Shimura Ryoma huffed as he stretched out the latest kink in his leg. He'd known taking the postal mission would be hell on his and his team's legs, but that was being a genin for you, and Sensei had needed to go to the frontline—at least this way they were regularly safe, bouncing secret messages between nobles who wouldn't dare get on Konoha's bad side.

And, to be fair, it had been fine.

Mostly.

Well, actually Ryoma was shocked at just how many civilians asked them to carry additional messages—even though he'd been warned—and they'd run into three groups of highway robbers trying to set up, but that—

Oh, and there was also the time they'd seen a flare and had to help apprehend a murderer fleeing from another genin team—

And there was that time Koki got really, really sick without any warning and Ryoma and Yuichiro had had to run him to the nearest outpost, learn how to perform an appendectomy based on the scratchy instructions of the radio—

And there had been that fire—

And that flood—

And that bridge collapse—

And there was the time when Ryoma had overreacted to an attempted thief and wasted one of his very few functional exploding tags—

But mostly, it had been fine.

Just, killer on the legs.

At least they were running to the Kumo frontline now, would get a few hours' break before they'd have to take off again.

And then they were on an actual road again, and Ryoma could've whooped with glee, picked up the pace as they headed inexorably northward.

And then they were almost not let in.

"Wait, but we're—we're Leaf!" Koki snapped. Yuichiro hushed him—they'd agreed to let Ryoma do the speaking, because he had the fancy last name—and Ryoma leaned over, tried to see what was going on beyond the gate.

"What happened?" He asked.

The Hyuuga guarding the gate pursed her lips, then shrugged. "Can't tell you."

"But—"

"Shut up, Koki!" Ryoma snapped. "Can we at least deliver the parcel?"

"In twenty-four hours, sure," the Hyuuga said. "And you're lucky I'm giving you that much."

Ryoma stared at the Hyuuga. The Hyuuga stared impassively back.

Ryoma shrugged, turned to set up camp, cut Koki off before he could get started again. "It gives us a full day's rest," he argued. "Is that the worst thing?"

Twelve hours later everyone—him, his team, and all the others camping outside the gates—jolted to attention.

"What was that?!"

"Are you stupid? That was the Hokage's attack!"

"The Hokage's on the frontlines?!"

"The Hokage's healthy again?!"

"We're finally going to finish this!"

"We're finally on the offensive!"

"KO-NO-HA!"

"KO-NO-HA!"

"KO-NO-HA!"

With a cheer, Ryoma joined in. "KO-NO-HA!"

.

Minato was breathless. His body was singing, his mind clear.

It had taken so, so long to get back to combat-readiness, had taken hours and hours of physical therapy and chakra therapy every day.

It had also given him opportunities.

He'd never been more in tune with his chakra, was closer to sage mode than ever.

He'd learned two more taijutsu styles too, had learned how to exercise his body in different ways to be able to fight for even longer.

He'd spent hours working on fuuinjutsu, too, spent hours thinking and dreaming about combat options, about everything he could accomplish.

He'd learned more genjutsu, learned more fuuinjutsu, just—

Just learned.

And nobody was prepared.

That's what—

That's what was best, about his race across Fire's borders, his re-cementing of Konoha's dominance.

They'd trained, Kumo and Iwa and even several minor nations. They'd practiced. They knew how he fought; they knew how he was damaged—they'd seen him being carried out after the byoki.

If he hadn't innovated, if he hadn't worked on new skills and instead just tried to get back to his old standard—a decision which would likely have gotten him back on the frontlines a month earlier—he'd have been struggling, he'd have been forced to just stick to one opponent, to one location.

As it stood, Minato was against Iwa today, would rest on the train and then fight against Kumo again in two days.

Constantly pushing them back, constantly making them regret going against Fire.

They'd wanted to take advantage of Minato's weakness, and Minato knew they weren't going to stop until he made them. So he'd told his shinobi to focus on staying alive, focus on keeping the line.

And they had.

And Kumo and Iwa—they'd just kept fighting, kept pushing. As far as they were concerned, Minato hadn't managed to fight at all during winter, so they had time. They had the advantage.

Minato roared, darting past Iwa's forces just to set their food stores on fire.

Just to make a statement.

Just as he had with Kumo.

Just as he would, over and over and over again, until Iwa and Kumo got the message.

The thing was, objectively Konoha wasn't all powerful. Minato had a lot of balls in the air, a lot of obstacles and pitfalls and dangers that threatened Konoha's existence.

Konoha could not handle a forever war, did not have the political capital in the Capital or amongst the clans to allow for that.

Konoha couldn't manage more territory either—between illness, byoki, war, famine…

Really, between everything that had happened since Konoha's founding, it was shocking that they had shinobi left at all.

Konoha didn't want more territory, didn't want more power…

Konoha just wanted a second to breathe.

Minato just wanted a second to breathe.

He'd given up that opportunity, though, when he'd agreed to be Hokage. Konoha hadn't.

And he was going to give Konoha the opportunity to breathe.

That day's statements made (by action, if not by word), Minato hurled himself back to camp, threw himself in the General's office to answer urgent messages while scarfing down a meal fit for an Akimichi family.

He'd run a bit behind, today, got a bit lost in the action, and he only had two hours left before the train arrived, so he needed to make it count.

Just outside, he could hear the alarms as yet another assassin was caught, and Minato sighed.

The sooner Kumo and Iwa got on Konoha's page, the better.

.

Kakashi pursed his lips, glaring at Maito Guy as he led his apprentices through a drill.

He was trying to decide if he was allowed to be upset.

He decided yes.

"What are you doing?"

"Hello, Head Hatake!" Maito Guy shouted. "I am helping my fellow Konohans instill in themselves the power of youth!"

That… was meaningless. "They are my apprentices," Kakashi pointed out. "I am in charge of their education."

"Yes, Head Hatake!" Kakashi hated that stupid title. "But I noticed your taijutsu skills were rather undeveloped, and—"

Oh. No. That—that was not acceptable. "Spar. Now."

"Yosh!"

…In hindsight, agreeing for it to be taijutsu only had been a mistake. Kakashi panted, dodging yet another unerring strike, and once again left himself vulnerable to Guy's knee. A half-spoken curse—he needed to conserve his energy—and Kakashi just managed to dodge yet again, to strike back.

His fist barely had time to near Guy before it was batted away.

"You have excellent agility, Head Hatake!" Guy shouted. "And your strength sings with the power of youth! If you had skill at taijutsu—" Guy ducked Kakashi's kick—"then this would be a challenge indeed!"

A challenge.

Guy—a stupid genin—didn't consider him a challenge.

Kakashi was eleven, was officially a jounin, and wasn't a challenge to a genin who couldn't even be bothered to learn volume control.

He lashed out again.

And again.

And again.

And Guy was always right there, always in the middle of the perfect counter.

…At least the apprentices were enjoying it, were gasping and cheering in turn.

(Kakashi couldn't even tell who they were rooting for. He hoped it wasn't Guy.)

On, and on, and on the spar went.

And Kakashi… well, Kakashi clearly needed to work on his stamina.

He began to flag.

At first he could make up for it, could stomach a few more hits, but—

He stopped.

Bowed.

"I concede." The words were pulled out of his throat with razor wire, but he knew if he waited to actually lose it would be worse.

"Yosh!" Guy shouted. Still, always, shouting.

And then the apprentices ran up to them, shouting and clamoring over each other to tell Guy about all the cool things he did.

To tell Kakashi about all the cool things he did.

And… and Kakashi hadn't actually worked on their taijutsu, had he? He'd worked on their physical conditioning, a lot, but he hadn't really seen the point, until they were more developed. But—an additional teacher wouldn't hurt, would it? Teaching definitely didn't come naturally to him; and even if the kids were ridiculously respectful, he sometimes felt himself at a loss for what to say, what to teach next.

…and Guy, he definitely wasn't a normal genin.

So maybe it would kind-of be okay… if Guy helped.

He was certainly powerful enough to be able to teach Academy newbies, anyway.

"Hey, kids," Kakashi said, "um, go practice the katas Guy showed you. We'll… be with you in a minute." And once again Kakashi felt grateful for their obedience. It was still very creepy—and he couldn't wait until they started acting out like the apprenticeship manager had warned they would—but it was useful at times like these.

"Um, Guy…"

"Yes, Head Hatake!" Kakashi winced.

"So, how about you take over the kid's physical conditioning and taijutsu, and I keep helping them with their schoolwork and teaching them ninja skills. If you want to, I mean."

"Of course, Head Hatake! I am happy to stoke the flames of Konoha!"

"Great, that's great… and Guy?"

"Yosh!"

"Call me Kakashi, okay?"

"Of course, Kakashi! I knew we'd be friends!"

Oh. Oh no, Kakashi was not dealing with that. He flickered away before Guy could take even one step closer. The genin could deal with the Academy students for the next couple hours—Kakashi needed to check in with his therapist; he was pretty sure the deal he'd just made was with some sort of demon.

.

Ibiki ducked out of the Aburame compound, nearly vibrating with excitement, when he caught an Uchiha police officer staring straight at him.

He looked around.

There were… a lot of law enforcement on this street.

A lot of Uchiha law enforcement.

Huh.

Well, he guessed he'd been warned.

(Maybe, though, it might be worth talking to Rento.

(Or Fujio.

(Or… well, anybody really.

(He wondered if the Aburame would be okay with that.)

Ibiki turned toward the Yamanaka compound and watched out of the corner of his eye as the least secretive of the Uchiha followed him.

Well, two could play that game—Ibiki tapped his ear. Turned to look at the Uchiha.

The Uchiha stopped.

Ibiki turned around, kept walking home.

The Uchiha kept following him.

Now, though, a small insect nestled in, preparing for the long-haul.

(Ibiki was so very grateful for all the Aburame had done for him, for all they'd helped him with. He was grateful enough to actually make use of all their lessons.)

He needed to do something about the Uchiha, though, and soon, because there was clearly something going on.

…He wondered if Sadao would mind answering a few questions.

.

Kohana choked.

She thrashed, fought—

Couldn't get free.

It was a mercy when the man let go, let her drop to the floor.

"Ninja scum," the man said, sneering down at her. "You should have stopped poking."

Kohana glared at him.

Didn't get up.

Tried to breathe, despite the pain. The feel of the bruises already forming on her throat.

"Well, we'll make you regret it," the man said. Will. He said we will make you regret it. Will meant—meant she wasn't dying immediately.

Meant—

Kohana spat on the ground. Spat at the closed door.

And then she sneered.

He called her ninja scum because of her family name, but he didn't consider her ninja. Considered her civilian; some ninja-specific version of noble at best.

Defenseless, in other words.

Idiot.

He might have—would have—killed her already, but he hadn't, and that gave her time to make him and his entire Kurosoki family regret it, because Kohana might be civilian, might have never killed—

But she was not defenseless.

She sat, trying to force the pain of her throat, of the bruises she'd gained when they'd first grabbed her, dragged her into this room, and began to work.

She didn't know how long it would be until the goons came to grab her, to 'make her' regret it, so she needed to hurry.