Kuroyama Nanami enjoyed working at the Konoha Hospital.
She enjoyed how peaceful it was compared to the active duty; how much easier on her conscience and heart the work felt; and how much more meaningful it was to save someone or heal their ills instead of just killing, and killing, and stealing, and killing, again, and again.
To be fair, it wasn't anyone's fault but her own that she found herself doing those missions more often than not. She was good at the whole assassination business, and never saw any reason to try something different when that worked just fine for her. It took a long while for her to notice that the weight of the lifes she took, so easily ignored previousy, had grown to the point it suffocated her every breath.
She still found her hands covered in blood at times, but nowadays it came off easily – just a matter of removing her gloves and washing up.
Despite how much she had been praised for her work before joining the medical division, it was only there that she found a job that truly fit her.
That wasn't to say she planned to stay at the Hospital any longer than she had to, however. As much as she loved her work, Nanami was a lazy person at heart, and she loved her home and her family far more.
Which was why she was so grateful for this time of year.
When the newest batch of Academy students graduated and the jōnin were called back to the village in droves to test them, the number of dangerous missions the village accepted dropped sharply. It was an intentional lull – meant to avoid sending genin and underprepared chūnin on missions beyond their ability while reinforcements were scarce.
And because the idiots most likely to get hurt and need dedicated medical attention were all busy babysitting snot-nosed kids, the hospital staff had a brief period of peace. For those precious few days – and, to a lesser extent, the following weeks – the worst they had to deal with were injured civilians, who were far easier to treat.
So, as soon as her shift ended and she confirmed there were no remaining cases requiring her attention, Nanami headed to the doctors' restroom and indulged in one of her favorite activities.
A long, steamy bath after a long day of work.
There was something deeply satisfying about feeling the little aches she'd accumulated throughout the day fade as her blood cooled and the hot water loosened muscles she hadn't even realized were tense. It never failed to leave her smiling.
Stepping out of the bathroom with towels wrapped around her body, she was only mildly surprised when she felt the weight of someone jumping onto her back – arms locking around her neck and legs circling her waist.
"Nana-chaaan~ Already going back home?"
Unbidden, a smile came to her lips at the infectious cheer in the girl's voice – well, woman, really. They were the same age, for Kami's sake.
Izuno Sana. Nanami's oldest friend, and the one who had convinced her to try becoming a doctor in the first place. The two of them had trained together, passed every test together, and worked side by side ever since.
Nanami often felt she could never repay her for that push – especially since it was because of it that she had ended up meeting her husband.
"Sana-chan," Nanami called back warmly, matching her cheer, "if you don't let me go, I'll slip a poison into your bento that'll leave you with explosive diarrhea for a whole week."
"Gah!" Sana yelped as she immediately let go, hopping back and crouching on the floor with a hiss. "How could you say that, Nana-chan!? Your food is sacred!"
"And my body is a temple," Nanami replied in a lecturing tone as she began dressing herself. "Touch it without permission and the gods will revoke their blessings and turn them into curses."
"Damn, that was smooth," Sana muttered as she straightened up, feline eyes roaming shamelessly over her friend's body. "But what's the hurry? You usually take, like, three times as long in the shower." She pinched her chin and tilted her head, then blinked as a smirk spread across her face and she punched her palm. "Oh! Yo-kun must be home already, right? You said his sensei started his team's test yesterday. Man, what a hard-ass. You think he passed?"
Nanami hesitated for just a moment, hands clenching as she pulled down her blouse. She sniffed once, lifting her chin.
"He will if the jōnin has any sense. My Yo-kun is the best."
"Hahaha! I expected nothing less from Mama-Bear Nana-chan!" Sana laughed, then softened, offering her friend an encouraging smile after noticing the brief hesitation. "Don't worry, Nana. Yo-kun's a strong boy. I'm sure he did well."
'Not as strong as he could have been,' Nanami corrected silently, guilt and self-loathing bubbling uncomfortably in her chest.
Catching the shift in Nanami's expression, Sana pursed her lips – then her eyes widened, and a teasing grin crept across her face.
"Neh, Nana-chan. Now that Yo-kun is a ninja…" she trailed off, prompting Nanami to look up at her in confusion. "Hehe. He's considered an adult now, right?" Sana asked slyly, cupping her cheeks and sighing dreamily as she gazed off into the distance. "Ah~ I still remember when Yo-kun was such a cute little thing. He'd cling to me every time I visited and go, 'Nee-chan~ Nee-chan~ will you marry me when I grow up~?' I wonder if I should accept his propo-"
"Oi."
A cold shiver ran down Sana's spine as she felt the sharp tip of a senbon press lightly against the skin of her throat.
She opened her eyes to one of the most terrifying sights she had ever witnessed – Nanami standing close enough that she could feel her breath, her face utterly expressionless, her eyes a swirling, empty void.
"Are you tired of living?"
Sana swallowed hard, slit pupils shrinking to pinpricks as she forced out a strained laugh. "E-ehhh~ It's been a while since I've seen Nana-chan like this. Kinda nostalgic, you know?"
Nanami blinked.
In the next instant, her expression softened back to normal – and the senbon vanished.
Nanami shot Sana a reproaching look and pouted. "Mou, Sana-chan, don't joke like that. Yo-kun will find a nice girl his own age, and they'll date and fall in pure love, then marry and give me plenty of grandchildren to spoil. I won't let any wrinkled hag get her hands on him."
Sana sweat-dropped, though she was still smiling. "That's… kind of hurtful, you know."
Nanami only pouted harder, her frown so exaggerated it made Sana giggle.
"Man," Sana said, shaking her head, "I still can't believe you turned out like this. None of our classmates would recognize you as the same person they used to call Ice-Queen Nanami."
Nanami gave her a flat stare before turning away to pack up her things. "That nickname was stupid. I don't even like the cold. Besides," she added dryly, "it's hard for them to recognize me when most of them are dead already."
Sana barked out a startled laugh. "Why is it that the one thing you decided to keep was your awful dark humor?"
"Because Tatsuo liked my jokes," Nanami replied softly, a small smile touching her lips.
"Of course he did," Sana said with a wry smile of her own. "He was weird, just like you."
Nanami huffed good-naturedly and slung her bag over her shoulder.
"See you tomorrow, Sana-chan," she said as she headed for the door.
Before she could leave-
"Hey."
Nanami paused, hand resting on the doorframe, and looked back.
"Buy something sweet on your way home, for Yo-kun," Sana said. "Whether he passed or failed, sweets are perfect – for celebrating or for comfort." She paused, then added, "Just don't buy cake. Or anything with chocolate. Chocolate when you're sad is just depressing."
Nanami was quiet for a moment. Then she nodded, turning back with a grateful smile before walking away.
-~=~-
Somehow, despite how light it actually was – especially for a ninja – the paper bag filled with manju felt as if it weighed a ton in Nanami's hands.
Eager for a distraction, she let her attention drift to the street as she made her way home.
The sun was nearly set now, bathing the village in an amber hush. Light poured low and slanted between the houses, catching on tiled roofs and wooden beams, turning them briefly to gold before slipping away. Shadows stretched long across the packed-earth road, overlapping like inked brushstrokes, their edges softened by dust hanging warm in the air.
The homes of the residential district stood tall and welcoming, sliding doors half-open and exhaling quiet life – low voices, the clink of dishes, the faint scent of rice and simmering broth. Paper lanterns, still favored by many despite the practicality of electric lamps, began to glow beneath the eaves, their red and cream skins warming as flames were coaxed to life.
Gardens flanked the road in gentle order: vegetables heavy with growth, flowers leaning over fences as if curious about passersby.
A cat perched atop a low wall, tail flicking lazily, eyes narrowed against the sun's final glare.
Somewhere nearby, a child laughed – bright and fleeting – followed by a mother's call that carried the warmth of routine rather than any real urgency.
It was funny, Nanami thought, that she had resisted coming here when her husband first suggested it.
She had liked her old apartment. She really had.
It was small, quiet, and peaceful – tucked away on a street mostly lined with buildings just like it, built as cheap housing for shinobi. The only neighbors you found there were fresh genin, orphans one and all, trying to build their first real home, and older, more experienced ninja who were married to their work and only used their apartments as places to store their belongings and recover between missions.
The first group was too busy running constant D- and E-Rank missions to bother her.
The latter were the kind of people who viewed social interaction as an unfortunate side effect of being alive.
The east side of Konoha was none of that.
It was where every civilian family and wannabe clan wanted to live, because it was where most of the actual clan compounds were found. People wanted to be close to ninja—to admire them, to feel protected by them, to feel elevated by proximity, to catch their attention and maybe, just maybe, become part of their world.
Rent was high.
Real estate prices were obscene.
The neighbors were wealthy merchants, business owners, and renowned craftsmen - people who lived on networking and socializing.
The streets were too clean, too bright, and too loud for her taste.
… And the houses were too big. She had never known what she was supposed to do with all that space.
But then she had gotten pregnant, and Tatsuo had convinced her to move.
She couldn't say she ever truly regretted it.
By then, she was already a medic-nin, and the stipend paid for their "mission" of working at the hospital was more than enough for her to afford the place on her own – even if her husband hadn't come from a family on the wealthier side of things.
The abundance of families had been a nuisance at first, but… the people were nice. Genuinely nice. The older women offered advice she desperately needed during her pregnancy, and later during those first exhausting months of motherhood, before-
Before the fox came and destroyed everything she loved.
A gust of wind brushed past her, carrying the floral scent of the Yamanaka gardens, and the motion tugged at the paper bag of sweets in her grasp.
'Almost everything.'
After that, those same merchants and craftsmen she had once disliked came forward, offering materials to rebuild her destroyed house at almost insultingly low prices. They were the ones who helped her husband rebuild it with his own hands – while he still had the strength to move the way he used to.
Their children became her son's friends. Their constant invitations to small neighborhood gatherings and seasonal festivals made sure she didn't retreat back into herself in a way that would have been harmful to the precious life she had been left to raise.
If she was a functional person today, it was because of them.
Of course, she still had her friends from work, but-
Nanami snorted quietly.
'No ninja is well adjusted.'
A voice pulled her out of her musings and back into the real world.
"Ara, Nanami-chan, coming back from work already?" asked the warm voice of the elderly woman in front of her, making Nanami smile on reflex.
Takahashi Misaki – one of the neighbors she had just been thinking about, and one of the kindest people Nanami had ever met. She was sitting on a chair by the front of her house, watching the sunset, with Shiro-kun – her old shiba inu – resting at her feet. His tail wagged lazily when he spotted Nanami.
"Misaki-baa-chan," Nanami greeted, her voice warm and carefully cheerful. "Things were slow today."
"Ahh… it's that time of the year again," the old woman said wisely, nodding. Then her eyes widened as if she'd just remembered something, bright green irises gleaming as she leaned forward with an eager smile that revealed more than a few missing teeth.
"Ne, ne, Nanami-chan. Yo-kun graduated this year, right? You must be so proud! I saw him running home today – his clothes were all dirty," she said with a chuckle. "Poor boy, his sensei must be working him ragged."
Nanami's heart skipped a beat.
"Say, baa-chan… did he look happy?" she asked quietly.
"Eh?" Misaki blinked, confused.
"Or sad," Nanami continued, words tumbling out now. "Or nervous, or – I don't know, baa-chan. What did he look like?" Her fingers twisted together unconsciously as she spoke.
Misaki noticed the gesture and gave her a worried look.
"I couldn't really tell, Nanami-chan," she admitted apologetically. "He was running, and my eyes aren't what they used to be." Then she smiled, gentle and reassuring. "But don't worry. Yo-kun is a strong boy."
Nanami resisted the urge to scream.
"Yeah… he is," she said instead, smiling as she bowed and said her goodbyes before resuming her walk home.
'Yo-kun is a strong boy.'
'Yo-kun is a strong boy.'
'I know that! I know he's strong – I raised him!' she screamed inside her own head.
And yet…
'Yet not strong enough. Not as strong as he could have been, if I had been a better mother.'
The thought made her blood burn in her veins.
Yang affinity.
A rare thing. A precious thing.
Those born with it were, as she had explained to Yohei, naturally inclined toward medical ninjutsu. But there was another aspect to it – one just as important.
Their bodies.
Individuals with a Yang affinity were naturally hardier, stronger than others, and possessed a far greater ease in increasing that strength over time.
The Akimichi were glaring proof of it – babysitting clan infants was a common E-Rank mission, because careless civilians could end up with broken bones if they weren't careful. Lady Tsunade herself had been born with an immense affinity for Yang chakra, and even before developing her signature techniques, she had already been feared for her monstrous physical strength.
Yohei was strong – but not that strong.
That was why discovering her son's Yang affinity had caught Nanami so completely off guard.
Had she learned of it any other way, she could have made excuses. Told herself there were no reliable methods to identify such an affinity, that he had never shown any signs before, that there was no way she could have known.
But no.
'He created a jutsu. Completely by himself. Fresh out of the Academy – just by taking inspiration from a classmate's technique and a barebones explanation of how Yang Release worked.'
That wasn't normal. Not in any way.
If copying Hidden Techniques - even in a lesser, incomplete form - were that easy, they wouldn't be nearly as precious as they were.
Which could only mean one thing.
'Yohei's potential with Yang Release is immense.'
And that – combined with the fact that he hadn't shown signs of it before – could only mean one thing as well.
'I failed.'
Nanami repeated the thought she'd been circling since that morning.
'Yohei should be much stronger than he is now. And if he isn't, it's because I didn't train him hard enough. Didn't push him enough. Didn't prepare him the way I should have.'
And she knew exactly why she hadn't.
Why she had left his development to the Academy, despite knowing full well that the institution existed to raise the lower denominator to adequacy – not to hone talent to its sharpest edge.
'I didn't want him to be strong.'
The truth of it hit her like a curse.
Because if she was honest with herself – truly honest – she hadn't wanted her son to be a ninja at all.
She hadn't wanted him to walk the same path she had. To wade through blood and lies, again and again, until one day he became the blood in someone else's hands – or returned with his body broken, his mind scarred beyond repair.
She wanted him to live peacefully. A civilian's life.
She wanted him to find a nice girl. To get a stable job. To grow old safely behind the village walls – without duty tearing him away from his family, without being sent to face some monstrous thing that would leave him dying slowly and painfully. Eroding in a hospital bed while his wife cried helplessly at the thought of being alone again, while his son watched his father waste away into something emaciated and unrecognizable.
Nanami took a deep, trembling breath, forcing back the tears threatening to spill.
'But that's just me doing what I always do – avoiding the problem.'
Because she knew, intimately, the truth behind the delusion she had clung to.
Danger wouldn't stay away from you just because you were weak.
More civilians had died in the rampage of the damned fox than ninja did.
The right thing to do would have been to help him become as strong as possible – and then leave it to him to decide whether he wanted to be a shinobi or not, rather than stifling him like that while lying to herself that it was for the best.
Unbidden, as she reached the doorstep of her home, the words he had told her just a few days ago came back to her.
You're the best mom in the world.
Nanami's hands began to shake. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the door as she drew in shallow, trembling breaths.
"I'm sorry, Yo-kun," she whispered. "Your mama is the worst."
After a few moments, she forced herself to recompose. She wiped her eyes and circulated chakra through her body, using a trick developed – and quietly shared – among the women of the hospital. The tension melted away, leaving her looking perfectly composed, as if the exhaustion and emotional collapse had never happened.
"I'm back!" she called out as she stepped inside.
At the genkan, she spotted Yohei's shoes neatly set aside, their soles caked with dried dirt and mud. She made a mental note to clean them later.
"Welcome back!" Yohei's voice came from deeper inside the house.
Slipping out of her own shoes, she padded inside barefoot – only to blink as a strong, unfamiliar scent hit her.
'Pork kimchi?'
She frowned slightly. 'I don't remember buying pork…'
When she stepped into the living room, she was met with an unexpected sight.
Yohei sat on the floor in front of the table. One of the books she had given him lay open beside a notebook, his pen moving quickly across the page as he wrote with intense focus.
Her heart sank.
Yohei… studying?
It wasn't that he never studied. If an exam was coming, he prepared. If he struggled with a subject or grew curious, he put in the effort. But studying like this – unprompted, without pressure or necessity – wasn't like him at all.
'Did he fail?' the thought struck her like a blade. 'Is he studying now because he thinks the hospital is his only chance to stay a ninja?'
She didn't let any of it show. Carefully, she smoothed her expression into neutrality – though there was a sharp intensity beneath it – as she approached and knelt beside him.
Yohei paused mid-sentence, turning toward her with a bright smile.
Then he stopped.
Confusion crossed his face as he took in her expression.
"So?" she asked.
Did you pass?
How are you feeling?
Did you get hurt?
You don't need to give up.
You can do anything.
It's my fault.
I'm so sorry.
He seemed to misunderstand the question.
Yohei winced, the expression clenching her heart like a vise, before letting out an awkward laugh. He sighed, then turned fully toward her and bowed his head.
"I'm sorry! I know I shouldn't have taken your things without permission. I know they're expensive-and dangerous to handle without training. But I didn't use everything I took, and I promise I'll pay you-"
Nanami's right eye twitched.
She grabbed his lowered face by the cheeks and lifted his head, forcing him to look her in the eyes – eyes so painfully like her own.
"Yohei, that's not important," she said sharply. "You could've thrown it all in the trash for all I care."
And it was true.
She wasn't an active combatant anymore. She never planned to be again. There was no real reason for her to keep an armory like that – she did it out of habit, and… perhaps as a way to honor the woman she used to be.
But if throwing it all away helped Yohei even a little, she wouldn't spare it a single thought.
"I just want to know-"
If you're okay.
If you need to cry.
If I messed everything up.
If I disappointed my husband.
"-if you passed."
He blinked.
Then he smiled, cheeks still squished between her hands, and suddenly all the exhaustion, all the guilt, the sorrow, the self-loathing that had been weighing her down simply… vanished.
"Team 5 is here to stay," he said, raising both hands in peace signs.
For one brief, terrible moment, a seed of sorrow and despair bloomed in her chest.
She crushed it with more viciousness than she had ever crushed any of her marks, and reminded herself of the truth she had tried – and failed – to live by.
'A parent's duty is to support their child.'
She lunged forward, pulling him into a tight hug. A sound halfway between a laugh and a kettle-whistle burst from her as she rose effortlessly to her feet, spinning them both around while he laughed and she cheered, hiding her relieved tears in his hair.
"I knew you'd pass," she told him with a confident smile – despite knowing it wasn't true.
He gave her a skeptical, amused look, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Really?"
She gasped theatrically, hands flying to her chest. "Have I ever doubted you, Yo-kun?"
He chuckled. "No. Never."
She nodded smugly, clearly pleased with herself. "And I never will. You know why?"
He shook his head.
She smiled brightly and cupped his cheek. "Because you're amazing, Yohei. You can do anything."
He blushed adorably, and she had to physically restrain herself from squealing and pinching his cheeks.
"I even bought you these," she said, shaking the paper bag in front of his face. "To commemorate!"
Then she blinked.
"Shouldn't you be resting, though? Why are you studying right now?" she asked, eyes drifting to the books spread over the table.
He gave her a dry look. "Weren't you the one who bought those for me and told me to study them?"
She returned the look just as flat, which only made him laugh awkwardly. It wasn't the first time she'd told him to study something – and he was usually perfectly content to leave it until the last possible minute.
"Alright," he conceded, an eager grin spreading across his face. "The truth is, the test gave me some ideas for new jutsu. But I think it'd be better to actually know what I'm doing before I try to make them. Do you think you could help me?"
He hadn't even finished speaking before she was already nodding just as enthusiastically.
"Of course! Just tell me what you need, baby, and I'll make sure you know everything you want to know."
"Nice," he said happily. "We'll do that after dinner, then. I was waiting for you so we could eat together."
"Right!" she said, realization hitting her as she remembered the smell. "Did you buy pork on your way home? You should've told me if you were feeling up for it, Yo-kun." She pouted.
He chuckled sheepishly. "Something like that. On a totally unrelated note, I don't think you'll need to buy meat for the next month, Mom."
She gave him a long look, one eyebrow rising slowly.
He snickered, taking her by the arm, and she let herself be pulled toward the kitchen.
"Alright," she said, amused. "Tell me everything."