don't want that life," Kimiko said, her voice firm this time. Her eyes rose to meet her mother's.
Kaori blinked slowly, her eyes fixed on Kimiko. "No. You don't. And yet, here you are—battered, broken, and in pain. But still moving forward."
She tilted her head slightly, gaze sharp with something close to grief. "I… can't do anything to stop you, can I?"
Kimiko shook her head, her grip on her sleeves tightening. "No. I can't stop. I won't." Her gaze didn't waver. "I want to be the strongest kunoichi in Konoha. No—the strongest kunoichi in the world. Strong enough to protect you, Naruto, Sasuke, Dad… and Kurenai too."
Her words hung in the air, heavy but certain.
Kaori looked at her daughter for a long, quiet moment. Slowly, she let out a breath through her nose—a slow, measured exhale. Her fingers released the hyacinths, letting a few petals fall from the bundle.
"...Very well," Kaori muttered, her voice softer this time. "I cannot claim to understand, but if you feel this strongly about it, then I would be a poor mother not to support my daughter's path." Her eyes flicked up to meet Kimiko's. "But promise me one thing."
Kimiko blinked, tilting her head slightly. "What is it?"
"That you won't risk yourself unnecessarily," Kaori said softly. Her voice wasn't commanding—it was pleading. "You'll face danger. You'll face trials. I know that. But… promise me, Kimiko. Don't throw yourself away just because you think you have to." Kaori's gaze softened, "Even the most stubborn flower needs warmth to bloom."
Kimiko's lips parted slightly, her breath caught in her chest. For a moment, she said nothing.
"...I can't promise that no danger will find me," she said slowly, her eyes flicking downward. Her voice was quiet but thoughtful, each word carefully chosen. "But I can promise… I won't risk myself unless it's absolutely necessary."
Kaori closed her eyes. Her breath came slow and shaky, as though she'd been holding it in for far too long.
"Then I will… be satisfied with that," she whispered.
Silence settled between them. Not heavy. Not cold. Just quiet.
Kimiko's gaze lingered on the fallen hyacinth petals on the floor. Purple hyacinths.
Flowers that meant, "I'm sorry."
Kimiko finally looked back up. Her heart felt lighter.
"Mother?" she asked softly.
"Yes?" Kaori replied, her eyes still on the hyacinths.
"...I still remember my promise to help at the teahouse after I get back."
Kaori blinked, startled. Slowly, she looked up at Kimiko. For the first time that day, she smiled.
The teahouse hummed with quiet, serene activity. Civilians and shinobi alike sat around low wooden tables, their quiet conversations weaving into a gentle hum that filled the air. The delicate, earthy aroma of steeping tea leaves mingled with the faint sweetness of honey, creating a sense of warmth and calm. Porcelain cups clinked softly against saucers, a sound so small it seemed part of the ambiance itself.
At the heart of it all, on a small raised stage, sat one of her mother's protégés. The young woman was poised and elegant, her hands gracefully plucking the strings of a koto, the notes flowing like ripples across a still pond. The soft, melodic hum of the koto filled the space, delicate yet steady. Each note lingered for a breath before fading, leaving behind a sense of quiet reflection.
The guests were subdued, lulled by the music and the warmth of the tea. Some leaned back, eyes half-closed in quiet peace. Others sat upright, engrossed in conversation. Shinobi seated at a far corner table sat with their eyes sharp but their hands relaxed, their vests lined with scuffs and stains from their missions.
Her mother's influence was everywhere.
Kimiko could see it in the decor, the flow of movement, and the calm efficiency of the staff. Her mother, Kaori, had turned the teahouse into a sanctuary. It wasn't just a business—it was a place where warriors and wanderers could sit down and feel human for a while. This kind of ambiance required someone who understood and lived the ways of royalty. Her mother wasn't a shinobi, but she could wield influence just as well as any jonin.
"Feeling restless, Kimiko-san?"
Kimiko glanced to her side. One of the girls working as a server sat beside her, folding her hands neatly in her lap. She was around Kimiko's age, maybe a little older. Kimiko recognized her as one of the refugees from the Land of Whirlpools. Her mother had sponsored her education, and now she worked here at the teahouse.
"A bit," Kimiko admitted, bringing her teacup to her lips. The warmth of the honey tea felt grounding. "As much as I've enjoyed helping out these past few days, I need to get back to training."
True enough, she'd spent most of her recovery helping out at the teahouse. At first, she'd worked in the back, counting inventory and checking ledgers. When she could finally walk without her cane, she took on front-facing roles as a hostess, greeting patrons with smiles and soft bows. Even now, she was dressed in formal attire—black silk layered in folds upon folds, her hair styled ornately, her face lightly touched with makeup.
"...I still don't get it," said the girl beside her with a sigh, tilting her head to rest on her palm. Her gaze was focused on Kimiko, brows raised in mild confusion. "Why would you want to be a kunoichi, anyway?" Her eyes flicked over Kimiko's face, her gaze thoughtful but blunt. "With how pretty you are, Kimiko-chan, I have a hard time imagining why you're not training to be your mother's successor here."
Kimiko glanced at her, swirling the tea in her porcelain cup. The honey-colored liquid shimmered in the soft lantern light.
"It's a respectable role," she admitted, her voice even, calm. "But it's not for me."
Her eyes shifted to her reflection in the surface of the tea. Her own face looked back at her, soft and poised, framed by perfectly styled hair. Her makeup was flawless—dark liner tracing her sharp eyes, a faint blush on her cheeks. Her silk robes were layered with precision, each fold perfectly in place. She looked every part the teahouse princess.
But looks could lie.
Kimiko glanced down at her hands. Beneath the silks and powders, her fingers had calluses from training with the sword. Her knuckles were worn from too many spars. She could still feel the faint sting from where the blade bit too deep on a misstep last week. Her gaze lingered on those hands for a moment longer.
"I've always been more blade than silk," Kimiko said, lifting her tea to her lips and taking a slow sip. The warmth of honey and tea filled her chest. "And I know what my path is."
The girl beside her hummed in mild disapproval, leaning her cheek into her palm. "If you say so." She sat up, stretching her arms behind her head, her gaze shifting to the stairs below. "Oh, I should get back to work. Your mother assigned me to entertain the shinobi in one of the private rooms—the one with your sister, I think."
"About that," Kimiko said, setting the cup down with the soft clink of porcelain. She met the girl's gaze, her eyes sharper than before. "I'll handle that."
The girl blinked, her brows knitting together. "But—"
"Please," Kimiko said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Think of it as a favor to me. I'll handle my mother."
The girl hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. But after a moment, she sighed, her shoulders falling. "Fine, fine." She shot Kimiko a playful grin. "But if she scolds me, I'm blaming you.
Kimiko returned the smile, but it was soft. Serene. Controlled. The kind of smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Her fingers reached beneath the table, her grip settling around the cool, familiar hilt of her tanto. Slowly, she drew it from its place, holding the sheathed blade with both hands in front of her.
Her movements were smooth, deliberate, and quiet, like ripples spreading over still water. Her formal black robes swayed with each step as she moved toward the private room. Her back was straight, her head held high, each footstep a quiet statement of control.
But with every step forward, her mind churned.
She'd been thinking about it for days. Every word of every lecture echoed like drumbeats in her mind.
"Focus on what you're already good at. Don't spread yourself too thin."
"You don't have to carry this alone."
"Whatever you're trying to prove… you don't need to destroy yourself to do it."
"You're always looking out for everyone else, but why don't you let anyone look out for you?"
"Even the most stubborn flower needs warmth to bloom."
Kimiko's jaw clenched as each voice played in her mind—Naruto, Kakashi, Kurenai, Sakura. Their words had felt like thorns when she heard them. She'd brushed them off. They didn't understand, she thought. She had knowledge they didn't. She knew more. She knew better.
But that was the problem, wasn't it?
She thought she knew better.
Her fingers tightened on the tanto's sheath as she continued walking. The soft creak of the floorboards echoed with each step, slow and steady. Her reflection gazed back at her from the glossy finish of the blade. Her eyes stared back at her, calm on the surface but sharp with something deeper.
Her knowledge of "the future" had made her believe she had all the answers. She thought it was a crutch to skip the work others had to endure. She saw her knowledge as an advantage—but instead, it became a chain, something that bound her to a path she thought was certain.
Her breathing steadied, calm but firm. They were all right.
Naruto was right. Her sister was right. Kakashi was right.
Every ache in her bones, every throb in her muscles, every strained tendon—it was all proof. Proof of her mistake. Proof of her hubris. Her body had paid the price for her arrogance. Her own body, which she had treated like a vessel to be broken and reforged. But she wasn't metal. She wasn't unyielding steel.
She was human.
Her grip on the tanto loosened slightly. Not everything needed to be gripped so tightly.
Her footsteps slowed as she approached the sliding door. Her gaze shifted, sensing it again—that familiar pulse of chakra. Not loud. Not reckless. No, this chakra was something else entirely. Controlled. Calm. Sharp. Like the beat of a war drum in the distance.
Two of them stood out. Larger reserves. One steady and sharp, like the point of a spear. The other... it felt faint, but jagged, like static humming through broken wires.
Her fingers hovered over the edge of the sliding door. She took a breath in, slow and steady.
The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the private room beyond.
The first thing she noticed was the smell. Incense and nicotine. It hit her nose all at once—a dry, earthy burn mixed with the faint sweetness of sandalwood. The air was warm, but not stifling. It clung to her skin like a thin mist.
Then, she noticed the people.
On one side was her sister, Kurenai. Her sensei, Kakashi. And between them was Asuma Sarutobi, the cigarette tucked between his lips
They sat across from two men she recognized instantly: Raido Namiashi and Hayate Gekkou. Raido sat with his sword leaning against his chair, his scarred face unreadable. Hayate coughed into his sleeve, his eyes half-lidded but sharp, his own sword leaning on the table, ready to be drawn as a moment's notice.
She lowered her head, bowing deeply. Her long sleeves pooled lightly at her wrists, and her hair swayed forward in rhythm with her motion.
"Nee-san, Asuma-sensei, Kakashi-sensei, Raido-san, Hayate-senpai," She looked up at them. "Forgive me for intruding,"
The room fell quiet.
It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but an expectant one. The five shinobi exchanged glances, subtle shifts of their eyes, the kind of silent communication only shinobi knew how to master. Kimiko knew they had been talking about her before she arrived. She could feel it in the way Kurenai's gaze lingered on her, in the way Kakashi leaned just a little more forward than usual.
"Not at all," Asuma said finally, his tone calm but certain. He leaned back, tapping the ash from his cigarette into a small dish. "But it's good that you did."
"You look very pretty tonight, Kimiko," Hayate added, his eyes tired but kind. His words hung in the air for a moment before he broke into a short, raspy cough. "You wear it well."
Kimiko blinked at him, her fingers brushing lightly against the sleeve of her formal robes. She hadn't given it much thought, but the layers of black silk, the careful folds, and the elegant makeup she wore made her feel like an entirely different person. Her gaze shifted away, unsure how to respond to a compliment like that.
"Thank you, Hayate-senpai," she said quietly.
"How can we help?" Kurenai asked, her eyes sharp with curiosity but her voice gentle as ever.
Kimiko took a slow breath, letting it fill her lungs before exhaling steadily. Her gaze shifted from one person to the next, taking them all in. This was it. She had their attention. No interruptions. No distractions.
"…Kakashi-sensei told me I was overextending myself," she began, her voice quieter than usual but steady. Her eyes met Kakashi's first, and for a moment, it felt like only the two of them were in the room. "I was trying to learn too many things at once, chasing too many paths at the same time. I ended up being average at a lot of things but a master of none."
Her gaze shifted from Raido to Kurenai, and finally back to Asuma. "And… we all know how that ended."
Silence followed.
They didn't look at her directly. Asuma glanced at his cigarette like it suddenly became interesting. Kurenai's fingers tapped lightly on her sleeve. Hayate coughed again, softer this time. But Kakashi, as always, looked directly at her, his single eye focused and still.
Her fingers curled tighter around the sheath of her tanto. She'd been thinking about this for days, and now that she was saying it aloud, it felt heavier than she expected.
"I don't want to make that mistake again," she admitted, her throat tightening for just a second before she pushed through it. "I don't want to go about it the wrong way this time." She glanced toward Kurenai, her sister's eyes still locked on her. "I want to rely on the people around me."
Her hands loosened on the sheath of her tanto, and she straightened her back. Her gaze didn't falter. Not this time.
"That's what the Will of Fire is about, isn't it?" she continued, her voice firming with every word. "A fire set by hundreds of tiny embers."
Silence again. Not a tense silence. A thoughtful one.
Asuma took a long, slow drag, his cigarette glowing bright orange for a moment before he exhaled a thin stream of smoke. His eyes lifted to her, and for the first time, he smiled—not the small, fleeting smirk he usually wore, but something more complete. "Well said."
Kakashi tilted his head, eye narrowing slightly in amusement. "Out of all my students, you were always the one who spoke too profoundly. Or in riddles." His head tilted just a little more, his gaze as unreadable as ever. "I think it's best if you just speak plainly."
Kimiko let out a quiet, short breath through her nose. "Sorry, sensei," she said dryly, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips.
A pause followed.
Then, she exhaled slowly. Her stance shifted just a little—feet firmly planted, back straight, gaze steady. She didn't blink. She didn't look away.
"I want to ask if any of you are willing to train me," she said clearly, her voice steady as her gaze swept the room. "Help me reach my fullest potential. Maximize my advantages and refine my skillset."
The room went quiet again. Not tense, but charged.
Her words hung in the air like a spark waiting for kindling.
Then, one by one, she saw it. The slow curl of smirks on every one of their faces.
"You're so dramatic," Kurenai said, breaking first into a soft chuckle. She leaned forward, resting her elbow on her knee, her fingers pressed lightly against her cheek. "All that fanfare just for that? You really know how to set a scene, Kimiko."
Kimiko blinked, then frowned. "I was being serious."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Kurenai said with a small wave of her hand, still grinning. She tilted her head toward Kakashi, her red eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. "Of course we'd be willing to train you. Knowing this slacker's your sensei, I bet he isn't even teaching you anything useful."
Kurenai nudged Kakashi with her elbow, her grin wicked.
Kakashi sighed, scratching the back of his head. "Honestly, way to make me look bad, Kimiko," he muttered, his voice laced with that ever-present boredom. His gaze flicked toward her, his single visible eye narrowing in quiet amusement. "Careful, or I'll have to assign you 500 laps around Konoha just to prove a point."
Asuma laughed, his shoulders shaking with it. "If only my students showed half the initiative yours do, Kakashi," he said, exhaling smoke with his words. He grinned at Kimiko. "Yeah, I'm in. I think I can teach you a thing or two." He gestured with his cigarette like it was a kunai, pointing it her way. "But if you pass out on me, I'm not carrying you home. You've got legs."
"Ha, when your sister was your age," Raido added, his voice as rough as sandpaper but light with humor, "she didn't even care about training. All she cared about was being called pretty. I think she wanted to make Iwagakure ninjas surrender by batting her eyelashes at them."
There was a sharp clatter of porcelain as Kurenai sat up straight. Her glare was immediate, her face flushed with heat. "Hey!" she barked, pointing a finger at him. "Shut up, Raido, before I shove that poisoned toothpick you call a sword up-"
"Kurenai," Said Asuma in mock exhaustion.
Her sharp words only made Raido grin wider, arms crossed, leaning back like he'd just won some kind of personal victory.
"You walked right into that one, Kurenai," Hayate muttered, tapping his finger against his cup of tea. His tired gaze shifted to Kimiko. "Well, of course I'll be training you," he said matter-of-factly. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, there was no humor there—only sincerity. "I'm your senior. I watched you pick up your first bokken. I taught you Dance of the Crescent Moon. It's only natural I'd be the one to teach you more if you're asking for help. I owe you and your father more than that."
Kimiko felt her chest tighten—not in pain, but in something warmer. It was strange how something as simple as words could make her feel… lighter. Her hands rested on her lap, fingers curled loosely.
She glanced over at Kakashi, who had been suspiciously quiet. His face, as unreadable as ever, was tilted slightly toward her, his gaze half-lidded with what could only be described as a look of playful mischief.
"Do I have to?" Kakashi said, his voice lazy but teasing, as if the very idea of "effort" was beneath him.
Kimiko deadpanned at him, her eyes narrowing into thin, sharp slits.
"Yes, you do," she shot back, her tone flat as a blade. "You're my sensei, it's your job."
"Seriously," Kakashi muttered, his tone carrying that familiar, deadpan edge. "It's not enough that they saddle me with the last Uchiha and the loudest, most annoying ninja in history. No, they just had to throw in a kunoichi who unironically thought it's a good idea to become Hanzo the Salamander."
He shook his head slowly, eyes half-lidded like he'd just felt all the weight of the world fall on his back. "I must've really ticked off someone in a past life."
"Come on, Kakashi, you know you love us," Asuma said, grinning as he took another drag from his cigarette. Smoke curled lazily around his fingers.
"Do I, though?" Kakashi shot back, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
"Yeah, you do," Kurenai quipped, grinning as she leaned forward. "Otherwise, you wouldn't bother complaining this much. You'd just leave."
"Maybe I should," Kakashi muttered, tilting his head in mock thought. "Might just fake my own death. Heard it works wonders for stress relief. Maybe retire in a small house near a Hot Spring."
They all snickered. Even Raido smirked at that one.
"Guess I don't have a choice then," Kakashi sighed, his voice laced with exaggerated defeat. His hands raised, palms up, like he was surrendering to some unseen force of fate. He leaned back into his seat, his head tilting just enough that his face was partially in shadow. His one visible eye crinkled slightly, a sure sign of the smile hidden behind his mask.
He glanced at Kimiko, his gaze steady now. "Just… do me one favor, Kimiko."
Her brows furrowed, head tilting slightly. "What's that?"
Kakashi's eye shifted toward Raido, who was quietly sipping his tea, his worn and scarred hand resting next to the sheath of his sword. Kakashi pointed toward him with the laziest flick of his finger.
"When Raido pulls out that poisoned blade of his," Kakashi muttered, his tone completely dry, "don't eat it."
For a split second, silence.
Then, it hit.
Asuma barked out a sharp, sudden laugh, his whole body jolting with it as smoke escaped his mouth. Kurenai snorted first, then covered her mouth, trying and failing to look dignified. Hayate leaned forward, resting his head in his hand as his shoulders shook from quiet, wheezing laughter.
"Real funny, Hatake," Raido muttered, lifting his cup of tea to his lips, his eyes squinting with mild irritation—but there was a grin hidden beneath it.
Kimiko blinked once. Twice. Her face was blank, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then, slowly—too slowly—her lips quirked upward.
Her breath hitched once, and she tried to hold it in. But it came out anyway. A short, sharp snort that escaped like air from a punctured seal.
She clapped a hand over her mouth immediately, eyes wide, as if horrified by her own reaction. But it was too late. The sound was already out.
Kurenai grinned wider, leaning forward with sharp eyes like a predator that caught the scent of weakness. "Oh, what was that?" she teased, eyes glittering with mischief.
"Nothing," Kimiko muttered, turning her head away so fast it was a wonder she didn't snap her own neck.
"No, no, no," Asuma said, pointing at her with the cigarette still in hand, smoke trailing behind it like a signal flare. "That was a snort. I heard it. Everyone heard it."
"Loud and clear," Hayate added between raspy breaths.
"You're all so immature," Kimiko muttered, voice muffled behind her hand. Her face was hot, and she knew without looking that the flush had reached her ears.
"Sure," Raido said, setting down his tea with the slow, deliberate grace of a man preparing to deliver a killing blow. His grin was sharp, eyes half-lidded like a predator watching cornered prey. "But at least we don't eat poison."
That was it.
Kurenai nearly fell off her seat, clutching her stomach as her laughter echoed in the room. Asuma slapped the table, coughing through his laugh as he tried not to choke on the cigarette smoke. Hayate's coughs turned into quiet, broken wheezing, his eyes squeezed shut as his whole body shook.
Even Kakashi, the man who could stand before armies without flinching, leaned back with his hand resting casually against his temple, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
Kimiko groaned, her face burning like she'd just been caught in the most embarrassing moment of her life. "I hate all of you," she muttered, but she didn't mean it.
Not this time.