Kakashi hated these meetings.
Not because of the paperwork. Or the politics. Or the way the smoke from the Third's pipe always managed to hit him in the one eye he actually used.
Mostly it was the chairs.
Too many chairs. Too many people in them. Too many of those people looking at him like he was supposed to have adult opinions.
He slouched against the wall instead, hands in his pockets, orange book shut for once. The Hokage's office was full: jōnin along one side, councilors along the other, the old man at his desk in the middle like the fulcrum of some badly balanced scale.
Outside, the sky over Konoha was dull and heavy. Inside, everyone pretended that was just weather.
"The preliminaries," Hiruzen said, voice mild, pipe glowing faintly. "Any observations before we formalize your assignments?"
A lot of observations, Kakashi thought. Most of them involved the words Orochimaru, jinchūriki, and your grandchildren are insane.
He kept them in his head.
Maito Gai did not keep anything in his head for longer than a breath.
"Lee's flames of youth burned too brightly," Gai said, fists clenched at his sides. "But he showed his true spirit before the world! That alone—"
"That alone nearly cost him his career," murmured Homura from the council side.
Gai's jaw flexed. The green spandex creaked ominously.
Hiruzen lifted a hand before anyone's blood pressure could spike. "We will discuss Lee's condition in a moment," he said. "First—Hatake."
Half the room's eyes tilted his way when his name was spoken. Kakashi resisted the urge to tilt his head like a confused dog.
"You reported that Orochimaru himself appeared in the tower," Hiruzen said. No preamble, no softening. "And that he placed a cursed seal on Uchiha Sasuke during the second exam."
"He did," Kakashi said.
The memory sat like a cold coin behind his ribs: the snake, the tongue, the casual way those pale hands had marked his student.
"I've added a Five Elements Seal over it," he continued. "It's stable. For now." His voice didn't quite flatten on the phrase, but he heard the echo of the Hokage's dislike of it anyway.
Across from him, a bandaged hand twitched on a cane.
Shimura Danzō's single visible eye was half-lidded, but Kakashi knew better than to trust that as disinterest. "We are allowing the boy to walk freely with Orochimaru's brand still on him," Danzō said, tone deceptively bland. "Interesting."
"It wasn't exactly an option to remove it," Kakashi replied. "Unless you've found a way to erase a Sannin's personal work without erasing the patient."
A few of the younger jōnin winced.
Danzō said nothing to that, but the corner of his mouth tightened.
Hiruzen tamped his pipe out in the tray with deliberate calm. "We cannot rewind the exam," he said. "We can choose how to respond now."
His gaze settled on Kakashi again.
"Sasuke has drawn Gaara of the Sand as his opponent," he said. "Between the curse mark, Orochimaru's interest, and Sunagakure's jinchūriki, he is… a focal point."
Understatement. Kakashi let one hand drift up to scratch at his masked cheek.
"I'll take him," he said. "One month. We focus on speed, precision, and something that can actually punch through that sand armour."
Gai's head snapped toward him. "You intend to teach him that technique, don't you?" he demanded.
Kakashi's visible eye curved. "Which one?"
"The one with the… the—" Gai made an explosive gesture, almost punching Asuma in the shoulder. "The piercing-nature lightning. The one you used in the Third War. The Raikiri."
"Chidori," Kakashi corrected, lazy on the surface. Inside, his jaw had tightened. "I haven't cut through lightning with it in a while."
"Name aside," Hiruzen said dryly, "are you confident he can handle it?"
Kakashi thought of Sasuke's Sharingan spinning, of the boy's lungs burning, of the way he'd shoved the curse mark down with sheer spite. Of the speed he'd need to hit Gaara before the sand reacted.
"Confident?" Kakashi echoed. "No."
Gai made an outraged sound.
"But," Kakashi continued, "if we want something that combines speed, penetrating power, and the ability to capitalize on his Sharingan… it's the best option."
He didn't add: It's what I know how to teach. I can't rebuild his entire style in a month. But I can give him a knife sharp enough to matter.
Hiruzen nodded once. "You will have the month with him," he said. "His training is your primary assignment."
From the council side came the soft drag of cloth. Danzō leaned his cane forward slightly.
"And what of the jinchūriki?" he asked. "Uzumaki's performance in the preliminaries demonstrated… volatility. Reports note a spike in Nine-Tails chakra during the second exam as well. Leaving him without close supervision is unwise."
At the mention of Naruto, several jōnin shifted.
Gai's brows drew together. "His chakra flared when he intervened against the Hyūga boy," Gai said slowly. "And in his own match. It was…" He groped for a word. "Fierce."
"Barely contained," Danzō supplied. "He is a weapon with a cracked scabbard."
Kakashi's fingers twitched in his pocket. "He's a twelve-year-old boy," he said. "Who likes ramen and terrible jokes."
"And happens to be carrying a demon that once leveled half this village," Danzō said. "Sentimentality doesn't change math."
"Enough," Hiruzen said softly, but the room quieted as if he'd shouted.
His eyes were tired around the edges. They'd been tired since before Kakashi was born. They were still sharp.
"Jinchūriki or not, Naruto passed the preliminaries on his own strength," the Hokage said. "He will receive appropriate training. I have someone in mind."
Kakashi glanced over at him. The old man didn't look back, but the faint curve at the corner of his mouth said he had some idea rattling around that Kakashi would probably disapprove of.
"As for supervision…" Hiruzen's gaze flicked to Gai. "You've expressed concerns."
Gai straightened, all earnest muscle and impossible eyebrows. "If Naruto's power spirals out of control," he said, "Lee will not be there to stop him again."
There it was. The guilty ghost.
"The boy has a heroic heart," Gai went on, quieter. "But heroic hearts make reckless choices. Someone must keep him anchored."
"I'll talk to him," Kakashi said.
Gai turned that stare on him. "Words were not enough before."
"No," Kakashi agreed. "But they're where we start."
Across the room, Kurenai folded her arms. "While you're debating which boy gets which legendary deathmatch," she said, voice tight, "Hinata is in a hospital bed with ruptured tenketsu and broken ribs."
Silence hooked itself onto the edges of the room.
Kurenai's red eyes were steady. "Neji didn't just win," she said. "He made an example of her. If she doesn't receive the best care we can offer, the Hyūga elders will clap politely and move on. She'll believe them. And then we'll have lost her twice."
Hiruzen exhaled smoke. "You're requesting additional med-nin resources."
"I'm requesting we treat her injuries as more than an unfortunate side effect of tradition," Kurenai said. "She's… delicate, but she has spine. She chose to stand in front of him. We should honour that."
A murmur of agreement threaded through the jōnin. Even Asuma, who'd been quietly chewing on a cigarette filter in the corner, nodded.
Hiruzen glanced toward the far side of the office.
Three figures in medic uniforms stood there, having slipped in quietly while the jōnin were airing grievances.
"Migaki," the Hokage said. "Your assessment?"
The lead doctor stepped forward.
He was in his late thirties maybe, hair pulled back in a sharp tie, sleeves rolled and stained with ink and faint old blood. His chakra felt like a well-organized library: deep, ordered, with very specific shelves.
"Rock Lee's condition remains critical," Migaki said, voice clipped but not unkind. "The damage to his arm and leg is extensive. Bones crushed rather than broken, ligaments shredded. We are preparing him for surgery—if we can secure a specialist."
Kakashi didn't miss the way several people exchanged looks at that. Specialist, in that tone, was another word for Tsunade that no one said out loud.
"In the meantime," Migaki continued, "we can stabilize and prevent further atrophy. I've assigned Iyashi to his long-term care."
The younger med-nin behind him stepped into view and bowed.
Iyashi looked about nineteen, with soft hands that had probably never thrown a kunai in earnest. Her hair was cropped close to keep it out of the way; her chakra was gentle and persistent, like warm water running over stone.
"I'll be with Lee-san for his daily rehab," she said. "Range-of-motion, chakra circulation, pain management. I won't let him rust."
Gai made a strangled noise that might have been gratitude.
"As for Hyūga Hinata," Migaki said, "her ribs are mending cleanly. The damage to her chakra pathways is more delicate. I want her monitored closely for the next month. Any relapse, any blockage, and we intervene immediately."
"Who's handling night shift in the wards?" Asuma asked.
Migaki rolled his eyes heavenward like a man who had not slept in three days. "Kumadori," he said. "Of course."
The third med-nin grunted and stepped forward. He was older than Migaki, with a beard that had lost the war with his own face and a permanent frown etched between his brows.
"Kumadori," he confirmed. "If these kids try to die at night, I'll be the one telling them no."
His chakra felt like a low, steady growl. Grumpy, but solid.
Kurenai's shoulders eased by a degree. "Thank you," she said.
"Don't thank me yet," Migaki muttered. "We're short-staffed and overscheduled. Unless Konoha sprouts more med-nin in the next week, we'll be triaging hope."
His words landed heavier than he seemed to intend.
Hiruzen tapped the end of his extinguished pipe against the desk. "We may not be able to sprout new med-nin," he said. "But we can cultivate the ones we have."
His eyes flicked to Kakashi, then past him, toward the door.
"There is one more assignment to discuss," he said. "But that can wait until after we close this session."
He rose, and the meeting unfolded into smaller eddies: Gai cornering Migaki with questions, Kurenai talking quietly with Kumadori, Asuma already halfway out the window in search of nicotine and quiet.
Kakashi drifted toward the door with the same lazy slouch he'd entered with.
As he passed Danzō, the old warhawk spoke, voice low enough that only nearby ears would catch it.
"Hatake," Danzō said. "Enjoy your month."
Kakashi paused. "That was the plan."
"Do not get too comfortable with this… tutor role," Danzō went on. "Konoha's shadows are understaffed. The ANBU will need you back for training sooner rather than later."
It wasn't a request. It was a statement, the way men made statements when they were used to the world rearranging around them.
Kakashi looked at him.
Under the wrappings, Danzō's chakra felt like an old wound that had decided being scar tissue wasn't enough; it wanted to be a knife again.
"I'll keep that in mind," Kakashi said lightly. "After my student survives his jinchūriki and his Sannin problem."
Danzō's eye narrowed by a fraction.
Hiruzen's voice floated over from the desk. "For now, Kakashi is where I need him," the Hokage said, tone pleasant, final. "We can revisit ANBU staffing after the exams conclude."
Or after there's still a village to staff, Kakashi translated.
He inclined his head, gave a lazy wave, and stepped out of the office, thoughts already shifting toward a particular brooding Uchiha and the way to shape lightning into a shield that was also a spear.
Being summoned to the Hokage's office felt like being called to the principal and the executioner and Santa Claus all at once.
I stood in the hallway outside the big double doors, trying not to smudge sweat on my already-sweaty palms. My bandages itched. The guard at the door—same one as always, nice chakra, smelled like metal and cheap cologne—gave me a sympathetic look over his forehead protector.
"You're up," he said, pushing the door open.
"Great," I muttered, and walked into the heart of the village.
The office was quieter than I'd ever seen it.
Most of the jōnin and councilors were gone. The air still held the ghost of their arguments, like the echo-smell after an explosion. Papers lay in stacked little battlements on the Hokage's desk. One of the windows was cracked open just enough to let in a thread of cool air.
Hiruzen Sarutobi sat behind the desk, robes heavy, hat set aside. Without the hat, he looked older. Or maybe just… human.
I stood on the round rug in front of him and tried not to fidget.
"Sylvie," he said, and somehow managed to make my name sound like it belonged in this room. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
"Um. Hokage-sama," I said, and bowed so fast my glasses nearly slid off.
He smiled a little. "You've had a difficult few days."
"You mean the part where I concussed myself, body-swapped with my friend, screamed at a jinchūriki, and watched half my year group get broken?" I said before my better judgement could strangle the words.
His brows lifted. "That would be the one, yes."
Heat crawled up my neck. "Sorry," I mumbled. "I… my filter's tired."
"Filters are overrated," he said. "As long as you're honest."
That was not how adults in my previous life had ever described honesty, so it threw me off balance just enough to shut me up.
He shuffled a few pages on his desk, then set them aside. "Several of my med-nin have spoken to me about you," he said.
My stomach dropped. "I swear I didn't steal any medical supplies," I blurted. "On purpose. The bandages in my bag are from when Kusushi told me to take extra and then forgot he'd said it and told me not to, but I already had them, and—"
"Sylvie." His voice had a gentle stop sign in it. "You're not in trouble."
"Oh," I said weakly. "Good."
I tried to remember how to stand like a normal person and failed. My weight shifted from foot to foot.
"Kusushi, Mitate, and a few others mentioned," the Hokage went on, "that during the Forest of Death and the preliminaries, you assisted with diagnostics and field stabilization. That you have a knack for it."
"I… can kind of see chakra colours," I said. "It's just, like, a thing. I read the texture. It's not that impressive, I just—"
"It is unusual," he said. "And potentially very valuable."
My throat went dry. "Valuable how?"
He folded his hands. "You were the one," he said slowly, "who shouted that you'd help Rock Lee walk again."
My face went hot so fast I thought my ears might catch fire. "Right," I croaked. "That."
"I appreciate ambition," Hiruzen said. "I appreciate, even more, when it points toward healing instead of destruction."
He gestured toward the far side of the office.
I hadn't even noticed there was someone else there.
An old man in a medic's coat sat perched on one of the visitor chairs, ankles crossed, a scroll unrolled across his knees. His hair was mostly gone, what remained clinging to the back of his skull in a stubborn horseshoe. Ink stains mottled his fingers, his sleeves, and somehow one cheek.
He squinted at me over round-lensed glasses, the kind that made his eyes look slightly larger than life.
"This is Kanpō," the Hokage said. "He has been running Konoha's sealing office for longer than you've been alive."
Kanpō sniffed. "Longer than you've been Hokage, too, if we're counting."
Hiruzen's mouth twitched. "Kanpō," he corrected, "has a great deal of experience with practical fūinjutsu."
The old man rolled his eyes like practical fūinjutsu was a tragic downgrade from whatever abstract sealing art he'd wanted to be known for.
"Storage scrolls, containment wards, stabilization seals, reinforcement tags," Kanpō said, rattling them off. His voice was reedy but brisk. "Also explosive tags, but the insurance office started complaining, so I've been discouraged from teaching those to children unsupervised."
That sounded like a story. I filed it away for later.
"Your file says you've been drawing your own tags," he continued, peering at me. "Improvised flash, adhesion seals, chakra trip-wires. Sloppy, but inventive."
"I didn't have proper ink," I said defensively. "And the brushes in the academy are terrible. And no one was going to teach me because they didn't think fuinjutsu was for—"
I cut myself off before I said "orphans" or "girls" out loud. It was implied.
Kanpō's mouth folded into something that might be a frown or might be his default face.
"Mm," he said. "They were wrong."
My heart did a weird flip.
"You have two things that interest me," he went on. "One: you can see chakra in a way most people cannot. Two: you are irritatingly persistent."
"I— thanks?" I said.
"Irritating," he repeated, as if that were the important word. "But useful. Hokage-sama and I have agreed that you will divide your month between the hospital and my seals."
"The hospital," I echoed.
"Doctor Migaki," Hiruzen said, "has agreed to take you on as an assistant. You will spend half your days in the wards—helping Iyashi and Kumadori, learning proper diagnostics, stabilizing chakra flow under supervision."
Names slotted into place in my head. Migaki: tired, sharp, smelled like ink and antiseptic. Iyashi: gentle hands. Kumadori: beard, perpetual grumble.
"And Lee?" I asked, not quite managing to keep the wobble out of my voice.
Hiruzen's eyes softened. "You will work with his team," he said. "You will not be solely responsible for him. That would be unfair. But if you are serious about helping him, this is where it begins."
Something in my chest that had been clenched since I saw his arm bent wrong in the arena finally moved.
"And the other half?" I asked.
"Kanpō," Hiruzen said, "will be delighted to abuse your wrists."
The old man snorted. "Flatterer," he said. Then to me: "You will report to the sealing archives after lunch. We will start with brush control and the difference between 'art' and 'useful writing.'"
I bristled. "My art is—"
"Your art is fine," he said. "Art is for walls. Seals are for not exploding. The priorities are different."
I opened my mouth, then shut it again when I realized he wasn't insulting me so much as… categorizing.
"Day to day," Hiruzen said, "Kanpō will handle your training schedule. Once a week, however, I would like to review your progress myself."
My brain stalled.
"Yourself," I repeated, like maybe I'd misheard.
"It has been a long time since I had a sealing student," he said, almost lightly. "I could use the exercise."
This was absurd.
I was an orphan in slightly-stolen clothes who'd barely passed her genin exam. Now the Hokage was telling me he'd personally look at my homework.
My stomach did cartwheels. "Are you sure?" I blurted. "I mean—don't you have a village to run? And politics to… politic? And grandchildren to worry about and—"
He chuckled. "Are you declining, Sylvie?"
"NO," I said, too loud. My voice cracked. "I mean. No. Absolutely not. I just. I don't want to waste your time."
"Teaching the next generation is never a waste of time," he said.
I thought of Lee on the stretcher, of Hinata coughing blood, of Naruto shaking with rage at Neji. Of Sasuke's clenched jaw when he said I'll do what I have to.
"Okay," I said, quietly this time. "Then I'll try not to waste it."
Kanpō made an approving noise that sounded like someone rearranging scrolls.
"Report to the hospital tomorrow morning," Hiruzen said. "Migaki will brief you. After that, the archives. And once a week, here."
He gestured at the desk, at the room, at the view of the whole village out the window.
I swallowed.
"Yes, Hokage-sama," I said, bowing so deep my glasses nearly slid off again. "I won't… I'll work hard."
"I suspect you already were," he said. "Now you'll simply have more direction."
As I straightened, his gaze caught mine. For a heartbeat, something that wasn't just kindly-old-man flickered there—something sharper, like the edge of a seal array.
He was worried, I realized.
About Orochimaru. About Gaara. About Naruto's seal and Sasuke's curse and whatever the Sound village really was.
And somewhere in that knot of worry, he was slotting me in as a… tool? Weapon? Patch?
The thought should have made my skin crawl. Instead, it made my spine stiffen.
If I was going to be used, I wanted it to be for this. For fixing things.
"I'll start with not exploding anything," I said, more to myself than to him.
"An excellent baseline," Kanpō said dryly. "We'll build from there."
I left the office with my head buzzing and my stomach doing slow flips. Outside, the hallway seemed too narrow for everything that had just been shoved into my future.
Half-time hospital, half-time seals, and the Hokage himself checking my work.
I pressed my hand flat over my chest as I walked.
Under my fingertips, my heart thudded hard, anxious and eager and terrified.
"Okay," I whispered. "Let's see if I can keep you all in one piece."
The air underground tasted like stone dust and old ink.
Danzō Shimura sat at the narrow table, hands folded over the head of his cane, and read the reports by the light of a single lantern. The glow carved deep lines into his face, turning them into trenches.
Above, Konoha murmured in its sleep. Below, his ROOT did not sleep at all.
"The Forest of Death," he said, voice soft enough that it didn't need to be. No one down here spoke loudly. "Uzumaki's Nine-Tails chakra spiked."
The operative kneeling before him didn't move.
He wore the blank mask of ROOT—white, featureless, with only the faintest inked curve where a mouth might be. His uniform was regulation: dark, tight, no ornaments. Only the short ink brush tucked into his arm-guard broke the silhouette.
"This is confirmed?" Danzō asked.
A second operative, to the left, answered. "Confirmed, Danzō-sama. Sensors stationed at the exam perimeter reported a brief surge of high-density chakra matching the Nine-Tails' profile. It subsided quickly."
"Trigger?"
"Emotional agitation," the operative said. "The boy was cornered. He responded… instinctively."
Danzō's lips thinned.
"Instinct," he murmured, "is simply habit carved into the body."
He set that scroll aside and picked up the next.
"Uchiha Sasuke," he read. "Cursed seal of Heaven."
The ink strokes were precise, clinical. Anko's name appeared in the margin—a note that her own mark had reacted. Kakashi's report followed: Five Elements Seal placed, Orochimaru encountered in tower, direct threat made against the boy.
Danzō's chakra coiled, a snake uncomfortably awake.
Orochimaru was here, in his village, sniffing at his weapons. Branding them.
He should have been allowed to clean this infection out years ago.
Instead, Hiruzen had chosen mercy.
Mercy had a long half-life and a bitter taste.
Danzō bled the irritation out on his next exhale and reached for the third scroll.
This one was thinner. Less formal. Field notes. The handwriting was different; this scribe had hesitated over her kanji.
Subject: Sylvie [no clan name on record]
Status: genin, Team 7
Observations: improvised fuinjutsu use in first exam; trap tags, flash seals in Forest; successful disruption of Yamanaka mind technique; chakra perception anomalous. Reports from med-nin Kusushi and Mitate note "uncanny" diagnostic instincts and "colour language" for chakra.
"Colour language," Danzō repeated, unimpressed. "The Yamanaka have been tracing emotions through chakra for generations. This child merely describes it louder."
Even as he said it, the words did not sit comfortably.
Improvised fuinjutsu at her age was common enough among clan heirs. Storage scrolls, toy tags, the usual. She had no clan. Her tags had been made with poor materials, on the fly, in combat.
He had seen the aftermath in the exam notes. Smoke patterns that did not match standard flash tags. Adhesive residue on trees his patrols had found. A Sound nin with a scrambled arm on top of all the obvious injuries.
More interestingly, multiple independent reports—Anko's, Kusushi's, even a passing note from Nara Shikaku—mentioned the way she "read" chakra like texts, reacting to subtle shifts that others missed.
A seal-girl, one of Danzō's younger analysts had scribbled in the margin. With good aim.
He turned the phrase over in his mind. It did not displease him.
Uzumaki Naruto: container.
Uchiha Sasuke: blade.
Sylvie: potential lock.
It was almost poetic. He distrusted poetry on principle.
Danzō set the scrolls down in a neat stack.
"The Hokage," he said, "has decided to give Sasuke to Hatake for training. He will indulge his nostalgia for the White Fang and Minato's brat a little longer. He has also chosen to indulge the seal-girl with resources."
He did not spit Hiruzen's name. Old friends did not need such theatre.
He did not need to oppose every choice the Hokage made. Only to correct the ones that mattered.
"Asset management," he said softly. "That is our concern."
He lifted his gaze to the operative in front of him.
"You," he said. "Step forward."
The young man did as ordered, shifting from a kneel to a low crouch, eyes lifting just enough to meet Danzō's chin. His face was pale above the mask cloth that covered his lower half; his eyes were wide and empty in the way only someone thoroughly scrubbed of personal history could manage.
At his wrist, the ink brush gleamed with a faint sheen of chakra.
"You will conduct distance surveillance on two targets," Danzō said. "Uzumaki Naruto and the seal-girl, Sylvie. You will not be seen. You will not be heard. You will not engage unless explicitly ordered."
"Yes, Danzō-sama," the boy said.
"Report any further spikes of Nine-Tails chakra," Danzō continued. "Report any unusual sealing activity. Particularly if it intersects with the jinchūriki."
The boy nodded.
"Additionally," Danzō said, "you will probe Konoha's security arrays around the hospital and the exam arena. Quietly. Look for flaws. Weak seals. Places a… visitor could slip through unnoticed."
A flicker—not quite emotion, something like curiosity—touched the boy's eyes.
"Only probe," Danzō added. "If you trip an alarm, I will consider it a failure of training. And I do not keep failed experiments."
"Understood."
"Good." Danzō reached for the mission scroll beside him, dipped the brush at his elbow into ink, and began to write the formal order.
He was halfway through the words "surveillance perimeter" when he realized there was something else on the parchment.
A tiny mouse, ink-black and crude but undeniably rodent, peered up at him from the corner of the scroll. Its tail twitched. Its nose wriggled. It did a small, respectful bow.
For half a second, Danzō simply stared.
The mouse turned and scampered along the edge of the scroll, leaving no tracks. It reached the end of the parchment, hesitated, then flickered and bled back into nothing.
Danzō lifted his gaze slowly.
The boy's eyes were on the table, expression blank. But his right hand was just slightly more relaxed than his left. A faint smudge of wet ink stained his thumb.
Danzō set the brush down with deliberate care.
"If you have time to draw," he said, "you have time to scout."
The boy's shoulders tightened. "Yes, Danzō-sama."
"Your ink work is wasted on the margins of our paperwork," Danzō went on. "Use it on the field. On enemies. On the Hokage's blind spots."
"Yes, Danzō-sama."
Danzō finished writing the mission order, dried it with a quick pulse of chakra, and rolled the scroll. He held it out.
The boy took it with both hands, bowed, and stepped back into shadow.
"Go," Danzō said.
The operative vanished into the tunnels without another sound, the faint smell of ink and damp cloth trailing behind him.
When the echoes of his footsteps had died, Danzō let his fingers rest on the stack of reports again.
Uzumaki. Uchiha. Sylvie.
Pieces on a board Hiruzen still believed he was arranging alone.
"Sentiment," Danzō murmured, almost kindly, "will be the death of you, old friend."
He tapped the scroll where "seal-girl" had been scribbled in the margin, then pushed the papers aside and started on the next set of contingencies.
In the dark beneath Konoha, where no brackets were posted and no crowds cheered, another kind of exam had already begun.