The budget meeting had gone… poorly.

It wasn't so much that they didn't know where to start; it was more that the process was going to take years—and that was assuming there was only incompetence and greed, rather than outright malice, to be found.

(And none of them really believed that.)

The thing was, it didn't really surprise Sakura.

Their whole village was only forty-eight years old, after all, and before that they'd only been disparate clans.

And that wasn't—

Like, clans had previously had to do bookkeeping. That wasn't new.

What was new was the scale.

Was the lack of trust that came with working with people who had been your sworn enemy only a fortnight ago.

Was the specialization that came when people began living on average for longer and longer (despite all the wars and border disputes, and didn't that say something about the era she was so lucky to be born after).

Was the increased needs of the increasingly larger city, with more and more civilians, and children, and elderly, and disabled, and life.

So, so much life.

And Konoha had tried to keep up, really, but there really wasn't any way it could manage that, especially not with the addition of the technological revolution that Sakura herself had contributed to, and now it was clear that they just hadn't managed to form the understanding of how to prevent this in time.

They just weren't ready.

And now there was nothing to do but to play catch-up.

Sakura dipped into a door just off main street that had been left cracked open, weaving down two hallways and arriving at a non-descript staircase. Hopefully this meeting would go better.

Minato, of course, had beaten her there.

He was the Yellow Flash for a reason.

Sakura still made a face; it was fine for him to beat her, but did he have to rub it in?

"There is no way you had time to make tea."

Minato smiled.

Tellingly, didn't deny it.

Snot.

Everyone thought he was all-powerful (and Sakura wasn't really willing or able to deny that), but he was far too immature for his strength.

"Is it time to begin?" Ketsueki asked.

"I'm ready," Minato said, setting down his tea. Sakura nodded too.

"All right, I'll call in the others. Director Yamanaka, help yourself to some tea; the kettle's in the breakroom."

So, Sakura hadn't arrived that long after Minato then.

Knew it.

"How bad is it?" Minato asked, settling into the chair at the head of the conference table.

"That's the thing:" Ketsueki said. "It isn't."

Minato blinked.

Sakura blinked.

The other T&I ninja did not.

"What?"

"We have confirmation that Kumo did somehow get access to a sealing array for a telegraph machine, but… they don't understand it. None of the shinobi we captured know why, but the telegraph system seems to be complex enough that they haven't yet been able to parse it."

"That's bad news, isn't it?" Minato said. "After all, if they have a telegraph machine, then eventually they will have the technology."

"You would think so," Ketsueki said, "except that one of the primary things they were supposed to seek out was information on the new sealing system we created."

"New."

"New."

Both turned to look at Sakura.

…The thing was, Sakura hadn't actually designed the telegraph system.

That was Communications, and they'd loved her initial idea, taken off running with it.

But they hadn't designed the base seals.

That had been Uchiha Shuji.

And Sakura had a sneaking suspicion that she knew just why Kumo was having such trouble.

She hadn't—

Like, she wasn't stupid.

She hadn't told Shuji anything, really.

And she also didn't know much: Arden hadn't exactly been the type to pull apart computers and radios, try to figure out their insides. She hadn't been Sakura—they'd just shared a brain for a bit.

But.

But she had known that binary systems, morse code, transistors were important. She did know that batteries and electromagnetism were fundamental to Arden's lifetime's communication systems.

She might not have known the specifics, but that was okay.

Shuji was, after all, a genius.

So she'd sat in his room as she worked, posited ideas as she found they might be useful.

And he'd taken those ideas, taken her notes about a morse code that would work for their very different language, and run with it.

So.

So, apparently his work had become so advanced that Kumo thought Konoha had created an entirely new sealing system.

Which, because there wasn't actually a hard-and-fast definition of what made a sealing system, except that it felt 'different' enough, meant that Shuji probably had, in fact, created an entirely new sealing system.

…but.

But while creating the telegraph seals, the radio seals, the video seals—basically any seal Shuji put his hands on—was incredibly advanced, there were a good number of sealers who were able to create the seals with ease, who hadn't mentioned thinking of it as a new sort of sealing system.

Sakura cleared her throat. "Shuji was the one who created that seal…" Minato hid a wince, clearly more than aware how antisocial the genius was. "But he's not the only one who can replicate it. I'll have to talk to the Sealing Division if you want more information about why Kumo might be having such trouble."

"It would be useful," Ketsueki said. The other T&I-nin nodded. "If we know why they are having trouble, we can work with the Propaganda Bureau to further obfuscate the truth."

Sakura nodded. "Alright, I'll get on that."

"Good. But this is the important bit: that's it. That's the only seal they have a good copy of, even if they can't replicate it."

"The good news," Minato said.

"Exactly."

Minato grinned, leaning forward. "I have an idea… how much 'unique' information do the prisoners know?"

"Unique?"

"Things that Kumo probably expects we know, but hopes we don't."

"Oh, quite a bit. We've had mind-walkers working overtime on this."

"Perfect. Here's what we're going to do…"

.

They were home.

They shouldn't be home, but they were.

Ebisu—

His stomach clenched.

He made his way to the library.

Again.

(One week off, then the hearing.

(There was nothing for Ebisu to do.

(He hated having nothing to do.)

He was studying elemental jutsu, now, the best way to learn various elements past the 'prime' age to learn them, and it was interesting enough that about once an hour he would forget, for a minute or two, what he'd done.

He listened with half an ear as some jounin at a neighboring table debated the best ways to train genin; it was interesting to hear the other perspective, and the Yamanaka and the two shinobi she was sitting with were certainly very eager to do their job well.

…Ebisu didn't remember his own Sensei caring that much.

He wondered if that was because he didn't notice, or if he'd just been unlucky.

The hours ticked by.

The jounin left.

A group of chuunin came in, arguing between themselves about the best tracking tactics.

Ebisu switched out a tome on fire-jutsu for a scroll on how to turn non-elemental jutsu into elemental jutsu.

The chuunin left, and the Hatake… heir? Head? Probably Head, he was legally an adult, but Ebisu had never heard anyone refer to him as a Head, so perhaps there was some sort of age requirement… came in, pulled down an absolutely massive scroll written in a language Ebisu couldn't read and began meticulously copying it out.

Ebisu left the library, grabbed some tonkatsu for lunch, returned.

Hatake was still working, but he'd been joined by an Uchiha and a medic still in surgical scrubs, all of them arguing softly about… something.

They'd probably cast some sort of genjutsu to avoid people listening in.

Ebisu wondered how hard the jutsu would be to learn.

He grabbed an earth-jutsu scroll instead.

By the time he left that evening, nobody not employed at the library remained.

He'd spent the entire time on the upper floors, where only shinobi could be, but as usual he'd had plenty of company.

(He wished it made him feel less lonely.)

.

Uchiha Sadao had no interest in settling down.

He had been settled, in school.

He'd had a plan, then.

He'd expected to follow after his father exactly, expected to continue on the family legacy—and most importantly the legacy of his deceased uncle—with pride.

And then he'd found his father wasn't as perfect as he'd thought.

He'd talked about it to his friends, since then.

Talked about the realization.

They'd blown him off; after all, all children went through this. It wasn't a big deal, to them.

And so Sadao…

He'd begun exploring by himself.

Begun searching for answers.

He doubted he'd ever find them, but he was content with his life, now. He liked his apartment, the way he had it set up with prints of famous battles on the walls and a little birdhouse just outside his window. He liked his weekly dinners, often with friends and sometimes alone, where he tried a different restaurant every time. He liked the regular training he did with other Uchiha, keeping his skills sharp even as he spent most of his time within Konoha's walls. He liked his job working for the Testing Bureau, working with all sorts of Departments and Bureaus and Offices in how best to measure just about every skill Konoha thought it could use.

Just about every month he was doing something different, learning something different, meeting different people in different situations and dealing with entirely novel problems.

It was exactly what he wanted to do for the rest of his life, except that the idea of doing the same thing for the rest of his life filled him with a twisting, cloying dread.

And today he was meeting with the Hokage.

The worst-case scenario, Sadao thought, would be being put on the frontlines. He'd seen the frontlines, and that was the very definition of boredom.

The good news was that this was almost certainly not that—there would be no reason to get the Hokage involved for that.

So it was probably about his work.

…Sadao had kind-of expected to be called one day.

It felt too braggadocious to say aloud, but by this point Sadao had a rather unique amount of experience across all Departments; if Sensei had taught him anything, it was that experience like that could always be used.

(Uniqueness, she'd always said, was the most powerful tool anybody could have. Ninja, civilian, noble—no matter your profession, no matter your circumstance, the best way to keep yourself and your family safe and fed would be to have knowledge, skills, or talent that no one else did.

(Well, Sadao couldn't have any knowledge, skills, or talent that no one else did, didn't even know if that would ever be possible for him.

(What he did have, instead, was an entirely unique combination of knowledge.)

He wondered if there was some sort of investigation going on. He'd heard talk about it—about budgets, and spies, and how there weren't enough Yamanaka for the work to be done.

He stepped into the Hokage's Office.

"Hello, Uchiha Sadao," the Hokage said.

He was—

Young.

Shockingly young.

Sadao hadn't really—

Like, he knew that, in theory. And he'd seen the Hokage in person before.

But—

Something about the early morning light, about the way it made his hair glow, made it obvious.

And Sadao, he'd never been particularly religious.

He'd gone with his grandmother to the shrine when she'd asked, he'd lit candles for his dead ancestors at all the proper times, but it had always been something he did because he was Uchiha; belief hadn't really factored in.

The Hokage—

He was standing in his white robes with red flames.

He was clanless, belonging only to Konoha himself.

He was young, and strong, and powerful, and—

And suddenly, inexplicably, without any warning, Sadao believed in the Will of Fire.

Believed that there was something inherent in Konoha, something powerful, something worth protecting.

(This was not the time.)

"I was hoping for your help."

(Really not the time.)

"Of course, Lord Hokage."

(Was Sadao… gay?)