The road to the main gate was paved with good intentions and loose gravel.
Asuma walked with a lazy, rolling gait, the smoke from his cigarette trailing behind him like a persistent gray ribbon. It mixed with the scent of the morning—damp earth, pine resin, and the faint, sweet smell of Ino's expensive jasmine shampoo drifting from his left.
"Man," Chōji crunched on a potato chip, the sound loud in the quiet morning. "I hope they have snacks in the carriage. It's a three-day ride to Suna."
"It's a diplomatic mission, Chōji, not a picnic," Shikamaru yawned, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He looked at the clouds. "Though, sleeping in a carriage beats walking. Maybe this won't be such a drag."
"WAAAAAAAIT!"
The scream was high-pitched, desperate, and rapidly approaching from behind.
Team 10 stopped. Asuma turned, raising an eyebrow.
Barreling down the street, kicking up a cloud of dust that coated his long blue scarf, was Konohamaru Sarutobi. The kid's goggles bounced against his chest with a hollow thwack-thwack-thwack that matched the frantic rhythm of his footsteps.
The kid was running with his arms flailing behind him, his face a mess of determination and snot.
"Where are you guys going?!" Konohamaru shouted, skidding to a halt. He wiped his nose with a fist, sniffing loudly. Snork.
A bubble of snot inflated precariously from one nostril, wobbling in time with his heavy breathing before popping silently.
Asuma chuckled, tapping ash from his cigarette. He waved his hand dismissively at his students, signaling them to keep moving toward the gate.
"Hey! Don't ignore me!" Konohamaru stomped his foot. "I'm the future-future-Hokage!"
Asuma paused. He looked down at his nephew. The kid was small, scrappy, and vibrating with energy.
"Future-future-Hokage?" Asuma repeated, amusement rumbling in his chest.
Konohamaru struck a pose, planting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest so hard he almost tipped over.
"Well, duh! Boss is gonna be Hokage after Granny! And then it's my turn! That's the order!"
A pigeon cooed from the roof overhead, as if offering its own skeptical commentary on the political hierarchy.
Asuma laughed. It wasn't the cruel laugh of an adult dismissing a child; it was a warm, rusty sound. He had expected Konohamaru to still be the crying kid hiding behind his grandfather's robes. But here he was, mapping out a lineage.
He really believes it, Asuma thought. And he put Naruto ahead of himself. That's loyalty.
A warm breeze ruffled the leaves of the nearby oak tree, carrying the scent of Konohamaru's dusty scarf—like sunscreen and playground dirt.
Asuma knelt down, his knee crunching into the dirt. He was eye-level with the kid now. The smell of cloves and tobacco clung to Asuma's vest, a scent that usually made people back away, but Konohamaru leaned in.
Asuma reached out and ruffled the boy's spiky hair, messing it up completely.
Konohamaru's hair felt stiff with cheap gel and sheer stubbornness, springing back into place the moment Asuma pulled his hand away.
"Take care of the village for me," Asuma said softly. "While the 'Boss' is away."
Konohamaru grinned. He squeezed his eyes shut and shot Asuma a thumbs-up, his teeth gleaming in the sun.
"Believe it, hey!"
From two hundred yards away, near the massive green gates, a familiar voice echoed off the wooden walls.
"HEY! THAT'S MY LINE!"
The morning sun hit the Konoha Gate, warming the massive green timbers until they smelled of cedar and history. But I wasn't looking at the gate.
I was looking at the beast attached to the carriage.
It was magnificent. A chestnut mare with a coat like polished mahogany, a mane braided with traveler's ribbon, and eyes that held the wisdom of a thousand miles. She snorted, her breath misting in the cool air, smelling of oats and warm musk.
The leather harness creaked as she shifted her weight, the sound rich and earthy, promising adventure.
"HORSIE!"
The squeal ripped out of my throat before I could stop it.
I froze.
Next to me, Naruto slowly crossed his arms. He turned his head, staring at me with flat, judgmental blue eyes.
My face went nuclear. I could feel the heat radiating off my cheeks, probably fogging up my lenses. I frantically adjusted my glasses, pushing them up my nose.
"I-I mean..." I deepened my voice, trying to sound professional. "What a fine steed! A... beautiful equine specimen! Look at the... uh... pasterns."
I cleared my throat, the sound ridiculously loud in the sudden silence, while a bead of sweat tickled its way down my temple.
Sweatdrop.
Naruto didn't buy it. He leaned in, invading my personal space.
"I thought you liked toads," he accused. "And slugs."
"I contain multitudes!" I squeaked.
"She's a horse girl!" Anko-sensei spit-laughed from the driver's seat. She was leaning back, boots up on the dashboard, looking terrifyingly relaxed.
She was chewing on a toothpick with aggressive nonchalance, the wood splintering between her teeth.
My face somehow got redder.
"I-I LIKE ALL ANIMALS THANK YOU ANKO SENSEI!"
Anko's grin widened. It was a predator's grin—too many teeth. She leaned down, wiggling her fingers at me spookily.
"Even snakes?" she hissed.
I stopped. I looked at her.
The sunlight caught the mesh of her shirt, the trench coat, the wild purple hair that defied gravity. She was terrifying. She was loud. She was unapologetic.
Anko is so pretty, my brain supplied traitorously.
The thought hit me like a rogue kunai, sharp and unexpected, making my stomach do a weird, fluttery flip.
I felt the blush travel down my neck. My eyes darted down to my boots.
"If by snake you mean Anko-sensei..." I mumbled, kicking a pebble. "...and not Or-the that other guy. Then... yes."
I focused intently on the scuffed toe of my boot, finding the pattern of scratches suddenly fascinating.
The air went still for a microsecond.
Anko blinked. The predator grin faltered. A faint, dusty pink color rose on her cheeks, clashing with her purple hair. She seemed to realize the implication: Wait, a girl looks up to me? Like... a role model?
She sniffed loudly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand to hide her expression. The air between us crackled with awkward energy, static and confusing, until she shattered it with movement.
She aggressively scratched the back of her head.
"We're wasting daylight, brats!"
She moved in a blur. One hand grabbed the back of Naruto's jacket, the other grabbed my vest.
YOINK.
With effortless strength, she hurled us backward. We tumbled through the air and landed with a thump on the wooden bench of the open carriage.
"Let's go!" Anko yelled, grabbing the reins.
"Trying to ditch us, Anko-chan?"
A deep voice drifted over the carriage wall.
Anko froze. She gritted her teeth, the tendons in her neck straining as she forced a polite smile onto her face. She spun around on the seat.
"Of course not, Asuma-san!" she chirped, though her eyes were murdering him.
Asuma stood there, looking relaxed. Behind him, Shikamaru, Ino, and Chōji were lined up, bags slung over their shoulders. Chōji's bag clinked softly—the unmistakable sound of multiple snack wrappers crinkling together in harmony.
I poked my head over the side of the carriage. Naruto poked his head out next to me. We stared at the reinforcements.
Shikamaru looked at me. Then he looked at Naruto. Then his eyes darted to Anko, who was currently vibrating with suppressed energy, and back to us.
His eyes softened with pity.
Ah, I get it, his expression said. Trapped by the snake. How troublesome... for you.
He sighed, a long, weary exhalation that seemed to physically deflate his entire posture.
He smirked and gave a tiny shrug.
I glared at him. Naruto raised a fist and shook it.
Anko spun around to catch us misbehaving, but we ducked behind the wood just in time. The carriage rocked on its springs as we scrambled, wood groaning in protest.
She spun back to Asuma.
Ino was giggling into her hand. Chōji was openly laughing, crumbs falling from his mouth.
Asuma chuckled, the sound like gravel rolling in a barrel. He held out a soft pack of cigarettes.
"Smoke for the road?"
Anko scoffed. She batted the pack away with the back of her hand.
"Get that cancer stick away from me," she snapped. She reached into her mesh shirt and pulled out a stick of dango wrapped in plastic. The syrup gleamed in the sun. "I run on glucose and rage."
The dango glistened, impossibly sticky, defying gravity and hygiene alike.
She glanced back at the carriage to make sure we weren't watching.
Then, in a blur of motion that barely disturbed the air, she sleight-of-handed a single cigarette from Asuma's pack and tucked it into her trench coat sleeve.
The movement was so fast it blurred, accompanied by the faintest swish of fabric, lighter than a whisper.
Asuma grinned, lighting up his own. The smoke drifted up, blue and swirling in the stagnant air of the gate.
The acrid bite of the tobacco cut through the sweet smell of the dango, grounding the moment in something real and adult.
"At least you're trying," he said.