The decision came quietly.
No council vote. No dramatic confrontation. Just a sealed notice placed on Kozan's desk while the mist outside the tower windows hung heavy and still.
TEMPORARY REASSIGNMENT.
Mei stood across from him when he read it, arms folded, expression carefully controlled.
"This wasn't my idea," she said.
Kozan set the paper down. "But you allowed it."
"Yes."
He looked up at her.
"Explain."
Mei exhaled. "Other villages are pressing. Hard. They don't want you acting as Kirigakure's shadow while these… uncertainties exist."
Kozan said nothing.
"They asked for distance," she continued. "A visible one."
"And you gave it to them."
"I gave them time," Mei replied sharply. "Time so they don't force the issue themselves."
Silence followed.
Kozan stared at the notice.
Temporary removal from border operations.
Limited field engagement.
Advisory role only.
Contained.
"You're protecting the village," Kozan said. "Not me."
"Yes," Mei answered. "That's my job."
He nodded once.
"I understand."
That answer hurt her more than anger would have.
The First Thing Taken
The academy courtyard was quiet when Kozan arrived.
The students were halfway through morning drills. Their movements slowed when they noticed him standing at the edge of the field.
Some straightened instinctively.
Some faltered.
One boy froze entirely.
The instructor noticed and barked a correction, but Kozan raised a hand gently.
"It's fine," he said.
The boy looked up at him fear and awe mixed in equal measure.
Kozan crouched slightly to meet his eye level.
"You did nothing wrong," Kozan said quietly. "You're just learning."
The boy swallowed. "A-are you… not teaching anymore?"
The question landed harder than any accusation.
Kozan glanced toward the instructor, who looked away.
"I won't be here for a while," Kozan said.
The boy hesitated, then asked in a small voice, "Did we mess up?"
Kozan's jaw tightened.
"No," he said. "You didn't."
He stood and turned away before the rest could see the weight behind his eyes.
Distance Made Official
The reassignment rippled outward quickly.
Kozan's presence at briefings became advisory only. His input was requested, weighed carefully, and then often softened before implementation.
Not dismissed.
Filtered.
Some shinobi still sought him out privately. Others avoided him entirely.
And a few the ones who had once relied on his quiet guidance stopped coming at all.
He noticed one absence in particular.
A young sensor-nin named Aoi.
She had trained under Kozan for nearly two years. Quiet. Precise. Sharp instincts. She used to report directly to him after border patrols.
She didn't come.
Two days passed.
Then three.
On the fourth, Kozan went looking.
The Report
Aoi was alive.
Injured. Recovering.
The mission had gone wrong near a disputed water route. Kumo patrols had pushed closer than expected. The exchange escalated faster than command anticipated.
Aoi had held the line.
Alone.
The medic's voice was steady. "She should recover physically."
Kozan stood still beside the bed.
Aoi's eyes fluttered open slightly when she sensed him.
"…Sensei?" she whispered.
His chest tightened.
"I'm here," he said quietly.
Her gaze drifted, unfocused. "I called for backup."
Kozan's fingers curled slowly.
"The chain changed," the medic said gently. "Requests rerouted."
Aoi's brow creased faintly. "I thought… maybe you were nearby."
Kozan swallowed.
"I wasn't."
She nodded faintly, not accusing just tired.
"…Okay," she murmured.
That was worse.
Mei's Regret
Mei visited later that night.
She stood in the doorway, watching Kozan sit silently beside the bed.
"She'll live," Mei said.
"Yes," Kozan replied.
"That doesn't mean the decision was wrong."
"No," he agreed. "But it had a cost."
Mei closed her eyes briefly. "I tried to keep you safe."
Kozan finally looked at her.
"I don't need safety," he said quietly. "I need proximity."
Her breath caught.
"You moved me so the world wouldn't reach for me," he continued. "And in doing so, you let it reach for others instead."
The words were not angry.
They were worse.
True.
Mei had no answer.
That Night
Kozan returned to the balcony alone.
The mist clung to him, heavier than usual.
Restraint had cost him authority.
Distance had cost him trust.
And safety had cost someone else blood.
He stared down at the water, fists slowly tightening.
Somewhere far away, watchers were learning.
Not that Kozan was dangerous.
But that the world was willing to move him aside.
And Kozan realized something cold and unavoidable:
Restraint only worked when others shared it.
And they didn't.