Konohagakure
The sound of laughter floated through the open windows of the Mitarashi house, buoyed by music, and the unmistakable scent of grilled skewers and roasted sweet buns. Lanterns hung from strings crisscrossing the backyard, glowing warm orange and pink in the late afternoon sun. Paper pinwheels spun lazily in the breeze, and someone had done a small jutsu on a row of sparklers to fizz every few minutes in celebration.
Rei stood outside the garden gate for longer than she meant to.
From inside, the familiar chatter of Genma's voice carried—something about daring Gai to eat a pepper dumpling without crying—and the resulting groans suggested he had already lost that bet. Rin's laugh cut through the air next, high and bright, followed by Anko's loud shush that didn't manage to quiet anything.
Rei hesitated.
She hadn't expected to be invited.
Not after the awkward tension that had clung to her last visit. Not after the clipped goodbyes and that uncomfortable look Anko gave her as she walked out the door. And yet, here she was—an invitation delivered by Rin, written in purple ink with a doodle of a snake and a sparkler beside her name.
She stepped through the gate.
No one noticed her at first—too busy crowding the snack tables, pulling each other into group photos, or huddling by the makeshift stage Gai had declared would be used for "victory speeches." Rei kept to the edges, her eyes scanning the crowd. There they were: Hayate and Genma in matching bandanas, bumping shoulders like they were already jōnin. Gai, shirtless, doing push-ups for some reason while kids gathered around to cheer him on.
And at the center of it all, Rin and Anko.
Rin spotted her first.
She gave Rei a small wave, then leaned toward Anko and whispered something. Anko froze, mid-laugh, her chopsticks hovering just above a fried dumpling. Her smile faltered for a second—but only a second.
Then she looked up, caught Rei's eye, and motioned her over.
Rei's steps were slow, uncertain. She didn't stop until she stood a few feet away, hands loose at her sides, mouth unsure of what to say.
Anko beat her to it.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," she said, voice louder than it needed to be—but her eyes were honest.
Rei tilted her head slightly. "I wasn't sure I was invited."
"You were," Anko said quickly. Then, quieter, "I should've said that sooner."
Rin gave Anko a soft nudge. Anko rolled her eyes but smiled—small, sheepish.
"I was kind of a jerk last time," Anko said, rubbing the back of her neck. "Didn't know how to say what I meant. Thought I had to keep it together all the time. But... Rin helped me realize I was pushing away the one person I didn't want to lose."
Rei blinked. Her heart stirred in that quiet, guarded way it always did when people said things that felt too close to kindness.
Anko stepped forward, more serious now. "I was insecure, okay? You were out there doing missions, training with Orochimaru—while I was still stuck memorizing chakra theory. I hated feeling like I was behind. But that wasn't your fault. And I should've never made it your problem."
There was a long pause.
Rin shifted closer to Rei and smiled gently. "We all need people, Rei. Even you. Especially you."
The words cracked something open in Rei's chest, so subtly she barely noticed it until it spread—warm, raw, real.
"I didn't want to fight," Rei said. "I just didn't know how to fix it."
Anko nodded. "Same."
Then, with a grin: "So let's not waste the party on awkward silence, yeah?"
Rei looked at them both, something settling in her shoulders, a tightness loosening in her ribs.
"Okay," she said.
Anko clapped her on the back. "Good. Because I made snake-shaped dango and someone needs to suffer through it with me."
Rin groaned. "They're terrifying."
"They're creative," Anko huffed.
"You gave them fangs."
"They're festive fangs!"
Rei laughed—and this time, it was real. It was light.
The music swelled behind them, and somewhere, Gai was declaring a dance-off. Genma leapt onto a crate with Hayate trailing behind, both holding sparklers like swords. The chaos was familiar. And for the first time in a while, it didn't feel too loud or too far away. It just felt like home.
"Please tell me no one is letting Gai win that," a voice said over Rei's shoulder.
She turned to see Obito weaving through the crowd, his hair slightly windblown, goggles pushed up over his forehead, and a lazy smile tugging at his mouth. He had a plate in one hand and what looked like three skewers in the other—two of which were already half-eaten.
Anko waved him over. "You're late."
"I was training," Obito said with an exaggerated groan. "Minato-sensei has us gearing up for something big tomorrow. Said we'd be away for a while."
Rei blinked. "A mission?"
Obito nodded, looking only slightly concerned as he stole a rice ball from the edge of Anko's plate. "Land of Grass again, probably. Minato's tight-lipped, but we're packing light and heading out early. Said to be ready for at least three days."
Rin appeared beside him, cheeks flushed from dancing—or maybe from dragging Kakashi across the lawn moments earlier. "It's not just us," she said. "He mentioned more teams might get deployed soon. They're reshuffling the squads again because of the border activity."
"Finally!" Anko said, punching the air. "We're meeting our sensei tomorrow morning too. Hope they're not boring. I want someone who can at least throw a kunai without apologizing."
"You'll jinx it," Genma called from across the yard, still sparring Hayate with sparklers.
"I don't care," Anko grinned. "Anything is better than waiting around."
Rei listened, quietly taking it all in. The talk of assignments, of team sensei introductions, of deployment—it was real now. The graduation wasn't just a celebration. It was a doorway. The remaining students finally stepping through.
Her thoughts drifted to Yumi and Hiro.
The last time she'd seen them was after her return from her A-rank mission with Orochimaru—before everything with Koji and Mayu had spiraled. They'd been distant. Not cold, but uncertain. Like they didn't know how to fit beside her anymore.
They weren't here tonight.
A small knot twisted in her chest.
"They probably are with Akira," Rin said, as if reading her mind. "Yumi and Hiro, I mean. Most likely out on a mission"
Rei nodded absently. "Probably"
Obito bumped her shoulder gently. "You okay?"
She gave him a glance, lips twitching toward a smile. "Just thinking."
"Try not to do too much of that. It's a party." He held out the last dumpling from his skewer, a little too dark around the edges. "Want it?"
She looked at it—then at him. "It's burnt."
"It's a gift of love."
Rei rolled her eyes, but she took it anyway, brushing his fingers with hers as she did. Her lips quirked, betraying the faintest smile, and Obito beamed like he'd won something important.
They stood there for a quiet moment in the eye of the storm—music behind them, sparklers crackling, laughter rising and falling in bursts. The firelight painted Obito's cheeks gold, but beneath it, a pink flush lingered stubbornly.
Then he glanced sideways, voice suddenly shy. "Hey, after the mission... do you wanna train? Like old times?"
Rei blinked, surprised by the offer. Obito hadn't asked her to train in months. Not since everything got complicated—since Kakashi and the fight, since Takeshi came home, since Orochimaru.
But Obito wasn't complicated. Not like that.
She nodded. "Yeah. I'd like that."
She didn't notice the way he looked down, grinning at his sandals, ears red.
Before the quiet could deepen, a sharp yell cut through the night.
"OBITOOOO!" Genma came barreling toward them, waving two wooden spoons like weapons. "Emergency race! You're on my team! Gai's declared a speed war and Hayate says you're the slowest Uchiha alive!"
Obito groaned. "He always says that!"
Hayate appeared behind Genma, coughing but grinning through it. "Prove me wrong then, turtle boy."
Obito looked at Rei with reluctant apology in his eyes. "Guess I'm being drafted."
She tilted her head, amused. "Go. Save your honor."
He hesitated a half-second longer than necessary. Then with a grin, he bolted after them into the fray, shouting about being faster than the wind and nearly tripping over a crate.
Rei shook her head, the noise receding as she turned toward the snack bar. The scent of soy, sesame, and sweet rice hung in the air, drawing her toward the table. She picked through the scattered trays, her thoughts a calm drift—that warm haze of peace that settled in when the past stopped pressing so hard against the ribs.
She poured herself a cup of barley tea and turned—
And froze.
Kakashi stood on the other side of the table.
Not passing by. Not flanked by Rin or the others. Just... there. His eyes unreadable, half-lidded under silver lashes.
They stared at each other for a long beat.
Then, quietly, he said, "I made Jōnin today."
Rei blinked. "What?"
"Promotion came in this afternoon," he said, voice even. "I'm officially Jōnin."
Her fingers tightened slightly on the paper cup. "You're serious."
He nodded once.
She narrowed her eyes, unable to hide the confusion that flickered through her chest. "Why are you telling me?"
Kakashi shrugged. "Thought you should know."
Rei stared at him, searching for sarcasm. There was none.
This wasn't boastful. It wasn't even casual. It was... strange. Intimate, in its own quiet way.
"I'm happy for you," she said, the words more real than she expected.
He averted his gaze. "Thanks."
"You didn't tell Rin?"
"Not yet."
"Obito?"
A shake of the head.
She frowned. "So I'm the first."
He didn't answer. He didn't have to.
The silence between them stretched—not awkward, but heavy. Like they were both standing on the edge of something they didn't have the vocabulary for.
"I figured you'd understand," Kakashi said after a moment.
Rei raised a brow. "Understand what?"
"What it means," he said, "to grow up too fast."
Her breath caught.
He finished his tea and set the cup down beside hers, quiet as snowfall. "I don't expect you to care. But I didn't want you to hear it from someone else."
Rei didn't respond at first. She looked past him toward the bonfire, where Obito was now being cheered on by Gai as he ran a ridiculous obstacle course of chairs and streamers.
"I do care," she said finally, the words slipping out before she could catch them.
Kakashi's gaze flicked back to hers. "I know."
For a breath, neither of them moved.
Then Genma yelled something unintelligible about fireworks, and the crowd began to migrate toward the field where launch platforms had been set up. Music swelled again, drums thumping like heartbeats, and the voices of kids echoed over the night.
Kakashi stepped back.
"Congratulations," Rei added, not looking at him.
"Thanks," he said again, and this time, it sounded like he meant more than the word.
Then he turned and disappeared into the shifting bodies and dancing shadows.
Rei lingered a moment longer by the tea table, her cup warm between her palms.
She didn't move. Didn't chase after him. Didn't tell Obito about the conversation when he came running back, face flushed from victory and wind.
But something inside her had shifted.
Because Kakashi hadn't said much.
But he had told her first.
And that mattered more than she expected.
The night had grown quiet by the time Rei slipped away from the last of the lingering voices. She didn't say goodbye. She just pulled her jacket tighter, tugged her hood up, and melted into the darkness beyond Anko's yard. The cool air kissed her face as she walked, streetlights casting long shadows down the silent alleys of Konoha. The party's warmth flickered behind her — fading fast.
She didn't want to go home, not really. Not after feeling the warmth of the night with her friends. A chance to forget about the incoming war....
War...
She passed the market district, the noodle shop, the bridge near the training grounds. The gates weren't far now. A few shinobi guards lounged at their post, talking in low voices near the tower torch. Rei kept walking.
That's when she heard it.
Soft footsteps. Scattered breathing. The tired clip of sandals on stone.
She slowed.
Two figures approached the village gates from the road — silhouetted in the torchlight, their outlines wobbled with exhaustion. One of them stumbled slightly. The other — taller — guided them with a hand on their back.
Rei's eyes narrowed.
Akira.
And—
Her stomach turned.
Yumi.
Her hair was matted, face streaked with dirt and dried blood, clothes torn at the sleeve. She looked like she'd been dragged through the forest, scraped raw from the inside out. Her eyes were wide, rimmed with red, lips trembling. Her gaze flicked toward Rei, then locked — wide and panicked.
"R-Rei..." Yumi's voice cracked.
Rei froze mid-step.
Yumi broke away from Akira with a sob. "Rei—! We—we just got back, and I—I didn't know if—he—"
She was shaking, trying to speak but failing to form the words. Her knees gave out, and she collapsed into Rei's arms without warning, gripping fistfuls of her shirt like a lifeline. Rei stood stiff, too stunned to respond.
Behind them, Akira walked to the gatekeepers — two chūnin who straightened up as he began his debrief in low tones. His face was unreadable. His hands were covered in blood.
Yumi was still clutching her.
"H-Hiro—he... he saved me," she whispered, voice broken like glass. "He threw himself in front of me—when the Iwa-nin found us. I didn't even see the second one—he—he died protecting me, Rei—he's gone—"
The words didn't register.
They bounced around inside Rei's skull like pebbles in a hollow jar.
Hiro?
No.
No, that couldn't be right. Hiro was careful. Hiro may have joked around here and there but he always knew when to be serious.
"He... he wouldn't let them take me," Yumi sobbed into her shoulder. "They wanted prisoners. They had marks—hidden blade signals. Iwa hunter-nin. He fought so hard—oh god—he screamed—"
"Stop," Rei whispered.
Yumi didn't hear her. "He was bleeding—so much—I kept trying to hold him together but they—they pulled me away—"
"Stop," Rei said again, louder this time.
Yumi's eyes widened. "Rei—"
"You're lying."
The air thinned. Even the chūnin by the gate fell silent.
Yumi's face crumpled. "W-What?"
"You're confused." Rei took a step back. "You're hurt. You don't know what you're saying. Hiro wouldn't die. Not like that. He—he probably stayed behind. He probably ordered you to run—"
"I watched him die!"
Rei flinched.
Yumi's voice cracked on the words, her whole body trembling. "I was right there. I saw it. He looked at me and smiled—he knew he wasn't going to make it—"
"No!" Rei shouted.
Yumi's mouth fell open, but Rei wasn't looking at her anymore.
Her eyes had gone blank — unfocused. Her ears rang.
Hiro.
Dead?
The idea didn't make sense. Not in any language her mind could process. Her legs locked. Her arms hung useless by her sides. Her breath didn't come.
Akira returned from the gatekeepers with heavy steps, stopping just behind Yumi. His face was set with something unreadable — a sorrow Rei had never seen on him before.
"It's true," he said simply.
Rei didn't turn.
"You'll both be debriefed in the morning. The mission's classification has been escalated. The Hokage has already been informed." He looked at Rei, but she didn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry."
Then he was gone — disappearing past the gates without another word.
Yumi was crying again, but Rei couldn't hear her. Everything felt muffled, like she was underwater. The fire from the torches danced in her peripheral vision, but her body wouldn't move.
Hiro.
She remembered the way Hiro used to nudge her with his elbow mid-training just to whisper a dumb joke. The way he'd grin like a fox after triggering every trap in the forest, claiming, "Just testing our reflexes." How he never followed Akira's instructions exactly — but somehow always made it work. He wasn't cautious. He wasn't perfect. But when things got serious, he was always there. Steady. Smiling. Like he wanted her to believe they were going to be okay.
Her hands curled into fists.
Something inside her felt like it was breaking. No—splintering. Cracking like ice under too much weight.
The wind shifted. Yumi said her name again, softly.
But Rei didn't hear it.
She just stood there in the wind, frozen long after Akira and Yumi had disappeared beyond the gates. Even the gatekeepers, who'd shifted awkwardly at first, eventually turned away and returned to their quiet murmuring. The torchlight flickered behind her, casting shadows across the road she no longer remembered walking.
Minutes passed. Maybe more.
Eventually, her body began to move again — slow and mechanical, like she wasn't inside it at all. She turned away from the gate, her steps uneven. Her sandals scraped softly against the stone as she made her way through the village.
No one stopped her. No one asked anything.
The night air was colder now. Or maybe she just couldn't feel it. Her shirt clung damply to her skin with the sweat of too many people, too much motion, and too sudden a stillness. Her hands hung by her sides, fingers twitching every few steps like they were searching for something to hold on to.
By the time she reached her home, the street was empty.
The light in the hallway buzzed faintly above her door.
She reached for the knob with a hand that barely felt real, turned it, and stepped inside.
Warm light greeted her.
So did Takeshi.
He was standing by the kitchen counter in a soft gray shirt and his flak vest slung loosely over the back of a chair. His hair was still damp, like he'd only just come in himself. A half-poured cup of tea sat forgotten in his hand.
He looked up.
"Rei."
His voice broke the quiet, sharp and clear.
Her eyes met his, and for a second she just stood there in the doorway, unmoving. Something in her expression made Takeshi set the cup down.
"I was starting to wonder if you'd stayed the night at Anko's," he said, walking toward her. "Her party still going?"
She didn't answer.
Takeshi frowned. "You look—Rei, are you okay?"
She didn't respond. Just slipped past him, into the living room, and sank down onto the couch like gravity had finally won.
He followed more slowly this time, concern rising like static.
"Did something happen?" he asked.
She nodded — once, barely.
He sat beside her, quiet. "Rei?"
Her voice came low, hoarse. "Hiro's dead."
Takeshi froze.
"What?"
She stared at the floor, her hands clenched in her lap. "They came through the gates just now. Yumi and Akira-sensei. They were covered in blood. They said it was an ambush. Iwa-nin. Hiro protected her." Her jaw tightened. "He didn't make it back."
Takeshi's breath left him in a slow exhale. "I—are you sure?"
"I watched her fall apart in front of me." Her tone didn't rise, didn't shake. It was the kind of flat that sounded too empty to be calm. "She said he smiled. Said he knew he was going to die."
He turned toward her more fully. "Rei, I'm—"
"I don't need anyone to be sorry right now," she said suddenly. Not sharp, but brittle. Like if she didn't say it, she'd shatter.
Takeshi hesitated.
Then, quieter: "Do you want me to stay?"
She didn't answer, but she didn't ask him to leave, either.
So he did.
He sat beside her while the silence wrapped around them again. After a minute, he said, "I was going to tell you something. Before this."
Still nothing from her.
"I just got back too. Sakumo had me and Shikaku shadow him today." He rubbed the back of his neck. "He said he wants us both at the next war council meeting. Thinks I've got the instincts for it. Shikaku, of course, already knew everything."
Rei's lip twitched — not a smile. Just a flicker of old muscle memory.
"I didn't expect it," he added. "Didn't feel ready. But it felt... important. Like something was changing."
Rei finally turned her head toward him, just a little. Her voice was almost too quiet to hear. "Everything's changing."
Takeshi nodded slowly.
Rei leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, face hidden in her hands. Her shoulders didn't shake. She didn't cry. But something in her posture crumpled inward — like something inside her had caved in.
Takeshi sat beside her without speaking, watching the tea on the counter grow cold.