Chương 39: 28: A Gift

The physical exam cleared him first thing in the morning. Shin signed the paperwork himself. Hana had wanted to come with him to the Academy, and he'd turned her down—gently, but firmly....... The Academy grounds were quiet when he arrived. Classes were in session. Through the corridor windows he could hear teachers mid-lecture, the shuffle of students answering questions, the ordinary rhythm of a day that had been going on without him. Something in his chest eased. It was a simple life. Monotonous, even.

But he'd come to treasure it—watching Kiba and the others grow day by day, the process itself, the outcome of it. All of it mattered to him in a way he had trouble explaining. Sometimes it felt like a dream. And sometimes he wasn't sure which life had been the dream—this one or the one before—and when he thought about everything that had been Shin Tachikawa, it was like looking at someone he'd known in another century. He drifted to the classroom door without quite meaning to.

"Shin?" Iruka looked up from the chalkboard. The front rows turned. Then the rest.

"Shin's back—""He's back!"

"Shin-kun!" The room erupted. Voices crossing over each other, chairs scraping. Naruto had shot to his feet, grinning so wide his cheeks had to ache. Kiba was waving both arms like he was trying to flag down a ship. Shino gave a single, deliberate nod. And Sasuke— Something moved across Sasuke's face. There and gone. Maybe. Possibly. Shin chose to believe it was a smile. The weight that had been sitting on him for days lifted without ceremony.

"Iruka-sensei," he said.

"I'm back."

"You're feeling better?" Iruka set down his chalk. The warmth in his expression was real, not performance.

"Take care of yourself, okay? Back to your seat."......

"Man," Shikamaru muttered from his desk, staring at nothing in particular.

"He really is popular." Crunch. Crunch.

"Choji." Shikamaru didn't look over.

"We're in class." Crunch. Crunch.

"..." He glanced to his other side. Ino was sitting completely still, chin on one hand, watching Shin make his way down the aisle.

"You're quiet," Shikamaru observed.

"Mind your business."

"Your hair looks different."

"I didn't cut it for you."

"..." With Shin home and recovering, Hana's schedule snapped back to its old shape. She'd already arranged to meet her teammates that afternoon to pick up a mission, and the three of them were heading toward the Hokage Building when Zeri fell into step beside her. All chunin now. No jonin escort needed.

"You literally just finished taking care of Shin," Zeri said, with the resignation of someone who'd learned not to fight her.

"You could take one day off."

"I can't." She glanced sideways at him.

"You know what I'm doing."

"You're still far from the amount."

"Every mission is one day closer to getting him that blade. The sooner he has it, the sooner he'll—" She stopped. Started again.

"He's my little brother. What am I supposed to do, not care?"

"... Fair enough."

"Not care about me?" Ryoto said, somewhere behind them. His voice had the wounded tone of a man who'd been mortally overlooked.

"After everything we've been through?"

"I was talking about Shin."

"Oh. Right. Obviously." There was a beat.

"Hana." Zeri's voice shifted slightly.

"Tomorrow—there's something I want to give you."

"Give me what?"

"You'll see." She turned to look at him. He had the half-smile of someone who was done explaining.

"And—"" No." Ryoto's voice jumped to full alarm. Hana blinked.

"Ryoto—"" No."

"I haven't even finished my sentence," Zeri said." No."

"..." Hana stared at him.

"Are you all right?"

"Hana!" He'd fallen behind, pointing at her for emphasis.

"Don't accept anything! Whatever it is!" Ahead of them, the Hokage Building came into view.

"We're here," Zeri said, pointing. Hana walked on. Ryoto stayed rooted to the spot." Hana—! I have something for you too!" The Uchiha compound, late afternoon.

"A clan meeting?" Itachi sat across from his father, something careful held behind his eyes.

"Why?"

"That's not your concern." Fugaku sat with his arms folded, watching him.

"What concerns you is that you'll be there." This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

"I have a mission tomorrow."

"I'll speak to the Hokage. You'll be excused." He said it like the matter was already settled—like he'd made the call before he'd even sat down.

"This meeting is important."

"Father—""Itachi." He let the name land.

"You are my son. Are you telling me I can't ask you to attend a single meeting?" A pause.

"... You're right." Itachi lowered his head. Fugaku held him in his gaze for a moment. Then:"The Uchiha have always been part of the Leaf. Without the village, we don't exist—and we know that. But when clan interests are at stake, the lines get complicated. Things that should be simple become anything but." He paused.

"The nature of things doesn't change, Itachi. But you're young, and the men you've been dealing with are foxes who've spent decades in that world. Before you make any decisions—think carefully. And if you're willing, I can offer you my thoughts."

"... I understand, Father." Itachi's voice was quiet. His face was unreadable.

"Good." Fugaku moved to stand.

"Father. There's something I need to ask you." Fugaku stopped. He settled back into his seat and waited, arms still folded.

"Among the jonin," Itachi said, "there's been talk, the last few days. A student at the Academy—in Sasuke's year. Top of the class. His name is Shin Takami." He paused.

"He was hospitalized two days ago. A genjutsu. He nearly died. Inoichi Yamanaka saved him." Fugaku said nothing. He watched his son.

"... Was that your doing?" The silence stretched long enough that the sounds of the compound outside seemed to press in—distant voices, a dog, the wind moving through the trees.

"Yes," Fugaku said. Kiba woke up too early. He rubbed his face, squinted at the window. Barely light outside. The room was half-dark, Akamaru a warm, breathing weight on the pillow beside him. He dressed quietly and shuffled out into the hallway. From the kitchen came the sounds of Hana already working—the rhythmic knock of a knife on a cutting board, something hissing low on the stove.

"Sis," he called. Her head appeared in the doorway.

"You're up. Go wash your face. Bentos are almost done." He didn't move. She was wearing a dress. White, with a small floral print. She almost never wore dresses—said they got in the way on missions, didn't like the drag. And her hair was different too. Usually she kept it tied back in a tail, but today it was loose around her shoulders, a small clip near her ear holding one side back. She disappeared back into the kitchen.

Kiba was still standing in the same spot when she came out carrying two bento boxes and set them on the table.

"Stop spacing out." She looked at him.

"One's yours, one's Shin's. Don't forget them when you leave." She turned back toward the kitchen. Kiba stared at her retreating figure. She's going on a date, he thought, slowly. She has to be going on a date. He stood there another moment. Which idiot is it. Something tightened in his jaw. They better not show their face around me. Hana had been telling herself the whole walk over that she wasn't being eager. It's a normal time. I'm not early. This is just when I wake up.

She spotted the figure already standing beneath the old tree at the center of the grass, and her pace picked up without her entirely deciding to speed up. He's early. Good. That's a good sign. The figure turned.

"Hey, Hana!" She stopped.

"Ryoto." Ryoto Ninomiya lifted one hand in cheerful greeting. Behind him, the lake caught the early light.

"What are you doing here," she said. It didn't quite come out as a question.

"Wanted to see what Zeri's giving you."

"That's not your business."

"I'm curious." You just want to cause trouble, she thought.

"You should go home," she said.

"I'll tell you about it later."

"No." She blinked. He kept smiling.

"No," he said again, pleasantly, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. Hana looked at him for a long moment. Then she pressed her fingers to her forehead.

"Fine. Stay." She positioned herself facing the path and waited. Ryoto stood beside her without speaking, which was unusual enough that she glanced at him twice. He was watching her with an expression she couldn't quite categorize.

"Hana."

"What."

"Nothing." He scratched the back of his head. Grinned.

"Never mind."

"You're so strange," she said, and looked away. A beat passed.

"You look really nice today," he said. Slower than his usual pace, like he was picking his way through the words.

"Like—actually. Really." She turned back.

"Really?" Without thinking she caught the sides of her skirt in both hands and turned in a slow circle in front of him.

"Does it actually look good?"

"Yeah." He was looking at her. Around them, the park was full—a family with children on the grass, an old man at the water's edge, a couple on a bench—but the noise of all of it seemed to go very quiet. He saw her face, open and pleased, and the light was warm and she was smiling.

"Really good."

"Thanks." She smoothed the skirt down, satisfied.

"I spent a while on it this morning."

"It shows."

"Anyway." She went back to scanning the path.

"What were you going to give me? Yesterday—you said you had something."

"Which—" He paused.

"Oh. That."

"Yes, that."

"That's..." He scratched the back of his head.

"Actually—""Hana!" They both looked up. A figure was jogging toward them from across the grass, carrying a long flat box under one arm.

"Zeri's here," Hana said, and waved. Zeri Kano arrived slightly out of breath, pushed the hair out of his face.

"Sorry. Little late."

"It's fine. I just got here." She smiled at him.

"Ryoto came too."

"I see." He glanced at Ryoto.

"... Hey," said Ryoto. Zeri had already turned back to Hana. He shifted the box in his arms, then held it out.

"Here." A meter and a half long. Lacquered black, no decoration. She took it—lighter than it looked.

"What is this?"

"Open it." She lifted the clasp. The lid hinged up. Inside was a katana. The blade was just over a meter with a subtle curve to it. Handle and scabbard both black, the whole piece with the particular cleanliness that came from regular care rather than a recent polish. Not new—lived-in, the way a tool looks when it's been respected. Hana went still. Ryoto, beside her, went still too.

"This is—" She looked up at Zeri.

"It's mine," he said.

"Was mine. When I made genin I was using a katana, but it never sat right once I started incorporating ninjutsu. Too unwieldy. I switched to a kodachi. This one has been sitting in the house." He shrugged, matter-of-fact about it.

"You've been working to save up for a blade for Shin. At the pace you're taking missions, who knows when you'll actually get there. This one's doing nothing in my family's storage—one less isn't a sacrifice. So it's yours." Hana stared at him. He called me out here to give Shin a sword. She closed the box.

"I can't."

"Hana—""I mean it, this is too much." She held it back toward him.

"You said yourself a kodachi alone runs several hundred thousand ryo. This is longer than a kodachi. It has to be worth more." Something flickered across Zeri's expression. Then he let out a short, surprised laugh—the kind that escaped before he could stop it.

"Price doesn't scale with length."

"Still expensive."

"My family has been passing down swords for generations. We have more than we use." He was shaking his head, still half-amused.

"This isn't a sacrifice, Hana."

"It still feels—""Think about it this way." His voice leveled out—the practical, decided tone he used when he'd already made up his mind about something.

"If you wait until you can afford it yourself, Shin might have moved on to something else entirely. Kids change. This is his interest now." Hana's mouth closed. Ryoto said, quietly, from the side: "... Take it, Hana." A moment passed.

"... Thank you," she said. Soft. She lifted the lid again. Carefully, she took the katana out of the box and set the box on the grass. Her thumb found the edge of the scabbard, and she drew. The blade caught the morning light. Clean. Cold. The edge held a faint shimmer. The smile that came over Hana's face was not the polished one she wore in public, not the easy warmth she gave her patients, not any of the expressions she had assembled and learned to use.

It was the one underneath, the one that arrived without permission.

"He's going to love this," she said.

"Probably," Zeri said.

"Really." She slid the blade back carefully.

"Thank you, Zeri. Genuinely."

"It's fine."

"You're so thoughtful," Ryoto said, perfectly sincere. Zeri looked at him.

"..." Ryoto looked at the lake.

"Oh—right." Hana turned to Ryoto.

"You were going to give me something too." He blinked. Something shifted behind his expression.

"That—""Is it something nicer than this? Because I already told Zeri I can't take things that are too—""It's not—" He laughed, awkward.

"No, it's not—it's not nicer."

"Then what is it?" He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"I—""Ryoto's giving you something?" Zeri said.

"That's—well—it's—" He was running a hand through his hair now.

"It's kind of—""Ryoto." Hana watched him twist himself in circles. Despite everything, she was smiling.

"What is it?" He met her eyes. She'd already guessed, she thought. Or at least the shape of it. And she could see he knew she'd guessed, and she wasn't going to say anything about it, and he could see that too—"It's fine," she said. Lightly.

"Don't worry about it." He went quiet.

"... Sorry," he said, after a moment.

"You didn't do anything wrong." She lifted a hand in a small, easy wave.

"Today I got an incredible gift. I'm already happy." She looked down at the box.

"That's enough." He didn't answer. Sorry, Hana. This is my own fault.

"Well." Zeri straightened up.

"I should go. And you don't need to keep burning through missions now that you've got this—take a day off sometime."

"Yeah, yeah." She laughed. He turned.

"Zeri." He stopped.

"What is it?" She was quiet for a moment. One hand moved down to the hem of her skirt, smoothing it, a small, reflexive gesture. The other came up to the clip in her hair—and then she stopped, and let both hands fall.

"... Never mind," she said.

"It's nothing."