Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s the least he owes Obito. That’s what Kakashi tells himself, bleeding out on the ground in front of the Uchiha compound, with a child dying beside him. 

It’s the least he owes Obito, to prevent the massacre of his clan, even if it destroys him. Even if it means he’s got the blood of another teammate on his hands. It becomes a mantra, words to barely breathe when the blood from his back is running between the cobblestones, and he can’t feel his arms or legs, and he can hear Itachi sobbing to his mother – spilling Danzo’s terrible plan with his last breaths. 

It’s not half of what he owes Obito, not with how fond his teammate was of Itachi, not when the Uchiha will certainly coup now. Not when Obito loved Shisui like a little brother. He’ll have to apologise when he sees them, Obito, and Shisui, and probably Itachi. Can’t be long now.

Then there’s green healing light, and someone brushes against the hole ripped through his torso, and the spike of pain is enough to send him into the blissful darkness of unconsciousness. 

•••

He wakes up drugged to the gills, with Fugaku Uchiha thanking him for killing his kid.

Kakashi’s tongue is too heavy to form words, but the clan head must see protest in his eyes, because he shakes his head.

“His death isn’t on your head, not on yours, Hatake. It’s on my conscience, and on Shimura Danzo’s, but you were backed into a corner. You saved my sons, both of them, and hundreds of others besides. Itachi rests now without the blood of his family on his hands, and Sasuke lives still. You don’t have to accept the Uchihas’ thanks, but you have them.” for all his pretty words, his duty as clan head to always put the whole before the one, Kakashi knows what grief looks like. He recognises it sitting heavy on Fugaku’s shoulders.

The bedridden jonin shakes his head, tries to argue again, but he’s dragged back into the darkness before he gets the chance.

•••

The next time Kakashi wakes, still heavily medicated, there are half a dozen people in the room. Gai is asleep in a chair beside the bed, Tenzo reading in the other one. Yugao’s sitting on the floor in one corner, sharpening her kunai one by one. Anko’s perched in the open window, signing rapidly to an ANBU he thinks might be Genma, while Asuma leans against the wall by the door in a posture casual to the untrained eye and that Kakashi recognises as standing guard even half out of his mind with the pain meds.

Leaning over him, shooting increasingly irritated looks at increasingly stubborn jonin, is none other than Senju Tsunade. Funny, he doesn’t usually hallucinate on pain medication.

“Don’t you move while I’m working, Hatake, or so help me,” she lets the threat trail off. Okay, so, probably not hallucinating, actually. Or a very accurate hallucination if it is. 

“Yes ma’am,” he croaks. Anko gets to the water first, face more serious than he’s seen her since Rin died. For all the chaos she usually exudes, Anko looks small and tired, and she waits for a nod from Tsunade before tipping the glass to his mouth. “Thanks,” he whispers, mouth more or less cooperating this time. 

“‘Course,” she nods a couple times, retreating back to guarding the window.

“Danger?” Kakashi asks vaguely at the sanin. She shakes her head, hands not pausing in their healing.

“No danger, kid, your friends are just overprotective.” the Hatake nods, that pretty much checks out. He must be in terrible shape, not one of them protests her words.

“Coup?”

“Didn’t happen,” ANBU Jackal – he was right, it’s Genma – says, perching on the window ledge. “You’ve got a guard posted as a precaution, but danger’s passed.”

“Breaking protocol,” Kakashi mumbles automatically, “not supposed to interact unless there’s danger.” Genma chuckles, nodding.

“Relax, Hound-taichou, the rotation just changed. I’m off the clock and someone else is watching your exits.” still breaking protocol, but less seriously. Kakashi rolls his eyes, finds his head is pounding, then processes what the ANBU is really telling him.

“‘M being retired?” no other reason Genma would be willing to reveal his code name. A nod. “Damn.”

“You’d have to have a psych eval, even if you could do the job physically.” Anko points out, a little bit of wry humour back on her face. “Lost cause, anyway.” Kakashi almost nods, catching himself when he remembers Tsunade’s stern warning. Genma watches him for a long moment, behind the expressionless porcelain, then nods and leaves the way he came. 

“The Uchiha?”

“Rattled, but safe,” says Tenzo, glancing up from his book.

“Worth being retired.” Tenzo winces.

 “We should leave and let you rest.” None of them so much as shift. Tsunade heaves a heavy sigh. It’s all so mundane. Granted, there’s usually not so many of them at his sick bed, but it’s reassuring enough that he finds himself drifting again. There are voices rolling over him, none registering as particularly urgent, and he sinks back into unconsciousness slowly.

•••

Tenzo is talking, quiet and even-toned, when he breaks the surface again. Kakashi comes to slowly, flexing fingers he can finally feel again, pointing his toes. Not paralysed, thank you very much, Tsunade. 

There’s a bit of pain now, most of it radiating out of his torso where a teen who used to be his responsibility carved a hole through him. He’ll take the pain, to not feel like he’s floating a half foot above the bed, and also sinking into the floor. 

Tenzo is squinting at him, probably trying to see if he’s awake. Kakashi keeps his exposed eye shut, watching his kohai through his eyelashes.

“I know you’re awake.”

“No you don’t,” whatever drugs Tsunade has switched to are murder on his brain-mouth barrier.

“They certainly are.”

“Did I say that out loud?” He looks around the room, finds only Tenzo. “They finally decide I’m not going to die?”

“There’s a mandatory ceremony.”

“ You’re here.”

“I’ve been excused.” Kakashi’s exhausted, so he just waits for Tenzo to continue. “Danzo’s execution.”

“You can say the name.” he thinks he sees something move outside the window, but Tenzo doesn’t react. Must be paranoia after everything.

“I can.”

“Congratulations.”

“I’m glad he’s dead.” a flash of red eyes, a face that hasn’t even lost all of its baby fat is angry and desperate. “Danzo, I mean.” Kakashi nods, he agrees, it’s good Danzo is dead. Good riddance. 

But his heart won’t stop racing, and the drugs make the edges of reality and dream blurry. Itachi looms in his periphery, sharingan spinning, and Obito’s voice is echoing in his head, begging him to protect Rin. they’re gone, and he’s cursed, and now another teammate is dead by his hand. His vision blurs until Tenzo is a blur of shapes, and behind him is a blob of yellow-green-blue that can only belong to his dead sensei. Kakashi’s breath catches on the name, then something jostles his IV and he’s out.

•••

He cracks his eyes wide enough to see Tsunade is back. So is the heavy, floaty medication that doesn’t make him see ghosts. “Whatever that drug was, never give it to me again.”

“Already noted in your chart,” Tsunade says, like it’s all perfectly normal and there’s nothing further to discuss. Bless her. “You’ve had it before, but not since you were young. Won’t happen again.”

“Thank you, Hime,” he chokes out. She nods, not looking up from his chart. “Danzo’s dead?”

“He is.”

“Good.” he pauses for a long moment, deciding how much he really wants more details on his condition. “Jackal mentioned I’ve been retired from ANBU.”

“You have.”

“Just ANBU?”

“Active duty.” Right, well. Why couldn’t he at least have died, then?

“Permanently?”

“It’s retirement, kid, not leave.”

“Why?”

“He severed your spine, if I hadn’t come back you would probably be dead by now, and you’d certainly be paralysed. It’s too fragile, I clear you to go out into the field and your spine fails, that gets someone killed.” 

He doesn’t tell her he’d rather be dead, because that’s not something you tell the doctor who saved you. And because she already knows. “Kakashi, I know you’ve been in and out, and I’m not sure the way time is passing in your genius brain, but you’ve been conscious four times in the last two and a half months.” 

Months? The word rattles around in his brain, not making any sense. He thought maybe a week or two, the way it usually is. “Due respect, Tsunade-hime, but why are you still here?”

“You’re still in critical condition, for one thing.” 

“Plenty of people have died since you left,” he says, knowing it's wrong the moment it's out. His mouth and brain still aren't quite cooperating. Tsunade takes it in stride, nodding.

“I'm a selfish creature, kid. Kushina was family, I wasn't here when she died and I have to live with that. But she loved you, Kakashi, as much as Namikaze did. Least I could do was keep you alive for her.”

“Naruto's family, too, you know.” He murmurs. Another nod, she must be feeling particularly indulgent of his drugged state.

“You don't need to pitch me on staying, kid. I've already agreed to it.”

“That so?”

“Can't exactly leave sensei in charge, not after he authorised a massacre.”

“Authorised?” any trace of levity leaves her face when she nods. “ Authorised ?”

“You were technically a traitor for all of ten minutes, before every major clan in the village decried it.” Kakashi manages to huff half a laugh, past the spinning in his head. Not just Danzo, Hiruzen had allowed this to happen. Endorsed it. 

“He was thirteen, hime.” Let alone the rest of the clan, all the other kids in the compound that day. Kakashi's seen terrible things, done terrible things, but even he's never seen a child ordered to kill his entire family. What if Kakashi hadn't been there? How far would he have gotten, how many dead?

“Breathe, Kakashi. I need you to calm down.” He sucks in a breath.

“He was thirteen. ” In the doorframe, holding two cups of tea and looking terribly caught, is Uchiha Mikoto.

“Breathe, or I'll sedate you again.” Tsunade's never been known for her bedside manner. 

Kakashi can't breathe, because Itachi was thirteen, and scared, and the Hokage isn't supposed to be a monster but only a monster authorises what he did. 

She sedates him.

•••

He wakes up alone, just once, in the dead of night. 

His window is open, though the ANBU guard seems to have been called off. Kakashi stares out at the moon, twisting his neck as much as he dares without knowing how his spine is progressing. He’s pretty sure the open window is against protocol, but he’s grateful for it regardless. The breeze is nice, and while he knows he couldn’t actually do much against an assailant, the idea of escape is still comforting.

The night is startlingly clear, the sky full of stars visible through the trees.

“I’m sorry, Obito,” he mumbles through clumsy lips. “Not sure how much more of the world I can take you to see.” a bird lands in the tree. “I killed your baby cousin, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I had to stop him. I’m so sorry.”

He wakes in the morning when an unfamiliar mednin comes to check on him.

The window is closed.

•••

“Umino?” He mumbles, squinting at the chunin in the chair beside his bed. “What are you doing here?”

“You came by when I was injured.”

“It was my fault you were injured.” His whole body aches, the floaty feeling weaker but still present. Kakashi assumes Tsunade is weaning him off now, but keeping him on the same drug. Good. He'll stay vaguely detached from his body for the rest of his life if it means no hallucinations.

“It wasn't your fault.”

“It was my mission.” They had this argument several times, when it was Iruka in the hospital bed. “How long was I out this time?” Kakashi refuses to be surprised by months passing again.

“A couple of days.”

“Sounds like progress.”

“Tsunade-sama says you're well on your way to recovery. ” Kakashi nods and feels it in his spine.

“not a full recovery, I take it.” Iruka winces.

“You'll walk.” It's better than nothing. Probably. Tsunade had said he was retired, but it's still sinking in. 

“Tsunade said she was staying.” 

“Pretty sure it's bad form for the Hokage to run away from the seat of her power.”

“Hokage?”

“That's why she agreed to stay. I don't know how much you've heard about–”

“I know.” Iruka nods, slumping back in his seat. “I'm sorry.” sorry the man who cared enough to have tea with a troubled orphan didn't care enough to save anyone else. Sorry the man who dedicates his life to children had to see the closest thing he has left to family condemn those kids to death.

“Yeah, me too.” Iruka states at his hands, visibly steeling himself. “Listen, have you considered teaching?”

“Jonin instructors have to be cleared for field duty.”

“Academy instructors don't.”

“I'm not good with kids.”

“It's a skill you can learn.”

“Why would I? Did Tsunade put you up to this, something to keep me busy?” Iruka raises an eyebrow, frowning pointedly.

“She mentioned it.”

“That's–”

“But I hope you don't think I take my work so lightly as to let it turn into an injured jonin retirement program.” Iruka all but growls. 

The thing is, Kakashi doesn't think that at all. He knows that plenty of people consider academy teaching to be a department of wash-ups, but he worked with Umino Iruka on a couple of missions before he started teaching – including the one where he was injured. The man is smart, fast, talented in fuinjutsu and trap-making. Any department would take him in a heartbeat.

“You're right, I'm sorry.” Kakashi can occasionally be counted on to drop the arrogance of his persona. It's easier than usual, still slightly inebriated as he is. “But I don't see why you'd want me anywhere near your kids. I barely even attended the academy.”

As quickly as Iruka's temper flared, it cools. “Do you know the difference between teaching children and training soldiers, Kakashi-san?” Kakashi shakes his head. Something cracks and they both freeze for a moment, Iruka's eyes trained on Kakashi for any sign of pain. 

It didn’t feel great as it happened, but everything seems fine for now. 

“Nothing,” Iruka tells him bluntly. “There's no difference. Not for academy kids, not in the eyes of the village. I prepare kids as best I can and then send them off to try and survive. You can’t teach, you’re not good with kids, you don’t even know the curriculum because you skipped most of it.”

“You see my concerns, then,” Kakashi deadpans.

“But you’re a good ninja, Kakashi-san. I don’t just teach kids, I train shinobi. You’re one of the best, and I’m sorry you won’t be in the field, I’m sure you can’t stand the thought. But if you’re stuck here with the rest of us anyway, then I could really use your help. If you can give those kids an edge against people who have been active since before they were born, then I can’t afford to pass that up.”

“I’m hardly the first jonin to have a career ending injury. Or even the first ANBU.” He’s thinking about it, though, thinking about still being able to protect a tiny section of the village if they won’t let him guard the whole thing anymore. Thinking about always being there to keep the academy safe if someone were to attack. Thinking about his sensei’s kid, and making sure he’s as prepared as possible for a world that wants him dead.

“I trust your moral compass, and I know for a fact that you won’t discriminate against any of my kids.”

“Can’t imagine the new Hokage is going to let that fly anyway.”

“I wasn’t talking about Naruto.” Kakashi frowns. He knows the civilian-born kids have a hard time sometimes, but there’s plenty of people with no bias there. Who – oh.

“Itachi’s brother.”

“Sasuke.”

“He had nothing to do with it.”

“I know. And you know. But it came out pretty publicly that Itachi went along with the plan because Danzo promised not to hurt his brother.” that’d do it. “I’m not saying it’s right, but the kid’s taking it hard enough as it is. Now people are talking, putting things on him he had nothing to do with and no control over. Expecting –”

“I remember.” That seems to stop Iruka short. The teacher would have been too young to recall the aftermath of Hatake Sakumo’s ‘failed’ mission, but he’s certainly heard stories. He softens a little and Kakashi hates him for it, but it’s probably better than disdain.

“Yeah, I guess you do. There are plenty of complicated kids at the academy right now. The generation born after the war is full of the children of heroes, and martyrs, and clan heads. One of the civilian girls is being relentlessly bullied by another. Two kids the year above Naruto have barely any chakra control and the stubbornness of a thousand mules. Uchiha Sasuke is a talented student, but people are watching his every move, waiting for him to crack like Itachi.”

“Itachi didn’t crack he was–”

“He was following orders, I know. He was a child backed up against a wall, and his best friend had just killed himself. None of that matters to the people I’m talking about.”

“I killed his brother. He’ll hate me.”

“Probably, certainly at first. But you won’t hate him. And that’s more important to me.”

“You’re ruthless, you know. You should have gone into T&I.” 

“And have both me and Anko in the same department?” Kakashi shivers at the very thought of the chaos they would wreak. “I won’t push you into anything, but please at least think about it.” Iruka stands with a stretch, heading for the door.

“I’ll think about it.” Kakashi agrees, knowing he’s already made a decision. 

Chapter Text

In the end, it takes Kakashi about four months to get through physio, and about as long to get through basic educator training. 

He’s never spent so long in and out of the hospital, and he barely spent longer studying when he was in the academy. Apparently even with the miracle of medical ninjutsu, re-teaching one’s spine how to walk, and bend, and such is a long process. The studying would have been shorter, but evidently Kakashi has no idea the knowledge and maturity levels of the average child.

Either way, the dawn of the fall term finds Kakashi medically cleared and fully qualified to teach. 

Technically. 

Technically he’s qualified to teach, whether or not he should actually be around children remains to be seen. Personally, Kakashi decided several months ago that the requirements of academy instructors are frighteningly low. At least he’s only the secondary teacher, a glorified assistant to the veteran child-wrangler that is Umino Iruka. It rankles his ego, a little bit, to be barely passable at his job after a career built from childhood on being the best of the best, but it’s fine. He’s fine.

It takes less than a second for Kakashi to scan the room and get the lay of the brightly-coloured land. A frankly startling number of clan heirs is milling about before class officially starts, examining what changes the room has undergone or goofing off. In that half second, Naruto spawns at Kakashi's feet and squints up at him.

“Um…hello?” Kakashi says, blanking on any and all interaction he's ever had with a child. What unhinged drunk woman thought any of this was a good idea? 

“I know you.” The blond kid says uncertainly. 

“I don't think so, but you will. I'm your new sensei.”

“Uh huh, okay. Nice to meet you. You're one of the mask people.”

“No I’m not.” Not technically a lie, and how could a pre-genin possibly know that anyway? They're not even taught anything more specific about ANBU than how to call one in an emergency before their final year.

“Are too. The dog mask one. I'm right, right?” Naruto sticks out his tongue. “I dropped a paint bomb on you once.” Right. So, never mind how an academy student can know that, the fact is he certainly does.

“Yeah, all right,” he squats down to the nine-year-old's level, careful to bend only his knees and not his back. “That was impressive paint, took me two days to scrub it off the mask.”

“I wasn't aiming for you,” he mumbles, glancing away. “I was aiming for that ass–” Kakashi raises his visible eyebrow. “Mean shopkeeper. Anyway, why're you here? Are you under, like, super secret cover or something? Are you spying on me? Are you…” Naruto goes back to squinting, though now it's closer to a glare. Then he lowers his voice. “Are you spying on Sasuke? That's not nice, mister dog mask. You leave him alone.” 

This kid. The two have been at odds as long as they've known each other, but the moment Sasuke faces a shred of the prejudice Naruto's put up with? The little ball of sunshine is ready to go to war against a jonin on his rival's behalf.

The fall of Danzo and the rise of Tsunade has been good for Naruto, though Kakashi's only seen glimpses of it during his recovery. There's been less of the open hatred in the streets, now that he's been claimed as the Hokage's grand-nephew. Oh people still hate him, but more quietly. 

It's good to see, then, that the better treatment hasn't led to him ignoring the same thing happening to others.

“I'm not spying on anyone, Naruto-kun. I'm just here to help Iruka-sensei.”

“I dunno. Never had a mask-person teacher before. You sure you're not a spy?”

“I'm not a spy, and I'm not a ‘mask-person’, Naruto-kun. I'm retired.”

“Hm. Promise?”

“Sure, kid, I promise. Can you promise me something too?”

“Maybe.” Naruto tries to sound suspicious, but the way he's rocking back and forth is giving away his anticipation. “Depends what.”

“All right, fair enough. How'd you know who I was?”

“I dunno. You feel the same?” A sensor type then, and a strong one at that. Makes sense, it certainly runs in the family.

“Okay, well you ever meet someone else who feels like a, uh, mask-person, don't say anything, okay?”

“Why not, it's easy to tell. Is it a secret?”

“Yep.”

“Can I tell baa-chan?”

“Tsunade already knows, so sure.”

“Can I tell Iruka-sensei?”

“Tell me what?” Asks Iruka, drifting over from where he was separating an already bickering Ino and Shikamaru.

“No, you can't tell anyone but Tsunade.” 

“I dunno, sensei. Iruka-sensei knows pretty much everything.”

“That is definitely not true,” Iruka protests. He nudges Kakashi's arm. “What am I not being told?” Kakashi shrugs, glancing at his hand before signing ‘ANBU’ and ‘identity’ when Iruka follows his gaze.

“What?” The chunin hisses. “Yeah, Naruto, that's an important secret to keep.” 

“All right, all right, I promise.”

“Good, now go find your seat,” says Iruka. The hyperactive kid runs off. Iruka slumps into the seat behind the desk, handing Kakashi a cup of coffee. “How does he even know that?” 

“Says he can feel it.”

“A sensor type? He's never shown signs of it.”

“He seems to think everyone can do it.” Iruka looks like he's considering another career path. Maybe T&I with Anko.

“Perfect. So we'll have to find a way to explain that to him.”

“That he's a sensor?”

“That he's good at something without trying. Something the village thinks is useful and important. Naruto doesn't get that much. He's still having trouble processing that people other than the Ichiraku people and I like him.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” Iruka sends him to hand out textbooks and introduce himself to kids. Kakashi is quickly confronted with the fact that his training involved no hands-on element, but manages to stumble his way through greetings with the future shinobi without significant incident. Well, Sasuke refuses to so much as acknowledge his existence. But that seems fair, considering.

Still, for all his studying Kakashi had expected to be at least marginally better prepared than this. Iruka shoots him an encouraging smile. At least one of them seems to have things under control.

•••

On the first day of school Iruka's class has two fights, four cases of forgotten school supplies, one mid-class nap (Shikamaru, so hardly worth noting), three instances of bullying to monitor, six homework sheets left behind, and not one single projectile-related injury. The rest is normal, but the final statistic is unheard of. 

Turns out an elite jonin, even one in the middle of recovery, can be very fast indeed.

Granted, that's about where Kakashi's applicable skillset ends, but Iruka is used to the vanishingly low standards for new academy sensei, so it's not really a surprise. Kakashi at least seems to know he's terrible, and to want to improve, which is a marked improvement from the last few.

Iruka tries a couple of his usual suggestions, treat the kids like anyone else – no good in Kakashi's case, he's not so good with the social stuff in general – just be yourself – a little too violent for this particular job.

So it's not perfect, but they get through the first day with less casualties than normal, and Iruka's optimistic about the genius’s learning curve.

For the moment, Iruka has a meeting with the Hokage.

“Iruka-sensei!” Naruto calls as he turns towards the Hokage's office. “First day's over, are we going or not?” right. First day ramen. Shit. 

A tradition years in the making, long predating the public change in treatment, which Naruto values greatly and Iruka completely forgot about between getting Kakashi settled and the whole ‘Naruto can recognize any ANBU on contact’ thing. Shit. 

During the chaos of last term, when he had assistant teachers to fire before he made it to dinner, he convinced Anko to take Naruto and met them there– a disaster on all counts, but at least the kid was happy enough – and kept the tradition intact. 

Kami knows where Anko is now, busy as she's been ever since she ‘certainly did not join ANBU, Iruka, I've just got a full calendar, I have other friends, you know’ so that's not going to work. Izumo and Kotetsu are out on a mission, Mizuki's got a date tonight, Yugao is harder to pin down than Anko, and that pretty much exhausts Iruka's list of friends. Shit.

“I'm so sorry, Naruto. I have a meeting. Can we go tomorrow?”

“Oh,” Naruto's shoulders climb up to his ears and he looks away. “Course, Iruka-sensei, it's not a big deal. I'm not a little kid anymore anyway, and it's just a dumb –” Kakashi chooses this precise moment to exit the building and give Iruka an idea. He must read it on his face, because he immediately begins shaking his head.

“Or, how about this?” Iruka says, pointing directly at the last of the Hatake before he can escape back into the building. Naruto's already perking up at the potential solution. “Why don't you head over with Kakashi, welcome your new sensei to the class? I'll meet you there.”

“Yes! All right, let's go Kakashi-sensei.”

“Oh, I'm not sure I have–”

“I'm sure you can spare the time for Naruto ,” Iruka prods ruthlessly.

“It's okay, Kakashi-sensei, you don't gotta come.” Naruto shuffles his feet.

“Don't mind him, Naruto, Kakashi's just a bit shy. Of course he wants to spend some time with future hokage Uzumaki- Namikaze Naruto.”

“Of course,” the jonin grinds his teeth. If looks could kill, Iruka would be dead thrice over. “You're completely right.”

“Cool. Great, let's go then. It's gonna get busy, and then it's gonna take forever to get our orders.” Naruto hooks one hand into the pocket of Kakashi's vest and starts to pull him towards Ichiraku.

“I'm going to kill you,” Kakashi hisses to Iruka as they pass by.

“If I die, the class is your responsibility until they replace me.”

“You really missed your calling in torture.”

“What are you guys whispering about?” Naruto butts in, pausing his unstoppable march towards food.

“Teacher stuff,” Iruka replies without missing a beat. Then softer, to Kakashi: “Go bond with him. Get to know him, he's great. You'll be fine.”

“Sadist.”

“I'll be a half hour, tops. Now go on and stop making me late.”

“Fine.” Kakashi allows himself to be dragged along. Iruka waves and heads towards Tsunade's office at a jog.

•••

“Sorry I'm late, Hokage-sama,” Iruka sketches a bow as he enters the room. Tsunade waves off the apology, nodding towards a chair. 

Six months into her tenure, Iruka has been pleasantly surprised by Senju Tsunade. She's clearly empathetic, with soft spots for people she considers hers – Naruto, Shizune, Kakashi and Tenzo come to mind. She's got a mind for politics, but no patience for it. She's usually drunk, but rarely as drunk as people think. She asks advice from experts on specialised issues. And more important than anything for Iruka's relationship with her, they have similarly complicated feelings about Sarutobi Hiruzen.

“Busy first day?”

“Always is.”

“Less busy than last semester, I hope?” Last semester, Iruka suppresses a shudder. In the wake of a nearly-missed massacre, with the chaos of power changing hands, the stricter anti-discrimination regulations that came with Tsunade, the academy had been in a tailspin. Teachers fired, and hired, and fired again when they couldn't make good on promises of fairness. Iruka himself had cycled through seven assistant teachers before giving up entirely and trying to run the class alone.

“Much less, Hokage-sama.” Tsunade snorts, pouring him a drink.

“Good, you look less like you're going to keel over.” He takes an exploratory sip of his drink and finds a fairly nice sake. He's learned to tell the quality in the last half year. “How was Kakashi? Helpful?”

“He was…” Iruka chews his lip, considering his words. “He's awkward with the kids, but he's fair, he's patient, and he's trying. Long term, I'm confident he'll do well.”

“Concise and well-considered as always, Iruka-kun, you're absolutely certain I can't put you in charge of the academy?” Iruka shakes his head immediately, having anticipated the question after being asked it in every meeting since the Senju princess took power.

“I've only been teaching four years, Tsunade-sama, and I have nearly no administrative training.”

“Hm, well, fine then. Get some administrative training, though, I can only put up with that brainless suck-up you call a headmaster for so long and there's no good replacement available.”

“Yes, Hokage-sama.” He’s long since given up protesting the eventual appointment.

“Good, now what was so urgent that this couldn't wait for our standing appointment?”

Iruka takes a steadying breath. “Naruto is a sensor.”

“Interesting new information, but I imagine that's not all?”

“Naruto is a strong enough sensor that within seconds of meeting Kakashi, he could identify him as ANBU down to the specific mask.” Tsunade lets out a string of colourful swears.

“I see the urgency, then. Damn, that kid is a never-ending string of surprises. Now, how best to handle that?”

•••

Iruka-sensei has told him four times today that dog-mask-Kakashi-sensei is not a spy, and Naruto mostly believes him. For one thing, spies are supposed to fit in, and judging by the looks the new teacher is getting, he's not really all that low profile.

“Hey, people stare at you more than they stare at me .”

“Yes, Naruto-kun, I know.”

“Why?”

“Because I was very hurt, and someone spread a rumour I was dead, and now they're seeing I'm not.”

“Oh,” Naruto bounces with excitement as Ichiraku comes into view. It's not the only place he can safely go to eat anymore, but it's still his favourite. “How'd ya get hurt?”

“I was…protecting people.”

“Huh, that's a good reason to get hurt I guess.” They enter the quiet ramen shop, and Naruto hops up onto a stool. Kakashi does some sort of weird bendy thing where he doesn't move his torso at all but still ends up on the stool. “Hey, Old Man, two bowls of miso ramen!”

“Please?” Kakashi prods, more softly than Naruto would really expect from such an awkward guy.

“Please,” Naruto echoes. He doesn't mean to forget, but he's still sorting out this whole manners thing. There was no point when everyone thought he was a demon either way, but now Tsunade-baa says it's important.

“Usual for you, Kakashi-san?” 

“Yes, thank you, Teuchi-san.” The teacher nods like this is all perfectly normal. Naruto has been coming here forever and he always, always orders the same thing, but Old Man Teuchi still pretends he doesn't know his order. He's never said that to Iruka-sensei either, and he's been coming here for longer than forever. 

What kind of weird celebrity super-star is this guy?

“What?” Kakashi-sensei asks, and Naruto snaps his mouth shut.

“How'd you get him to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Remember your order?”

“Oh, uh, I don't know. I've been coming here for a long time? Sorry, Naruto-kun, I don’t think I did anything special.”

“No fair, Old Man! I've been coming here for a long time too!”

“Not as long as Kakashi.” He sets the first bowl down in front of Naruto. 

“I've never even seen you here!”

“Say ‘thank you’,” Kakashi-sensei murmurs. 

“oh, right, thanks,” Naruto starts in on his food. “anyway, I've never even seen you here, not even in the dog mask–”

Teuchi’s normally narrow eyes widen comically and Naruto remembers suddenly that he's not supposed to talk about that. Now Kakashi's gonna yell, and he might leave, and Naruto's eaten here alone loads of times but never on the first day of term, and he's gonna have to just because he forgot about the stupid secret and–

“We don't talk about mask-people's masks, Naruto-kun, remember?” Kakashi's voice is still just as quiet, and just as careful, and not very much of his face is showing but he doesn't look angry.

“I forgot.”

“Okay.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's all right, it's a brand new rule for you, but it's important, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You could put someone in very serious danger.”

“Are you in danger now?” Just Naruto's luck, the first assistant teacher to ever not glare at him and he's gonna get the guy killed or something.

“No, I'm retired, so it's not as serious, but you've got to get in the habit, okay?”

“Okay, Kakashi-sensei.”

“Promise?”

“I promise I won't talk about nobody's mask, believe it!”

“Great, then everything's alright,” The teacher says, and deliberately turns back to his ramen. He reminds Naruto of Shikamaru a little, never doing anything without fully thinking it through, never losing his cool. Well, Shikamaru mostly does it to make sure he only naps through the boring parts of class, but if he was a grown-up and had to care about stuff, Naruto thinks he might act a lot like Kakashi-sensei.

“So, um, how come you retired from…” no, wait, change direction, “how come you're teaching us?”

Kakashi-sensei is quiet for long enough that Naruto thinks he maybe shouldn't have asked that, or it's too personal or something.

“Because when I was injured I hurt my spine in a way that doesn't completely heal, so I can't keep doing my old job.”

“Did you ask Tsunade-baa-chan? She can fix it.”

“Even Tsunade-sama can't fix everything, Naruto-kun.”

“Are you sure, did you ask?”

“I'm sure. She helped a lot, but not everything can be healed.”

“Oh. That sucks.” Kakashi snorts, nodding. “So our class is like a backup plan?”

“No,” Kakashi-sensei says firmly, before Naruto even has time to feel guilty that he's stuck with them. “Not a backup plan, just a change. Iruka asked if I'd be interested, and I've always– well, it's a way to – I’m not good at not doing what's best for the village as a whole, and your class is its future. Does that make sense?” 

Sorta no, honestly, he changed his mind a whole lot in a short amount of time. This is the problem with people who think too much about everything. But Naruto gets the idea, and it sounded like it was hard for the teacher to say, so he just nods.

“Makes sense to me.” He starts on the second bowl, “thanks, Teuchi.” 

“Sure, kid.”

“Hey, how come I haven't seen you here before, Kakashi-sensei?”

“Oh, well, I stopped coming here for…for a long time.”

“Why? It's the best.”

“It's pretty great,” Kakashi agrees.

“Why'd ya stop, then?”

“Well, used to be my genin team got dragged here at least once a week by my sensei's girlfriend. Ichiraku was her favourite.”

“She was my number one customer,” Teuchi agrees, which is…

“Your sensei dated my mom ?” Naruto blurts out before he can stop himself. He's met a couple of people who knew his parents now, besides baa-chan of course, but nobody seems to know how to talk about them. 

Sasuke’s mother has gotten the closest, telling him about growing up with the whirlwind that was Konoha's ‘red hot habanero’, and of course Namikaze Minato is in every history book, but Naruto's still sort of desperate to learn more about who they actually were .

Kakashi sighs, or breathes really deeply anyway. He doesn't seem upset, so it's probably not a sigh, but Naruto's almost vibrating waiting for his answer so he might be overthinking things.

“Naruto, my sensei married your mom. He was your dad.”

“He was your… you knew my dad? You knew my parents?”

“I did.”

“So you're…that means you were on team seven? Mikoto-san says you were little terrors.” Why did he say that? Mikoto-san also said there was only one member left. Now Kakashi's gonna be upset and never tell him anything. Stupid –

For a fairly quiet guy, Kakashi is loud when he laughs.

He seems almost as startled by the laughter as Naruto is, bending over a little with the force of it before grabbing his back with a quiet curse. “Mikoto-san is right. We were a disaster, always at each other’s throats, but it was…you’ll see when you’re on a genin team, Naruto-kun, that bond never leaves you.”

“So you stopped coming here after…” great, something else Naruto ruined by being born.

“I think I’ve been here twice since your mom died,” Kakashi confirms.

“Oh, shit,” curses a voice in the doorway, and all three heads turn to look at Iruka-sensei, frozen there. “I didn’t know you–” he cuts off when Kakashi bats a hand, gesturing to a stool.

“I was always planning to come back eventually.” Naruto doesn’t totally understand any of that interaction, but he grins when Iruka ruffles his hair, and turns back to Kakashi as the late arrival orders.

“Could you, maybe, tell me about them?” if he doesn’t breathe, or move, then the moment feels longer, and there’s still the chance he might say yes, instead of saying he doesn’t know where to start, or it’s too hard, or just plain no.

“Yeah, all right.” Wait, what? “What do you want to know?”

“Um…wait, really?”

“Course, they’re your parents, and I’m allowed to tell you about them, now.” That has been a particularly hard thing to swallow, that the sandaime – who Naruto has always treated like a grandfather when he was the only one who acted like he cared – was the reason the boy had nobody else.

“Okay, okay, what… um, what were they like , like all the time? Not the stuff in the books, I've read all those already. Books are so long, Kakashi-sensei, and there’s not even anything interesting about dad in there.”

“What were they like, hm? Let me think,” he runs a hand through spiky white hair. “Well, your mother always ate like she hadn’t seen food in weeks, which I’m sure Teuchi’s mentioned.” 

“Mhm, mhm.”

“Minato-sensei always managed to convince people he was the golden boy, and all the chaos stemmed from Kushina-nee, but fact is he was just as much of a prankster.”

“Really?” Naruto exclaims, because this is certainly not included in the books.

“Really?” Iruka-sensei echoes, raising an eyebrow.

“He might have been worse, honestly, but he was much better at not getting caught. One time he convinced Jiraiya…” Naruto leans his head on the counter, closes his eyes, and tries to memorize every word.

Chapter Text

Kakashi has found in the weeks since term started that it isn't productive to think of his class’s day to day in comparison to his own time at the academy. For one thing, he wasn't exactly focused on his peers in class and was apparently a less than typical student himself, so there's not much to learn from that. For another, in the wartime village where Kakashi was raised this class wouldn't exist. By the time they were nine almost everyone Kakashi knows was at least a genin. Ebisu was the exception at ten, but that’s only because he was a sickly kid who didn’t start until seven. Iruka was young enough for peacetime graduation regulations to return by the skin of his teeth. By the time he was the age the pre-genin are, Kakashi was being considered for jonin. 

And it’s not like these kids are particularly slow, or that they’ve added all that much to the curriculum. It’s just that when kids reach the level of competency where they used to graduate early, the academy just…keeps them around. A conservative third of the class can complete all three academy three, perform a very basic genjutsu disruption, complete the academy kata, and hit a standard-distance target with more than half their kunai. When Kakashi was a student, any one of those feats would get you a diploma, a hitai-ate, and a do-or-die mandate to protect Konoha. 

He understands the need for well-rounded genin – saw more than enough children die on the battlefield to know what the true toll of mass early graduation was – but he’s not sure why they’re keeping kids around who can demonstrate all of the required skills and more. The village is safer these days. Genin are treated as almost-children, at least for the first couple years at that rank. He doesn’t see how keeping them in class is helping anyone.

According to the childhood development books he had to read to be certified, there’s something beneficial about keeping kids with their peer groups. According to Tsunade, it’s actually incredibly damaging for children to witness violence that young, let alone enact it. He’d pointed out to Iruka that everyone they knew saw the front lines before they saw double digits, but had no argument prepared when the chunin asked him to name someone he knew who was ‘okay’. When nightmare curator Yuhi Kurenai is your yardstick for mental stability, it’s time to consider revisiting the facts. 

So clearly early graduation is a bad idea. Which leaves Kakashi at a loss on what to do with Nara Shikamaru.

Of all the overqualified pre-genin, Shikamaru is perhaps the most overqualified of the bunch. Oh, his test scores are average, and he’s easily the least motivated kid they have, but if it were wartime the Nara heir would be making his way up the ranks in the Intelligence division by now, and probably at least a chunin. As it is, he naps at least once before lunch break every day and after on most. He stares out the window, and he never takes notes, and he’s overall the worst student Kakashi knows in terms of engagement. Which makes those perfectly neutral test scores all the more impressive.

He brings this up to Iruka – who has far more experience with these things, is infinitely more competent when it comes to teaching, and is the village's foremost excerpt on training shinobi no matter what ANBU trainers might say – one day after class has ended. It's just the two of them in the classroom, grading tests from the day before as the sun goes down.

Kakashi stares at the Nara’s newest masterpiece, where he's mapped out a rudimentary picture using the bubbles from his multiple-choice sheet. Given the kid's penchant for cloud watching he assumes it's a cloud at first, but eventually decides it's a slightly wonky kunai. Exactly 68% of the answers are correct. A solid C+.

“If you glare at that paper any harder it might burst into flames.”

“Unlikely with the sharingan covered,” Kakashi says absently, completely missing the humour in the other teacher's voice.

“What?”

“What?” The copy-nin parrots, finally glancing up. “Sorry, I was only half listening.” Iruka stares for a long moment, then visibly decides this line of questioning isn't worth his time.

“Whose paper is that, anyway?”

“Shikamaru.”

“Ah. Doodles?”

“Something like that.” More of a design, really.

“Yeah, he's a frustrating kid. Could do so much better if he applied himself. I've tried everything over the years.”

“He's bored.”

“You don't say. Was it the napping that tipped you off?” Iruka shrugs. “Shikaku-sama's not worried about it, says he was lazy in the academy too.”

“Can't imagine Yoshino-sama is thrilled, though.” Not that Kakashi's interacted with the Nara matriarch outside of the mask, but before the kid was born ANBU Tiger was a legend.

“Not so much, no. But he's passing all of his subjects, and he's not an active disturbance. I've been bashing my head against that particular wall for ages, but I'm at a loss.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Maybe nothing. Just…does a lazy kid put in the effort to fuck with his teachers?” Iruka's the expert on this topic, too. From both perspectives. 

“Guess not,” Iruka frowns thoughtfully, taking the test to look at. “No, you're right. The better word is bored. Why, you have a way to keep him interested?”

“Besides graduation?”

“Obviously.” The scowl is more rote than anything, though Kakashi thinks Iruka knows he's still coming around to the idea of letting kids overstay their time in school.

“I might. I'd have to think about it, or he'll see right through me.” the chunin raises one incandescently judgemental eyebrow and pointedly doesn't ask how a perfectly average nine-year-old academy student is going to see through the infamous copy-nin.

Kakashi's hackles rise instinctually at that look. 

Almost eight months out from the injury and he's still getting used to disappointing people. ANBU Hound is a living weapon, a nearly mythical figure who can run back-to-back suicide missions without flinching. The copy-nin can go jutsu for jutsu with Orochimaru. The last Hatake is the image of the White Wolf, wielding a tanto like an extension of his soul. Kakashi is the yondaime's last student, a breathing testament to their shining martyr's prowess.

Except he's not. He's exhausted by the end of the school day, years of conditioning destroyed by his hospital stay. He knows the jutsu, but barely has the chakra for a couple at a time these days, with his pathways wrecked beyond repair when Itachi severed several of them and very nearly his spine. He can't get through a basic clan kata, ends up panting from the pain in his back when he twists the way kenjutsu demands. Couldn't even martyr himself properly like Minato had, and has to live with another teammate’s blood on his hands instead.

There's been a lot of disappointment, lately, from people who seemed to think that he would just walk this off like anything else. Like he could live up to reputations that were never achievable in the first place. Like the living weapon was ever held together by anything more than razor wire cutting into Kakashi as much as the enemy. But he can't, anymore, it's physically impossible now. So there's been a lot of disappointment.

The one way he can still live up to his reputation is mentally. Iruka knows this.

Umino Iruka has adjusted about the best of anyone Kakashi knows to his new capabilities, save perhaps Tsunade. Given Tsunade knows the extent of his injuries better than Kakashi himself, that's an impossible bar to pass. Iruka ran missions with him, knows his former skill level like any one of hundreds of shinobi Kakashi has worked with over the years, and yet he's somehow never surprised when the jonin can't do something.

So Kakashi shoves down the knee-jerk rude response. This the first time he's received any level of judgement from Iruka – even though he's objectively bad at teaching and has probably deserved judgement more than once – and it's a fair point. Kakashi can absolutely outwit a perfectly average nine-year-old academy student without effort. Nara Shikamaru, however, is not average in anything but grades.

“He's a genius,” Kakashi says, managing to keep his tone only a tad defensive.

“Shikamaru?”

“Yes.”

“Don't get me wrong, he's a clever kid. He'd be well above class average if he applied himself. But a genius?”

“A genius.”

“You wanna walk me through that one?”

“Do you have his file on hand?” Iruka nods, reaching into a filing cabinet. Anything for a marking break, really. 

“Average grades, a million disciplinary infractions for sleeping in class. Exactly what you'd expect.”

“ Perfectly average grades.”

“Sure?”

“Right on the average, almost every time. More and more frequently as the years go on.”

“You already looked at this file.”

“He's been perfectly average three out of four times in a month and a half, I was curious.”

“Sure, all right. He's on the average a lot. We already knew he was doing the bare minimum, though, it makes sense that he's shooting for the middle.”

“The statistical odds of ‘shooting for the middle’ and hitting the exact centre as often as he does are astronomical. But even ignoring that, you know that geography quiz where an ANBU squad passed the window and half the class got so distracted they didn’t finish?”

“Don't remind me, I don't even think we can count it for credit. It'll skew everyone's average.”

“Maybe future shinobi should have better focus.”

“Can't argue with that. We'll see, maybe we can balance it with extra credit or something. Anyway, what about it?”

“Shikamaru didn't even glance up at them. But he was perfectly on the average. Never seen that kid smile before. And over a failing grade. He looked genuinely proud of himself. But he was three percent above average on his tactics paper, and you’d think he’d failed when he saw the mark.”

“So he’s…what, he’s treating it like a game?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“While everyone else is trying to pass…” Iruka trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache. “While everyone else is trying to pass, Shikamaru’s playing the academic equivalent of darts ?”

“And he’s excelling at it. He’s accurately predicting the knowledge levels of the rest of the class and adjusting for external stimuli within a couple percentage points. Consistently. Genius.”

“You realise the level of pattern-recognition you need to spot this sort of thing in a classroom full of screaming children is insane, right?”

Kakashi shrugs, he’s always been good at puzzles. “I guess.”

“Genius, huh?” the head teacher muses, tucking Shikamaru’s file away and turning back to his marking. “Let me know if you think of a way to motivate him.”

•••

The new assistant teacher is frustratingly competent. 

Oh, he’s a terrible teacher, but the assistants always are. They either get better fast and leave to head their own classes up within the year, or they hang around being useless until Iruka-sensei reaches his breaking point. Either way, as far as Shikamaru can tell, assistant teachers are usually just there for a stable job that keeps them in the village. 

He thought that was the case with this one, when he first showed up. Kakashi-sensei walks like every step hurts, and he always looks bored. Given how awkward he was when he introduced himself to the class – all except Sasuke, who’s been absolutely brutal to deal with lately anyway – Shikamaru had confidently slotted him in as one of the hang-around-useless ones and gone back to staring out the window. Problem is, while Kakashi is awkward and the sort of strange usually reserved for elite jonin, he’s also observant. Very observant. Shikamaru-level observant, at the least. He interrupts naps an average of thirty seconds faster than Iruka-sensei, and once the two instructors start getting used to each other enough to work together, that gets faster by almost a minute a piece. 

The days have never felt longer, and Shikamaru’s concerned he isn’t getting enough sleep to function properly.

When he brings these health concerns to his father, Shikaku just chuckles and pats his shoulder in commiseration before informing the pre-genin that the sleep he gets at night is all that’s medically necessary – a dubious claim, it’s important for Shikamaru’s mental health that he doesn’t have to consciously experience an entire uninterrupted day of class – and that Hatake Kakashi is not only an elite jonin, up until last year he was the elite jonin.

So fine, great, the Nara heir is sure Kakashi will be an asset to the academy if he ever figures out how to talk to kids. In the meantime, he’s really messing with Shikamaru’s routine. It’s supposed to be: wake up late, barely arrive in time for class, sleep through morning announcements, try to figure out who’s going to fail the next theoretical assessment, lunch, cloud watch, half pay attention to practical lessons in the afternoon, and then nap through everyone else’s sparring matches. Now he barely gets the chance to shut his eyes during morning announcements, and Kakashi-sensei keeps appearing right in front of him when he tries to slack off during sparring. It’s a real pain. Kakashi-sensei is actually trying, and observant, and planning to stick around.

Shikamaru’s at a loss for how to deal with the new assistant teacher, this level of competence has never happened before. He’ll figure it out, of course, the Nara refuses to contemplate the alternative. He’s biding his time for now, sorting through strategies on how to slack off that are probably more work than actually paying attention – it’s the principle of the matter, more than anything. 

While he’s regrouping Shikamaru has accepted that he has to play by the jonin’s rules, but he draws the line at giving up his break time. Break is sacred – technically nobody can tell him it’s against the rules to do nothing during that hour.

So when Kakashi-sensei approaches Shikamaru during break one day, he’s immediately suspicious. It’s one of the rare indoor breaks. The sky has opened up and dumped what feels like a whole year’s worth of rain on them in one afternoon and lightning occasionally flashes through the clouds, so they’re in the classroom. Indoor breaks are to be especially treasured, as they let Shikamaru doze from the comfort of a much-repaired bean bag chair in the corner. The pre-genin doesn’t open his eyes, but he prepares his best glare for if his instructor tries to coax him into running around with the others.

Kakashi doesn’t say anything, though, and doesn’t try to shake him awake, just settles down a few paces away and starts setting up a game that Shikamaru would recognise even in a coma. This is a trap. Somehow, it’s a trap.

It’s a trap.

It's definitely a trap.

On the other hand, the number one jonin in the village is a very interesting opponent. Career-ending injury or not, the guy’s brain must be as sharp as ever or they wouldn’t let him teach.

He weighs the pros and cons as his sensei continues to set up the shogi board, because he knows there’s some catch. But on the other hand, if he knows it’s a trap going in, is it really a problem? This isn’t a life or death thing, it should probably be fine.

Shikamaru peels one eye open, because he could already have an opponent lined up. Not only is there not another kid in sight, but Kakashi is looking right at him and raises his visible eyebrow when he makes eye contact. Oh, fine, he'll bite.

“One game.”

“Works for me,” Kakashi-sensei drawls. He sits incredibly, unnaturally straight and Shikamaru wonders if it's from the years of military-drilled discipline or the lingering pain from his injury.

His father was a closed book when the boy asked for credentials to support this ‘elite jonin turned academy sensei’ claim, but Nara Yoshino can occasionally be counted on to provide a dossier or two, if Shikamaru shows the initiative to ask. 

Sasuke’s open hatred is more understandable now, given the circumstances. Shikamaru doesn't think he'd forgive someone for killing Ino or Choji, even if they were planning something horrible. He can admit that in the safety of his own head, so long as Ino never ever finds out about it.

The Nara is forced to stop contemplating any of this when the game begins and it becomes immediately clear how outclassed he is. 

Shikamaru's usual shogi partner is his father, so he's used to losing. He's used to losing by a calculable margin, to calculating exactly how easy Shikaku is going on him. He's been using the amount of effort his father has to exert to beat him as a yardstick for years, and he's been making progress. It's frustrating, though, to not know what the end goal is. He's always been curious exactly how good he'd have to be to actually win. Now he knows, and the bar is much higher than he thought. 

Halfway through wiping the floor with him, Kakashi-sensei casually drops a piece of information the Nara wished he'd known before getting into this so nonchalantly.

“You're ruthless,” Shikamaru murmurs, frantically trying to figure out a way out of the corner he's been backed into.

“Ah, well I learned from the best.”

“Who taught you to play?” Shikamaru’s mostly assuming it was the White Fang. While he doesn't know a ton about the late Hatake Sakumo, his father has praised the man's intelligence enough times.

“Hm? Oh, I didn't mention?” The jonin shuts his visible eye in an exaggerated smile. Shikamaru's stomach drops. “Your dad taught me.” Oh no. “I've been playing against Shikaku-sama for, oh, probably close to fifteen years at this point.” Oh no.

“You don't say,” Shikamaru mutters, glaring down at the board. “Ever beat him?”

“once or twice.” somehow, despite the mask, he gets the distinct feeling that his opponent is grinning.

Kakashi destroys him utterly, of course. He’s beaten Shikaku before – a feat Shikamaru is hoping to achieve by twenty – and he isn’t going the slightest bit easy on the pre-genin. It’s the worst loss of Shikamaru’s life, an embarrassment. It should be so crushing a defeat as to demoralise him completely.

A lazy kid shouldn’t care enough to try again when he’s so obviously outclassed. Shikamaru has worked very hard for his lazy reputation. It’s served him well over the years when it comes to irritating Ino, and avoiding chores, and sleeping through boring lectures on things he already knows. Lazy, average Nara Shikamaru should sigh, flop back on the comfortable bean bag, and give up.

Thing is, Shikamaru is very rarely challenged. When he is challenged, it’s virtually never in something he cares about – and Shikamaru does care about shogi. He cares about games generally, and has always enjoyed a test of wits. Here’s a perfectly good unbeatable genius, and he’s just going to waste the chance to play him?

There’s still half an hour left in break, – a testament to how brutally he’d lost, for a game that can easily take hours to end quite so quickly – he could at least play one more time before falling back on his persona?

“Might as well play another game,” he grumbles like he’s not vibrating out of his skin to try a different tactic. This is easily the most fun Shikamaru’s ever had at school.

“Hm, you think so?” There's absolutely no call for Kakashi to look so smug, it’s just one more game.

The Nara shrugs, glancing pointedly at the clock. “Not like I have time to do anything else.”

“You want to play again?”

“Sure, whatever.”

“do your homework.”

“What?”

“Do your homework tonight, perfectly, and submit it on time tomorrow. Then we can play again.” 

Oh. Right. The trap. Shikamaru had been so wrapped up in the shogi potential that he’d forgotten this was always a trap. He scowls up at the jonin, flopping back on his beanbag after all.

“Forget it.”

“Suit yourself.” Kakashi-sensei packs up the little portable shogi set and wanders back over to supervise the rest of the class. Homework doesn’t technically fall into his guessing game, but odds are if he gives his teacher an inch he’ll take a mile.

Still, he could do it just once…it’s not like he’s really giving any ground since homework doesn’t get averaged. It might even get his mother off his back which is– no. No, he refuses to fall into a trap laid by an assistant teacher. They rarely last the month anyway.

•••

Shikamaru does the homework. He loses the game he’d traded that homework for, and the one he trades a week of staying awake during other peoples’ spars for, and the one he trades five full percent above average for, and every single one after that. They play at least once a week, and Shikamaru still sleeps through the better part of the morning each day, but slowly his grades stop reflecting that disinterest. 

They’ve been playing for three months and Shikamaru’s lost a good fifty or so times when Shikaku curses seconds after moving his piece during their weekly Saturday game. He squints at the board while Shikamaru considers his next move. The son is a little thrown by one of his ploys actually catching his father off guard. It’s never happened before. When the elder Nara has scrutinised every inch of the board, he looks up and meets his son’s eyes.

“You’re getting better awfully fast these days.” Shikamaru shrugs and makes his move with a decisive clack of wood on wood. “You’ve been playing with Hatake.”

“Yeah.”

“How long?”

“Most of the term.”

“Ever won?” Shikamaru laughs in his face.

This seems to be the answer his father is looking for, as Shikaku nods slowly and studies his son for far longer than he usually studies the board. Then he proceeds to wreak such complete and utter devastation on Shikamaru’s game that it makes sensei look like the village idiot.

It’s the first time his father has ever played him seriously and Shikamaru has never been so happy to lose.

•••

Kakashi lasts the month, then another, then to the parent-teacher conferences at the end of the term. Iruka asks him to sit in on the conferences even though assistant teachers aren’t required to for three reasons:

First, Kakashi may not be in charge of the class, strictly speaking, but he’s still a big part of the kids' lives and the parents should have access to him just like they do Iruka. When Iruka runs the academy – and Kami help him, he’s not sure he actually wants that but it becomes more of a ‘when’ than an ‘if’ every time the Hokage has to interact with the headmaster directly – everyone who instructs the kids will have to be present for conferences. 

Second, the jonin runs more and more of the practical elements of class every day, far more talented with the tools of the trade than his chunin counterpart for all he’s markedly worse at teaching the skills. But Kakashi’s getting better at teaching every day, and one semester in Iruka is confident he’ll eventually be as good at this job as he was at every other one he ever had. One of these days he’ll be the head teacher, and when he is Iruka doesn’t want him blindsided by the vultures parents turn into when their kid is failing. He likes Kakashi, thinks they’re something like friends these days. He wants him to succeed. Wants it all the more for the way some people seem determined to see a man who faithfully worked himself to the bone for the better part of twenty years as a failure.

The third reason is that Iruka is stone cold terrified of Nara Yoshino, and he refuses to be the one to explain to the woman the… non-traditional tactics used to raise Shikamaru’s grades.

The infamous copy-nin stumbles his way through most of the conferences, just like every other academy instructor the first time they have to do this. At the end of the day, Kakashi’s still just a person and these things are terribly awkward until you get the hang of them. Usually even after you’ve got the hang of them. Iruka’s half expecting him to make a break for it when Yoshino enters, arms already crossed. Good to know she’s just as scary to seasoned ANBU assassins. Her son trails behind her, hands in his pockets and immediately heads to his favourite bean bag chair. It’s an improvement, usually Shikamaru doesn’t even bother to come.

“Iruka-sensei.”

“Nara-sama.”

“Hatake.” Kakashi gives a jaunty two-fingered salute and stays silent. “End of last year my son was a C student and a slacker. Now he’s a B student who consistently does his homework. What miracles are you working, Iruka?”

“B+,” both Kakashi and Shikamaru correct.

“Hm, all right, B+. I’m not sure why that degree of accuracy is needed, but sure. Out with it, Hatake, clearly you know something.” Kakashi glances at Iruka, who attempts to communicate exactly how all on his own he is for this one with only his eyes. Seeing there will be no help from his fellow teacher, Kakashi turns to Shikamaru, who shrugs.

“I bribed him.” Well, sure, that’s one way to break the news. Why not just hit her over the head with it?

“You bribed him.”

“Yep.”

“How?”

“Traded shogi games in exchange for better marks and a greater degree of participation.” Yoshino blinks slowly, then turns on Iruka.

“And you allowed this?”

“I…” Iruka frowns, not sure what she wants him to say. There’s nothing particularly unethical about rewarding a kid for good behaviour, it’s just that the reward in question is weird and the behaviour they’re trying to correct is weirder. “Yes, ma’am. It’s not like he’s cheating.”

“And yet his grades have shot up.”

“I’m not stupid,” Shikamaru defends from the far side of the room. “Not like it’s troublesome to get a B+,” His eyes are still closed, and if Iruka wasn’t an expert at spotting what fake sleep looks like on this specific kid, he might think he was napping.

“And yet you’ve never gotten one before.”

“Not my fault the rest of the class is stupid,” the pre-genin snarks. “Not my fault they can’t get their average above a B-.”

“Their average.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why would the average matter, Shikamaru?”

“What else was I supposed to aim for?”

“An A? Top of the class?”

“Too easy. I got bored.” 

Yoshino goes very, startlingly still. Then she slowly turns to look at her son, who calculated the skill of his classmates to the decimal for years and is now lounging unassumingly on a brightly-coloured rug with his arms behind his head, then back at the teachers.

“How long have you known about this?”

“Kakashi figured it out at the beginning of term.” Iruka knows he has flaws, but he doesn’t think he’s a particularly prideful man. Certainly not too proud to admit that it takes a genius to know a genius. Yoshino doesn’t seem all that displeased that he didn’t figure out her kid was some sort of once-in-a-generation strategic savant, just nods and tilts her head consideringly at Kakashi. It’s quiet for a long second, and Shikamaru may really have dozed off this time.

When Yoshino eventually speaks, the harsh edges of her tone have been sanded away into something thoughtful. Something almost soft.

“A teacher, hm?” She looks like she believes it.

Chapter Text

Sakura is never sure she belongs anywhere. She's always been too civilian to fit in with the children of shinobi. She didn't grow up playing ninja tag, which taught her peers stealth and the proper way to hold a kunai. She didn't have parents that taught her how to shape her chakra, she has never heard a mission story that didn't come out of a textbook. Everything Haruno Sakura has ever learned about being a ninja was learned in a classroom.

It would be bad enough in a normal class. Civilian-born students are always behind when they start, but they catch up. It's even worse that Sakura's class is full of clan heirs. Full of them, there are more direct heirs in her class than in any class in the history of the academy. She checked. Forget chakra molding and ninja tag, most of the clan heirs were already working on specialised techniques by the time they started school.

So, Sakura didn't quite fit in with her ninja-born peers when they entered the academy. But with years of effort she's gotten pretty close. 

She studies twice as hard as the others to barely eke out top of class in theory subjects. She does what she can with practical, but there's only so much she can manage in the neatly-appointed yard behind her parents’ house and she's certainly not going to embarrass herself practicing at the school yard where anyone could see. Taijutsu is easier to manage than kenjutsu, though Sakura has no sparring partner. Instead of practicing her aim she keeps kunai and shuriken in perfect repair, shining to a gleam and sharp as razors as if it will make up for her lack of target practice. 

Bitter jealousy accompanies thoughts of her best friend complaining about having to train so much, with a state-of-the-art target range at her disposal. Not that she would ever tell Ino that, there's no point in making the Yamanaka feel bad about something she was born with, and it wouldn't change anything anyway. The jealousy persists, soothed by the sporadic invitations to practice after school.

Sakura is not the bottom of the class in kenjutsu subjects, she's middle of the pack in taijutsu, she can do all three academy three and a basic kai, and she's top of the class in theoretical subjects. It's the best she can manage with what she's got to work with.

It's not just the skills Sakura has adopted to fit better with her peers. She wears the sensible sandals favoured by shinobi, and shorts under her dress to allow greater movement. There's a well stocked pack strapped to her thigh, and spare bandages wrapped beneath it. None of it is necessary for an academy student, not really, but she still gets up every morning and puts it on. That's what the shinobi-raised kids do.

The desperation to fit in started as a scrambling to get Ino to keep hanging around when they first became friends. Over the years the purpose has changed. 

Sakura is not stupid – she's a competent paper ninja already at ten – she knows enough about reading people to see the divide in her class. It's not about civilian versus clan, (not for the clan kids, at any rate) it's about who is taking this seriously. 

Plenty of kids aren't planning to be real, mission-taking, active-duty shinobi. They want to graduate and go straight into the genin corps. That's fine, respectable even. They'll graduate, maybe spend some time on a team or maybe decline jonin apprenticeship entirely, and spend their lives in the stable desk jobs that keep the village running. Good for them, but that's not what Sakura wants.

She hasn't worked this hard to be stuck doing paperwork, no matter what her mother might want.

So Sakura sides with the shinobi-born kids in a competition they don't even realise they're having and ignores the looks she gets from the other civilian-born kids like she's some sort of freak for wanting to do the job they're training for. It's not like she's throwing them under the bus or something, Ino's been her best friend since before any of them really understood privilege was and Sakura's not going to pretend she's not to make them feel better. 

She'll put up with the constant ragging from Ami, and Kasumi, and Fuki and she won't fight back because it will disappoint her mother. She will glare back because it will appease Iruka-sensei enough that he doesn't call another parent meeting about the bullying. She'll wear the shorts for range of motion, but keep the dress for tradition. She'll compete with Ino if that's what the Yamanaka wants, but she'll do it over Sasuke for her mother's sake. 

Her parents are proud that she excels and terrified it's going to get her killed before she sees twenty and not-so-secretly hoping that she'll marry a nice clan boy and retire from active duty and live to see old age. Maybe she will. All Sakura knows is that in a year and a half she's going to swear an oath to protect the village and she intends to keep it.

Every day is a series of tightropes to walk and Sakura's very good at it, but she's not perfect. Something was bound to give eventually.

It starts during target practice. Kakashi-sensei is better at most practical skills than any of them will ever aspire to be, even though he's clearly constantly in pain. He's also unbelievably intense, which Sakura wouldn't mind if the standards he expected weren't impossible to achieve.

Still, she generally likes Kakashi-sensei, because for all he’s obviously not used to working with kids – or maybe anyone, honestly, judging by his social skills – he doesn’t look down his nose at her and the other civilian kids like a couple of the ones last year did, and he’s equally awkward with everyone. It makes it worse, then, when he scolds her for things she can’t control. Hurts more because he means well.

The first time he runs target practice he tells Sakura her form is going to get her killed in the field and she nods and promises to do better before continuing to do the best she can. Iruka-sensei has words with him about that specific phrasing at a not-very-quiet whisper.

The second time he reprimands her it's two months later, and he's better about his word choice for all he's terribly awkward. He asks her to consider the stakes like he has any idea what's at stake for her. Sakura can't quite hide her irritation, but she buries it under a polite apology and ignores the voice in the back of her head demanding she throw the kunai at his bad eye.

The third time he brings it up, Sakura is already having a bad day. She's been skipping breakfast because apparently boys like dainty girls, but she's not used to it yet and her stomach hurts. She put her newly long hair in a ponytail yesterday to keep it out of her face and Ino isn't talking to her because she ‘stole her signature look’. And now this.

He's not subtle about it. She's not sure Kakashi-sensei knows how to be subtle. No, Iruka-sensei might pull her off to the side and correct her form gently but Kakashi singles her out in the middle of the target range and can't even keep his voice down.

“This is important, Sakura-chan.” He's so earnest about it, in his fumbling way. It almost makes up for the way everyone is staring.

“I know, sensei.”

“Treat it like it's important, then.”

“I do, sensei.” Kiba doesn't, or Choji, or Shikamaru. Naruto only recently bothered to care about any of it but she figures he gets a pass for that given the news that's come out about him lately. Point is, it's a fair critique when some people get it, but Sakura is working so very hard to keep up. It's not fair. It's not. Fair.

“You're not practicing enough. I'm not…I'm not trying to hurt your feelings Sakura, but…listen. You could be good at this. You could be a good shot, but you need to work for it.” To her prevailing shame, Sakura starts to cry. She's hungry, and lonely, and she's exhausted all the time, and it's still not good enough.

Kakashi goes a sort of satisfying shade of white, but it's a hollow victory. “I am working for it. All the time. Every night, and every weekend, and all the time! You don't listen, and you don't actually care, and I'm trying .” Her voice breaks midway through the word. Iruka-sensei is hurrying over from the edge of the field, and the whole class is staring at Sakura while she exposes weaknesses Ami will relish poking at.

“Sakura-chan–” Sakura swallows hard and tells herself that Iruka starts yelling she will quit and never come back to this place. He doesn't get through more than the first word, though, cuts off at a single shake of Kakashi’s head.

“You're trying.”  The jonin has crouched to her level and looks kind of shocked, but at least he's lowered his voice.

“Of course I'm trying,” she bites back, letting the voice in the back of her head have its way a little for once.

“You're practicing. Outside of school hours?” He clarifies. Sakura can feel the tightropes snapping beneath her feet, the clan kids realising how hard she's trying to not quite keep up with them and the civilian ones seeing she's hardly untouchable. Sakura wonders, just for a second, what it would be like if there were any ninja-born classmates without famous names. If there was a single other student who knew what it was like to try and succeed in a class full of monsters. She nods her head and doesn't meet any eyes. “Okay.”

“Okay?” She whispers, praying that's the end of it.

“You need to have someone check over your form at home, maybe you're learning bad habits.”

On the plus side, the sheer shock the statement causes stops the flow of tears. On the negative it causes a seething, bubbling rage like she's never felt in her life.

“I think…” she barely breathes, staring him in the visible eye, “I think I hate you.” She drops her last couple kunai, turns on her heel, and runs.

•••

Kakashi started his first semester teaching with thirty kids who couldn't care less about him and one who hated him. By the end of the semester he's got twenty-eight kids who couldn't care less about him, two who hate him, and Naruto. Well, maybe three who hate him. Yamanaka Ino has been glaring daggers in the week since the incident with Sakura, even though he didn't think the girls were on good terms lately.

Sasuke, he understands. He expected it, even. 

Sakura, though? Polite, bookish, pink-haired Sakura who put more fury into one look than some enemy jonin he's met? Kakashi’s at a complete loss there. Iruka's no help, either, the most he can guess is that Kakashi hit a nerve. 

Shinobi, as a general rule, do not like not knowing things. There's an impulse to dig and poke and prod until they find the truth of things that's instilled in the early years of the academy. A whole unit of instructor certification is based around fostering the habit until it's instinct. So it's with a nearly physical effort that Kakashi does not more-or-less shake the little girl until answers fall out.

He's already made Sakura cry and run away this week, and in – Iruka aided – hindsight probably embarrassed her in front of her peers, so he leaves her alone.

It's not the crying or the running that puzzles him, Sakura is nine and for all she's training to be a shinobi she's not one yet. It's not even the held grudge. It's that moment of bitter, frustrated rage when he suggested she get an adult to check her form. 

Kakashi had thought it was a reasonable suggestion, was even prepared to admit he was wrong for assuming she wasn't putting the work in (it's just that she's not getting any better. She could be good, her instincts are good and her theory is great, but at this rate she's going to get herself killed the moment she's in real danger and – it doesn't matter. Not now.) but instead the kid had lashed out like it was a targeted attack.

He'd thought maybe it was the parents, digging through Sakura's files looking for any note of concern. By all rights, the Harunos appear to be well-meaning, attentive, loving civilian parents who support their daughter's enrollment. It's never wise to completely rule out abuse, but it's not a promising hypothesis. So what did Kakashi do, then, assuming the problem is rooted in him?

The answer, in the end, comes from Hayate and Raidou.

Kakashi's dragged to Yakiniku Q on the Friday after the incident by the group of overbearing idiots who haven't let him have the span of a weekend's peace since he almost died. Iruka managed to beg out citing an early mission desk shift the next morning, shamelessly abandoning Kakashi to the vultures by not using a school-related excuse.

It's rare that Hayate’s involved in these outings lately, which is most of the reason Kakashi didn't just slam the door in their faces after the week he's had. The bars they frequent are too smokey for the swordsman's ravaged lungs, and his health unpredictable enough that off days tend to be spent in hospital rooms – or with Yugao, lately, but if the two of them aren't bringing that up yet then Kakashi’s lips are sealed. 

Accommodations have been made accordingly to keep the visit from sending anyone to emergency. Low enough seating that Kakashi won't mess up his back trying to get out of his chair and a no-smoking section have led them to Yakiniku Q. Kakashi loathes that any adjustments are being made for his sake, but admittedly it does help that he's not the only factor for a change. 

Kakashi, Raidou, Kurenai, and Hayate are clustered at the far end of one table while louder elements like Gai and Anko are making a nuisance of themselves further down. The three tokujo – tokujo for now, he should say, rumour is Kurenai's up for promotion this year – are adept at making conversation around Kakashi’s social dead weight. They're half reminiscing, half bantering about their own war-condensed academy days when Raidou makes a comment that the copy-nin wouldn't have noticed had his brain not been sixty percent focused on the mystery of Haruno Sakura.

“Remember when you got tetanus doing target practice in the woods?” Hayate rolls his eyes and tosses a balled-up napkin at the grinning Raidou. 

“You ever gonna let me live that down?”

“Don't count on it, man, you fell out of a tree.”

“How was I supposed to know what it was?”

“How were you supposed to know not being able to open your jaw properly was a problem?”

“Wouldn't be an issue for you, maybe, problem is you don't know how to close your mouth.”

Judging by her fond smile it's a story Kurenai has heard a thousand times in her years as Raidou's genin teammate. It's a story Kakashi's heard a thousand times, though never from either of these two and never in such a light-hearted tone. His experience with this particular anecdote has always been a cautionary tale.

It was “make sure you clean out that cut properly, Kakashi.” And “Obito stop playing with that kunai, when's the last time you sharpened that thing anyway?” followed by the story of pre-genin Hayate nicking his arm two weeks before seizing halfway up a redwood and very nearly falling to his death.

Objectively it's not a funny story and it was Rin’s favourite cautionary tale for a reason, but if they never joked about near-death experiences they'd never joke at all.

None of that is what catches Kakashi’s attention, though.

“Did you say you were doing target practice in the woods?” He knows they were, knows how much time some of his classmates spent out in the woods by the wall as kids when he was already seeing active combat from Rin’s stories. He needs the confirmation, though, because something about that feels significant.

“Oh yeah, we did it all the time. Had to practice somewhere, right?”

“Why not use training grounds?” Kurenai asks. It's reassuring that Kakashi's not the only one who's never stopped to consider this part of the story.

Hayate snorts, then has to pause with his hand to his chest to ward off a coughing fit. “Can't book training grounds until you make genin.”

“Woods were fine, anyway,” Raidou argues. “More private, last thing some civilian brats needed was a bunch of people watching for weakness.”

“Made for some crazy stories, though. Rai once tried to carve his own shuriken, ended up with a splinter the size of his pinkie.”

“It was not that big.”

“It was at least that big. Rin had to yank it out with tweezers and he cried like a baby.”

“I did not, ” Raidou squawks. Rin is still a bleeding wound for all of them, and they alternate between forcing the name to sound casual and avoiding the subject entirely. Kakashi always makes a point of bringing the stories up when he's at the memorial stone but otherwise rarely contributes.

“How did you end up out there with them anyway, Hayate-kun?” Kurenai is a godsend for asking these questions before Kakashi gets the chance. “You were a year below us.” He's over a year younger than Kakashi in reality, and should have been three or four years behind Raidou. None of that had mattered in the war.

“Punk ass brat started following us.”

“It was self-preservation. I would have gone crazy in a class full of ninja-born.”

“What?” Kakashi says eloquently. 

“Why?” chimes in Asuma, shuffling closer to the conversation. His fingers are twitching incessantly but the Sarutobi is being very good about not smoking. 

“It's just different. You lot got a head start, we had to work our asses off to keep up.”

“Head start?” Kurenai asks. “We all did the same curriculum?” She looks to Kakashi for confirmation, which is a startling little reminder that he is actually the authority on that in the present company. He nods slowly.

“Yeah, sure, in theory. But even leaving off clan techniques and the gear difference and everything there's stuff you take for granted. Like…what's a good example?” Raidou looks at Hayate, who shrugs. Kakashi's got an example, though he's not thrilled about it.

“Like having someone to correct your throwing form.” It's not a question. Kakashi's not great socially but he can connect the dots when they're all laid out so neatly.

Raidou grins pointing at Kakashi. “ Exactly . Our parents didn't know a thing about proper form, and it's not like we had a clan full of off-duty shinobi to draw on. No, no, we had to kidnap Hayate. He never would have survived on his own.”

“I would have been fine.”

“Sure, kiddo–” they return to their banter as if it's no big deal that they worked with nothing for years and nobody noticed. Kurenai and Asuma look as surprised as Kakashi feels, but they can't be anywhere near as ashamed.

He waits until the conversation has long moved on to speculate over whether Anko and Gai’s improvised jenga of cups and napkins will get them all thrown out before he nudges Raidou.

“How bad did you fuck up?” The tokujo murmurs, not drawing attention to the conversation. 

Kakashi knew better than to think he got such an obvious line of questioning past an ANBU captain, but he appreciates that the man was willing to let it slide unless prompted. He grimaces under the mask and knows for as long as they worked together that Raidou reads that too.

“Pretty bad.” admitting the weakness feels like pulling teeth, but needs must.

“Hm. And?” Just like that. No judgement, no frustration, no pressing for details. For better or for worse, Kakashi does keep coming out with these assholes for a reason.

“you still hold your title?” number one marksman in ANBU, it's been a contentious race between Rai and Genma for years, but he usually edges Shiranui out in shuriken.

“By the skin of my teeth, but sure.” It's always been a feat, but it's cast in a new light now that Kakashi knows he learned his basics in the woods, with hand-carved shuriken and a six-year-old spotting his form.

“Might need a favour.” He's not sure what exactly to do, yet, but Raidou is unquestionably his best bet for help here.

“Yeah, sure. Let me know what you need.” Just like that. Damn his friends for still trusting after everything.

•••

Last week had been rocky, and the weekend’s mountain of marking and back-to-back desk shifts meant that there’d been no real time to breathe and reflect productively so instead Iruka had stewed. He’d stewed, and spiralled, and been more than a little worried that Kakashi would up and quit. 

When Monday rolls around, Iruka is no closer to knowing what had set Sakura off, and feels like just about the worst teacher on the planet. She’s not the type to lash out, and while he knows she puts a lot of pressure on herself she’s usually receptive to criticism. Granted, Kakashi’s particular method of criticism still needs serious work – he’s leagues better than he was at the beginning of the semester, but Kakashi’s teaching style still tends more towards the intensity of ANBU trainer than the gentleness required with pre-genin – but even so, Iruka knows his kids. That wasn’t an embarrassed Sakura. Or not just embarrassed, anyway. She was clearly frustrated, clearly angry, but she also looked…if anything she looked hurt. Iruka had been ready to reprimand her outburst, but hurt is something else entirely. He’s at a loss at what triggered it, and Kakashi was no closer when they last talked. But they’ll figure something out. 

Or he will, if Kakashi quits. He'll just handle a class of thirty-one on his own, and search for a new assistant teacher who won’t discriminate against any of them, and figure out what upset his top future kunoichi so much without being accused of favouritism or dropping dead from exhaustion at twenty. Piece of cake.

To say Iruka is relieved when Kakashi doesn’t just show up on Monday, but shows up twenty minutes early is an understatement. It’s short lived, though, because Kakashi arrives with a theory on the Sakura situation that makes a sickening amount of sense and leaves Iruka questioning how much he knows about his civilian-born students. How many times has he told kids to go home and practice on equipment they couldn’t access? How many of his students have made the choice between facing the judgement of their peers by practicing in the beaten-down training ground behind the school and not practicing at all?

Iruka’s not a clan kid, any weight his family name carries is personal and sentimental. But still, his parents were shinobi. They had a target range and dummies set up in the yard, and were more than willing to book a quiet training ground for him if he’d needed more space. There were always ninja around, teammates and mentors and foxhole friends of one parent or the other who were more than willing to offer advice on his form or a teaching spar. He made chunin at sixteen, by which age Hayate and Raidou had both made tokubetsu and Raidou was a Hokage guard. It would never have crossed his mind that some of the shining examples of their generation’s monstrous talent were practicing with sticks in the woods. Iruka failed the chunin exams twice. Now he wonders if failure was ever even an option for the civilian-born ninja.

His heart breaks, but Iruka’s nothing if not stubborn. Fine, so they’ve been doing a worse job than he thought. No way to fix the past, they’ll just have to be better starting now. Kakashi has a plan that’s more like a stopgap than anything, but that’s a start. Iruka will run it by the headmaster, get permission, and maybe one of these days he’ll be able to look half his class in the eye again.

Though he’s not famous for his cool temper, Iruka can occasionally be counted on to hold his tongue. It is this modicum of control that lets him get through his conversation with the headmaster without either killing the man or losing his job.

He should have known better, really, than to expect things to go smoothly. A simple ‘yes’ was all he’d needed. Just permission to bring in a guest instructor. They do it all the time, since no one teacher can have expertise in everything the kids need to know. It’s nearly a formality to drop by the headmaster’s office after school that day and double check before bringing someone in, but instead of the cursory glance he had expected, the man had turned him down.

“Why would they need to know that?”

“To help them practice.”

“This isn’t our problem, it’s their parents’ job.”

“That’s not an option for all of them.” Iruka knows better than to single out any one group of kids to the man, especially when he’s in a bad mood. He has a tendency to hold grudges and the last thing the civilian-born students need is even more adversity.

Doesn’t matter, though, because the headmaster just scoffs. “Take your bleeding heart somewhere else, Umino, I don’t have the budget for useless lessons.”

“It’s not useless, sir,” Iruka tries, though he’s really pushing his luck.

“Look, kid, I get that you see yourself in them or something, but I’m not approving a lesson only a couple of orphans can use.” Naruto, he means. Lessons Naruto can use. Bastard looked for an excuse to expel the kid for years, and now that Naruto has more powerful defenders than some rookie academy teacher he’s been settling for holding his grudge more quietly. Iruka hates it, but he also knows Tsunade is aware of the issue so he’s been letting her handle it. Except this conversation isn’t about Naruto at all.

“With all due respect, sir–”

“I said no, Umino. Now if that’s all, you’re dismissed.” He looks pointedly back at his paperwork. Iruka would like to point out that it is not, in fact, ‘ all’ and that the headmaster is actually insisting Iruka do nothing to bridge a considerable gap between his groups of students. He doesn’t blame the man for not noticing it sooner – not any more than he blames himself – but he does blame him for refusing to listen.

Still. The chunin isn’t helping anything if he gets himself fired, so he goes quietly.

Iruka exits the headmaster’s office fuming, with no direction in mind except ‘away’. As a result, he doesn’t realise where he’s headed until he’s at the end of a hallway leading to the Hokage’s office. There’s no reason for him to be here. He came this way on muscle memory alone, but the kindly man he once sought out for support is not there and it turns out was never real anyways. He pauses despite himself, staring at the door long enough for one of the ANBU guards to poke his head in the door and have a short conversation with the hokage. He ducks back out, pulling the door to but not fully shutting it. A beat of silence, then Tsunade’s voice rings out.

“Umino! Get your ass in here!” probably too late to turn back now. He goes. Tsunade’s sitting at her desk behind a mountain of paperwork that makes Iruka cringe sympathetically. Shizune is at her own desk, eyes turned to a much smaller pile of paperwork. He gets the feeling it’s not so much that she has less to do as she gets it done faster. “What can I do for you?”

“I…” he doesn’t know what to say, he didn’t mean to come here at all. A traitorous little thought pops into his head, one last avenue he hasn’t tried. A respect for authority is core to shinobi life, and while Iruka might not particularly like his boss he would never dream of going over his head. Except the counterbalance is students without the necessary resources to learn, and he can’t justify that against the cost of his own discomfort.

“All right, Iruka?” asks the sanin, actually looking a shade concerned. He’s honoured, that kind of thing is usually saved for those she considers family. “You can still talk to him, you know.” she’s the closest to tentative he’s ever seen her. “He’s under house arrest, not dead. If you want to visit, I won’t stop you.”

Some part of him that’s still reaching out for the only person who gave a damn about a loudmouthed orphan does want to visit, but he won’t. Can’t even stand to look at the old professor. They found hundreds of kids, when they dug up ROOT, every one of them scarred beyond recovery. Many of them already dead. And Hiruzen knew, at least to some extent. The program had his fucking stamp of approval. 

Iruka would take the offer as an insult, if it didn’t come from someone with feelings at least as complicated as his own. As it is, he slumps into the chair across from the hokage and shakes his head with a sigh.

“I think I have a complaint to make.” It goes against protocol, to go over the headmaster’s head like this, but after the last week and the last hour, Iruka’s not sure he gives a damn.

“I’m all ears.”

He outlines the issue, from Sakura, to Kakashi’s revelation, to the meeting he’d just finished. No need to talk carefully around issues with Tsunade, he trusts her not to hold anything against one of his students. She shows the same alarm he and Kakashi had when he outlines the conditions. The frustrating part is that it’s so obvious, in retrospect. Of course they don’t have the same resources, why would they? Judging by the hole Tsunade’s trying to pace in the floor by the time he’s finished, she knows it too.

“Fuck. all right, sure. Kami, we’re all stupid. Okay, go with Kakashi’s plan, forget the headmaster. I'll authorise it myself. In fact, if it goes well I’ll convince him to talk to every class. It’s not enough but it’s a start at least. Fuck me, how did we not notice sooner?” Iruka wonders how much she’s thinking about Jiraiya as she has this realisation. Probably at least as much as he’s thinking about Mizuki. “Don’t answer that, doesn’t matter. Why does nothing in this village work for shit? Don’t answer that either, Iruka, trust me I already know I wouldn’t like the answer. You work out how to rework things to be more fair, yet?” 

Since he found out this morning? No, not so much. He’s slightly more tactful with his actual answer, though. “I have some vague ideas, hokage-sama, but nothing approaching a concrete plan.” It’s not in any way his responsibility, of course, but he doesn’t really want to know what the headmaster’s recommendations would be. 

“How soon can you get me a proposal?” The new semester is about to start, which means a slight reduction in marking for a while. If he cuts back on sleep and begs out of as many social engagements as possible before Anko starts threatening kidnapping…

“Midterm?”

“Good.” she nods briskly. “Let me know if you need access to files or anything, clearly this is an issue that needs urgent attention.” Iruka recognises a dismissal when he hears one, though unlike the headmaster’s Tsunade’s doesn’t send his gut churning. Shizune clears her throat pointedly. “Ah, right. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Iruka. It takes courage to admit your blindspots.”

“I should have noticed sooner,” Iruka responds automatically. Which is a stupid way to respond to a kage’s thanks.

Tsunade just smiles a wan smile. “We all should have, clearly. Work on that plan, Iruka, I look forward to seeing it.”

“Yes, Hokage-sama.” he bows, turning towards the door.

“And Iruka?” he pauses, glancing back.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Get to work on that admin training, would you?” She brings it up so often it’s taken up the cadence of a joke between them, something for Tsunade to sigh when she’s frustrated with the head of one institution or another – not just the academy, but the missions desk, and the records department, and on one memorable occasion the hospital. Iruka’s never felt less worthy of a promotion in his entire teaching career, but he’s also never been more certain that the headmaster is not doing enough. Tsunade has never sounded more serious about it. Iruka doesn’t think he has any business running a school when he can’t even properly teach his own class, but he also knows better than to argue with a superior. He probably can’t do a worse job than the current headmaster.

“Yes, Hokage-sama.”

•••

“That’s some glare, kid, you trying to set him on fire?” the voice startles Sakura out of her thoughts. She hadn’t even realised she was glaring at Kakashi-sensei, though she can feel the way her face is screwed up. Truth is she’s not even that mad at the teacher anymore. Sure, it was wrong to call her out like that in front of the whole class, but it’s not his fault that she doesn’t have any way to practice the way she should. It’s Sakura’s responsibility to figure that sort of thing out, anyway. Besides, he apologised on Monday, and she’s never had a teacher apologise before, so that probably helps. Point is, Sakura’s still not thrilled with Kakashi-sensei, but she’s not holding enough of a grudge to warrant the glaring. Ino’s still firmly holding a grudge, though she doesn’t seem to have an exact grasp on what he did wrong in the first place. It’s the thought that counts, and Sakura’s enjoying having her best friend back on her side so she’s not questioning the reasoning.

The man is tall, with a nasty-looking scar on his face and a nametag reading ‘Raidou’ that identifies him as their guest instructor. Stellar first impression, Sakura. Like she’s not having a hard enough time with target practice as it is. “Sorry, shinobi-san,” she mumbles, fighting down a blush.

“Oh, don’t apologise on my account. I’m sure he earned it somehow, Hatake puts his foot in his mouth more than anyone I’ve ever met.” Kakashi-sensei is now looking directly their way, but he looks more annoyed than actually angry. He meets Raidou’s eye and jerks his head towards the target range. “Duty calls, kid. Keep up the good work, someone oughta keep him humble.” The very strange shinobi jogs over to Kakashi, bumping his shoulder.

“All right, class.” calls Iruka-sensei, catching everyone’s attention. “We have a guest lecturer today. This is Raidou-san. Say hello.”

“Hi, Raidou-san,” Sakura murmurs along with most of the class.

“Raidou-san’s going to teach us how to critique our own form.” Sakura feels her eyes go wide without conscious effort, scrambling for her pen. She can’t quite stop herself from glancing at Kakashi, who just rolls his shoulders in what might be a stretch and might be a shrug. “This is important, so I expect you all to pay full attention.” the ‘or else’ is implied. Ino flops down on the grass beside Sakura.

“Thought this was supposed to be practical. I don’t get how you can sit still all day.” Sakura shrugs, but doesn’t look away from the cluster of teachers.

“This is a waste of time,” snarks Sasuke-kun, and Sakura feels a rare but potent spike of irritation with him. What does he know? This is the most useful lesson they’ve ever had.

“He’s so smart,” Ino sighs dreamily. “When are we gonna use this?” Sakura shrugs again. They’ve been on good terms this week, and she really doesn’t want to mess with that, but if Ino thinks something’s a waste of time then she’s going to want to talk through the whole lesson, and Sakura needs this lesson desperately.

“ I’m going to use it,” she whispers. Her best friend startles a little, glancing over.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Ino nods slowly, then pulls out her notebook. “I’ll try to get some sketches, okay? If he does any interesting forms or anything?” Now that would be very helpful. Sakura isn’t exactly an artist, and she’d probably miss half the content trying to get the picture right.

“Thanks.”

“But you have to show me your notes after, so I can try this out.” She’ll probably never have any need to, there are always plenty of Yamanaka around to help their heir train. But the little show of solidarity is nice nonetheless.

“Sure, Ino-chan.”

Raidou’s lesson is good, too. The man reminds Sakura of Kakashi-sensei in a lot of ways, he has the same sort of intensity when it comes to getting things just right. He also has a half-dozen examples that aren’t just about how a hypothetical someone might practice on their own, but how he himself did. It’s not perfect, there really is no substitute for a fresh set of eyes, but the exercises are doable and the way he explains focusing on how each muscle feels in motion makes it seem like something she can learn. It’s not like the lesson suddenly puts her on even footing with everyone else, but it’s a boost up.

Sakura notices the intent focus of her regular senseis as Raidou talks – Iruka-sensei’s even taking notes of his own – and doesn’t think Kakashi will take it for granted that she has a spotter available again. It’s…she thinks they might have actually listened to what she said, even though it was disrespectful and rude.

It’s not like she’s the reason that Raidou-san is here, or anything. That would be absurd, she’s just one random kid. But they’re really listening to what he has to say about training alone, and for that if nothing else she’s willing to give the teachers another chance.