Konohamaru Sarutobi had decided that grief was stupid.
It felt like swallowing a rock that never went all the way down. It sat in his throat when he tried to eat, and it sat in his chest when he tried to sleep. Everyone looked at him with those soft, pitying eyes—"poor Honorable Grandson," "poor boy"—and every time they did, the rock got heavier.
So he decided to stop being sad and start being strong.
If Grandpa was gone, someone had to be the next Hokage. Naruto-nii said he was going to do it, but Naruto-nii was also currently trying to eat a rice ball whole while walking, so the position was clearly open for competition.
"Tell me!" Konohamaru demanded, grabbing the back of Naruto's jacket and digging his heels into the dirt.
Naruto choked, swallowed the rice ball with a sound like a drain unclogging, and spun around. "Quit pulling! I'm busy!"
"Busy doing what?" Konohamaru snapped. "Walking around looking cool? I want the secret!"
They were on the main street, which was annoying because adults kept stopping to look at the rubble piles instead of walking normal. Sasuke was a few steps ahead, ignoring everyone with a skill level that Konohamaru honestly admired. Sylvie-neechan was walking next to Naruto, reading a scroll while she walked like she had eyes in her feet.
"There isn't a secret," Naruto said, wiping crumbs off his face. "It's just… training! And guts! And being awesome!"
"That's not a technique!" Konohamaru yelled. "You beat Neji Hyūga! You beat the dog guy! You summoned a giant toad! You can't just say 'guts'!"
Naruto crossed his arms. "I absolutely can."
Konohamaru looked at Sasuke. "What about you? You did the lightning thing. How do I do the lightning thing?"
Sasuke didn't even slow down. "Grow taller."
"That's mean!"
Konohamaru turned his desperation to the last target. "Sylvie-neechan," he pleaded.
She didn't look up from her scroll. "If you ask me for a secret technique, I'm going to teach you how to file tax exemptions for mission expenses."
Konohamaru recoiled. "That sounds boring."
"It's the deadliest jutsu of all," she said, deadpan. "It kills your soul slowly over forty years."
Konohamaru groaned and let go of Naruto's jacket. "You guys are useless," he grumbled.
Naruto grinned, ruffling Konohamaru's hair hard enough to knock his goggles askew. "Listen," Naruto said, leaning in like he was sharing state secrets. "The real secret? You gotta find your own way. Kakashi-sensei made us fight him for bells. It was super hard. We almost died. That's how we got strong."
Konohamaru blinked. "Bells?"
"Two bells," Naruto confirmed solemnly. "Three people. Survival. No lunch."
"No lunch?" Konohamaru whispered, horrified.
"Zero lunch."
Naruto stood up, looking satisfied with his mentorship. "Anyway, I gotta go meet Pervy Sage. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
"That leaves a lot of options," Sylvie muttered, finally rolling her scroll closed.
She looked at Konohamaru. Her eyes were weird behind her glasses—kind of tired, kind of sharp, like she was reading a book he hadn't written yet.
"Don't rush," she said quietly.
"I have to rush!" Konohamaru said. "Grandpa is—"
He stopped. The rock in his throat got bigger.
"—someone has to be strong enough," he finished, voice wobbly.
Sylvie's expression softened. She reached out and poked him in the forehead, right between the goggles.
"Strong isn't a race," she said. "Go play, Konohamaru."
Then she turned and followed the others.
Konohamaru stood there for a second, watching them go. The Hero. The Avenger. The… whatever Sylvie was. (The Brain? The Scary Nurse?)
"Bells," he muttered to himself.
He clenched his fists.
"Udon! Moegi!" he shouted at the alleyway where he knew they were hiding because they were terrible at stealth. "Emergency meeting! We're going to Training Ground Three!"
The sun was doing that thing where it turned everything in the village gold and pink, trying to convince us that the day hadn't been a nightmare of grief and reconstruction logistics.
I was supposed to be at the hospital.
I wasn't going.
My chakra felt like scraped butter spread over too much toast. My head still throbbed intermittently from the invasion hangover. If I saw one more clipboard today, I was going to set it on fire.
So I walked.
My feet took me toward the training grounds on autopilot. It was quiet out here—the kind of quiet that usually meant "everyone is exhausted," not "peace." The trees in Training Ground Three cast long, spindly shadows across the grass. The memorial stone stood near the posts, cold and heavy.
I was just planning to sit under a tree and dissociate for twenty minutes. Maybe draw a seal that did nothing but make a rude noise when you stepped on it.
Then I heard the shouting.
"NO, UDON! YOU HAVE TO COME AT ME WITH KILLING INTENT!"
I froze mid-step. I knew that voice.
I crept forward, sliding behind a thick oak trunk, and peeked into the clearing.
It was the Konohamaru Corps.
Konohamaru stood in the middle of the field, wearing his scarf like a cape and holding two tiny bells he must have stolen from a cat toy. He looked fierce and ridiculous and about two feet tall.
Moegi and Udon were facing him. Moegi had a stick. Udon looked like he wanted to go home.
"But Konohamaru-kun," Moegi argued, "killing intent is scary!"
"That's the point!" Konohamaru yelled. "Naruto-nii said they almost died! If we don't almost die, we won't become Chunin!"
My stomach twisted.
Oh, kid.
"Okay," Konohamaru declared. "I'm the jōnin. You guys have to get the bells. If you don't get them by… uh… when the sun goes down, I'm going to tie you to the posts and eat all your snacks!"
"You can't eat my snacks!" Udon wailed, clutching his pocket.
"Survival of the fittest!" Konohamaru roared. "BEGIN!"
He threw a smoke bomb.
It was a dud. It hissed, sparked, and let out a pathetic little poof of gray that barely covered his ankles.
Moegi charged anyway, swinging the stick with a battle cry that sounded like a squeaky toy. Konohamaru dodged—actually a decent dodge—and tried to trip her. They tangled limbs and both went down in a heap of dust and giggles.
Udon took the opportunity to run away.
"Cowardice!" Konohamaru screamed from the dirt. "Come back and fight me!"
I watched them.
My first instinct—the one honed by months of Kakashi, Zabuza, Orochimaru, and the constant, grinding pressure of survival—was to step in.
To tell them their stance was wrong. To tell them smoke bombs needed more force. To tell them that "killing intent" wasn't a game, it was the taste of iron in your mouth and the feeling of your own heart trying to stop. To tell them that mimicking Team 7 was a great way to end up with therapy bills and scars.
I took a step out from behind the tree.
Konohamaru was laughing now, wrestling Moegi for the stick while Udon poked them both with a blade of grass.
"I'm gonna be Hokage!" Konohamaru gasped, pinning Moegi's arm. "And then I'm gonna make a rule that bells are illegal!"
"I'm gonna tell Iruka-sensei you swore!" Moegi shrieked.
They weren't training. They were playing.
The village was half-rubble. The Third Hokage was in the ground. The streets smelled like smoke and sad adults.
And here, in the shadow of the memorial stone, three kids were rolling in the dirt and laughing about death because they didn't really understand it yet.
They were pretending. And pretending was… safe.
I stopped. My hand dropped to my side.
If I walked out there, I'd ruin it. I'd be the Serious Genin. I'd be the voice of the exam, the voice of the invasion. I'd turn their game into a lesson, and they'd straighten up and try to be soldiers.
They had plenty of time to be soldiers later. Too much time.
Konohamaru managed to scramble free, holding the bells up triumphantly. The setting sun caught the cheap metal and made it shine.
"I win!" he crowed. "Now hand over the chocolate!"
"No fair!" Udon yelled.
Their chakra was bright and messy and completely unscarred. It tasted like lemonade and grass stains.
I leaned back against the tree, sliding down until I was sitting in the roots, hidden from view. I pulled out my sketchbook, but I didn't draw seals.
I drew three little chibi figures. One with a scarf, one with pigtails, one with glasses. No weapons. Just bells and dust clouds.
Underneath, I wrote: Mission Status: Ongoing.
I let them play until the sun went down and the shadows got too long. Until Moegi said her mom would be mad, and Udon said he was hungry, and Konohamaru finally, reluctantly, agreed to call a truce.
They walked home together, arguing about who was the coolest ninja.
I waited until they were gone, until the clearing was just quiet grass and memory. Then I stood up, brushed the dirt off my shorts, and walked back toward the village.
My headache was gone.
"Good luck, Honorable Grandson," I whispered to the empty air.
And for the first time in a week, the silence didn't feel like a threat.
It just felt like evening.
The training field was empty except for one small, dusty shadow boxing with a wooden post.
The sun had gone down twenty minutes ago, leaving the sky a bruised purple that matched the circles under Asuma Sarutobi's eyes. He walked slowly, his sash heavy on his waist, the smoke from his last cigarette clinging to his vest.
He stopped at the edge of the clearing.
Konohamaru was going at the training dummy like it owed him money. His form was sloppy—exhaustion did that—but the force was there.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
The kid was weeping.
He wasn't sobbing aloud. He was crying with the silent, angry heaving of a chest that refused to let the noise out. Snot ran down his face, mixing with the dust and sweat, but he just wiped it on his sleeve and threw another punch.
Asuma watched for a moment. He saw the old man in the kid's jawline. He saw the stubbornness that ran through the Sarutobi bloodline like a curse.
He stepped on a twig. Snap.
Konohamaru spun around. His eyes were red and puffy, his face blotchy. He scowled instantly, trying to summon an intimidation factor that he absolutely didn't possess yet.
"I wasn't crying!" Konohamaru yelled. His voice cracked.
Asuma chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "I didn't ask."
"I was training!" Konohamaru insisted, scrubbing his face aggressively with his scarf. "It's just… sweat! And dust! There's a lot of dust!"
"Yeah," Asuma agreed, walking over to the tree nearest the boy. "Dusty night."
He leaned against the bark. It was a reflex born of habit; his hand went to his pocket, pulling out the pack and the lighter. He flipped the lid open.
Then he looked at Konohamaru.
The kid was staring at him, chest heaving, looking so small in the big, empty field.
Asuma sighed. He snapped the lighter shut without striking it. He put the pack away, but kept the lighter in his hand.
Click. Click.
"Take a break, kid," Asuma said. "The dummy is already dead. You can't kill it twice."
Konohamaru didn't move. He stared at his scraped knuckles.
"He shouldn't have died," Konohamaru whispered.
Asuma looked up at the Hokage Rock. Even in the dark, he could see the crack in the Third's stone face from the invasion damage.
"No," Asuma said. "He shouldn't have."
"He was strong!" Konohamaru said, the anger bubbling up now. "He was the Professor! He was the God of Shinobi! How could he lose to… to some snake guy?"
"Because he was old," Asuma said bluntly. "And he was stubborn. And he loved this village more than he loved winning."
Konohamaru kicked the dirt. "He was annoying."
Asuma raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"He was!" Konohamaru shouted. "He was strict! And he always lectured me about the Will of Fire! And he never let me do the cool jutsu! He was a pain in the ass!"
Asuma flipped the lighter. Click. Click.
"Yeah," Asuma said softly. "He really was. Believe me. I left the village for three years just to get away from his lectures."
Konohamaru looked at him, surprised. "You did?"
"Sure. We fought like cats and dogs." Asuma smiled, a crooked, sad thing. "He wanted me to be one thing. I wanted to be another. He was impossible to please."
Konohamaru sniffled loudly. The anger drained out of him, leaving just the raw, gaping hole of grief.
"He promised," Konohamaru mumbled. "He said… if I got strong enough… I could fight him for the hat."
Tears spilled over again. Konohamaru didn't wipe them away this time.
"He couldn't wait," the boy choked out. "He couldn't wait until I was old enough to take his place. Now someone else is going to be the Hokage. And I never got to beat him."
Asuma pushed off the tree. He walked over and placed his large hand on Konohamaru's head. He didn't ruffle the hair. He just let the weight rest there, solid and grounding.
They were the only two left. The rebellious son and the honorable grandson.
"He cheated," Asuma said.
Konohamaru looked up, eyes wide.
"He checked out early so you couldn't beat him," Asuma said. "Classic Sarutobi move. Leave the mess for the next guy."
Konohamaru let out a wet, shaky laugh.
Asuma looked at the empty training field, then back at the village lights flickering through the trees.
"He left us a lot of work, didn't he?" Asuma murmured, staring at the empty space where a father used to be. "Stupid old man."
Konohamaru leaned into Asuma's leg, just a little.
"Yeah," Konohamaru whispered. "Stupid old man."
Asuma clicked the lighter one last time, a tiny spark in the dark, and put it away.
"Come on," Asuma said. "Let's get ramen. My treat. But don't tell Kurenai I'm feeding you junk this late."
"Okay," Konohamaru said.
They walked out of the training ground together, leaving the dummy battered and the ghosts behind them.