Chapter 11
The classroom was dead silent as Iruka rubbed his head. The hangover was killing him. He was supposed to teach something, but he couldn't remember what, even though he remembered that he had prepared lessons for the whole week. So, he just sat in silence and tried not to think about how much his head was hurting.
Damn Anko. She was supposed to stop him from drinking himself to death, not join him. It had been a long time since he drank that much. Most of the time, he would pass out long before reaching those levels. But Iruka had been pissed, and his training as a shinobi had backfired on him.
It surely was a good method to keep fighting when you physically couldn't move. That's how he became a chunin after all. If he weren't pissed at girl, he would have had wait another half a year before he was promoted. Only anger and grit got him through broken ribs and an arm.
"Oh, right," he muttered, finally remembering what he wanted to teach today—the last day of his week as a teacher. "Can someone tell me how one could use their emotions, and how they could be used against you?"
Only after finishing his question did Iruka realize he was talking to his desk. But judging from the eyes watching him—and the one spying on him—he figured he spoke loud enough. Good. Any louder and he'd rather bang his head against the wall.
"No one? Good." Iruka didn't want to hear their answers anyway. They were just children. They knew nothing. "Emotions are complicated enough, so let's make them more confusing, shall we?"
Even though he smiled at the class as he slowly stood up, his eyes focused on Sasuke. That was a bundle of emotions even Iruka didn't want to untangle. He knew he was messed up badly in the head, but Iruka took great solace in not being Sasuke.
"The first emotion that both you and your enemy can use is anger," Iruka said, pausing as his head spun suddenly. For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick, but the feeling passed. "It's easy to get someone riled up. You kids have probably experienced it like how some of you are angry at me right now, and how I can make you even angrier by telling some of you that you're ugly, weak, fat, or that you should just give up. Your first thought wouldn't be that you're the opposite of what I said. It would be that you're going to kill me."
If Iruka had the energy, he could insult every one of them until they really did try to murder him. But he decided not to waste his energy. He needed to focus, finish the lesson, and get this over before he was summoned.
"Just as I can make you angry—make you rush at me instead of being careful—you can use that same anger to stand up when everything hurts and you have no energy left. Some shinobi say you should erase your emotions to become perfect. But those kinds of people have nothing to fight for. Nothing to lose and nothing to gain. Just tools that do their missions until they break."
"What's wrong with that?" Ino asked, clearly wanting to challenge Iruka's points. "Isn't that how it should be? The mission should always take priority, and nothing else should matter."
"Tell me—who benefits from a successful mission?"
"The village."
"Exactly," Iruka replied. "Not you. Not me. The village. So why the fuck should you give a shit about the village?"
"Iruka Umino!" the principal burst through the door, red as a tomato, with veins bulging from his forehead. "My office! Now!"
"And that's how you make someone angry," Iruka finished, unfazed. "I used his anger to make him reveal himself instead of sitting back and spying on me. What benefit does that give me, you might ask?"
"My office!"
"It's elementary. Now that I know he's here and watching, I can control the situation. And I can use that knowledge to tell him to fuck off, because five seconds from now, he'll have no authority over me. And I'll make his life a living hell for screwing with the educational system for his benefit."
"Last warning, Iruka Umino!" the principal roared, face twitching. His yelling made Iruka's headache worse, but the funny way his face contorted gave him some solace.
"Two, one... and there we go," Iruka said as he clapped his hands—and nothing happened. "Ahem. Three, two, one. There we go."
It was probably the first time the class had seen something like that, and Iruka definitely had their full attention. But he was starting to sweat. What if he was wrong? What if his information was off? He'd be royally screwed.
"That's it! I want your resignation by the end of—"
"Iruka Umino." A masked shinobi appeared without a sound before Iruka. "The Hokage summons you. Please follow me."
"And there we go," Iruka said, patting the principal on the shoulder before strolling out of the classroom. "The class is free for today, and please inform that the combat lessons are self-study and every shall run laps until their class is over."
…
It had been some time since Iruka stood in this office. The Hokage's office looked the same, and so did the Hokage himself. Old. Tired. Like a man who would rather do anything else.
Iruka was grateful every day that he hadn't been reborn as him and trapped in that body.
"Why do I sense you're thinking something rude about me?" Hiruzen Sarutobi asked. "Sit. We have much to discuss."
"Let me handle it," Iruka said the moment he sat down. It wasn't the hangover talking. "Give me the authority to investigate the Academy personnel. I'll find every single secret they're hiding."
"I fear it's bigger than you or I think," the Third said, not really surprising Iruka. "And far more dangerous than you can imagine. There's a reason you removed your mask, Iruka. Do you truly want to put it back on?"
That was a good question. But there was a misunderstanding. Iruka hadn't removed the mask to move on—he had done so because he lost faith in it, and himself. He could no longer trust his strength or his judgment. His actions hadn't mattered. His existence had felt irrelevant.
"It isn't about what we want. It's about what we must do."
"And it isn't just the Academy personnel that worry me," the Hokage replied. "Something like this should never have happened. There is a man who should know everything going on in this village—more than you or I ever could. And yet... somehow, this slipped past him. As you probably have suspected."
"What are your orders, Hokage-sama?"
"I don't want blood spilled in my village—especially not among our own," the Hokage said. "But like you said, this isn't about what we want. Officially, you'll investigate the Academy's personnel. Unofficially... well, I believe you already know."
"If anything can be found, I'll find it," Iruka said. "And I'll leave the judgment to you."
No more words were needed. Hiruzen Sarutobi knew Iruka well enough to know he understood his task. But it clearly pained the Hokage to give that order—because it meant admitting that his trust in an old friend had been misplaced.
"Iruka," the Hokage called just as he was about to leave. "He was proud of you. And he still would be. It is important that you know it."
"Why don't you hate me?" Iruka asked. The question had haunted him ever since his sensei died, and somehow now it seemed like the only chance he would have to ask this.
"I already hate myself," the Third replied. "There's no room left for anything else. It was all my fault. My mistakes cost others their lives. It wasn't your fault, none of it was. You were only caught in my mistakes, and you have already paid far more than I or anyone could ask you."
Lies. If Iruka had been stronger, his sensei wouldn't have needed to protect him. If he'd been smarter, he wouldn't have gotten them in that situation. If he'd been faster, they both could've escaped. But he hadn't been. And his sensei had paid the price.
So how wasn't this his fault? How could he not hate himself for it? No price was enough to try to fix what he had broken.
He just wished the Hokage would hate him too, for getting his oldest son killed and leaving his grandson an orphan. He wished everyone would. Maybe then, his hatred wouldn't feel so large by comparison.
…
"Ugh."
After leaving the Hokage Tower, Iruka was completely broken. He'd held it together in front of the Hokage, but now he felt like he would rather be dead. His stomach churned like it was producing chemical weapons, and his head spun like a dog chasing its tail.
He was never going to run or jump at high speed with a hangover ever again. He didn't even know how he'd made it through the meeting, let alone convinced himself he was fine. But now that the tension was gone, his body was on the brink of collapse.
There was no way he was going back to the Academy like this. He imagined the principal was in full panic mode now. It was better to let him imagine the worst than show his hand. Iruka decided to let him stew a bit before he cooked him alive.
Somehow, he made it to Anko's place. If he felt this bad, he could only imagine how she was doing. She wasn't a heavy drinker, and she'd tried to keep up with him last night. Hopefully, she wasn't dead.
"Coming!" Iruka winced at how loud Anko sounded through the door. "Oh, Iruka, come in."
She was completely fine. Her hair was a mess, and she wore only a shirt and shorts—but otherwise, she looked perfectly healthy. Iruka stumbled into her apartment as she tossed on a jacket and tied her hair into a ponytail.
"What are you?"
"Idiot, have you forgotten who taught me?" Anko said. "Alcohol poisoning is only one of the poisons I've built a tolerance to. And I know a dozen ways to dispel it."
"How?"
"Even if it weren't a secret, if I told you, you'd never stop drinking."
Damn right he wouldn't. The only time he stopped drinking was when he felt like he was going to die if he even smelled alcohol. He hated that she knew him so well. And he hated that he hadn't paid more attention to her back when she was his teammate. He might've learned something useful.
"Fuck you."
"I love you, too," Anko replied, already cooking up eggs and bacon.
At least she still cared enough to make something greasy to soak up the poison in his system. She knew full well all Iruka had at home was instant ramen and cereal. Not the best hangover cure. Still, he would hold a grudge for not sharing her secrets.
"I need your report on the spy," Iruka said. "Everything you found. Every detail counts. Also, your team's opinions and theories."
"So, you got the job?"
"I'm responsible for Academy personnel."
"If that were all, they wouldn't have called you," Anko said. "Be careful, okay? I don't want you to become the person you were after your sensei died. Even drunk, this version of you is better. Please don't push it too far."
"It's just an investigation. Nothing more."
"You and I both know nothing's ever that simple. Once blood is spilled, you won't stop until everything's clean again. And I fear for you. The Ghostblade is dead, Iruka. Don't dig him up again."
"That part of me is buried deep."
"But you still carry the mask," Anko pointed out, and Iruka would be surprised about how she knew that if she wasn't the closest friend he had.
"I'm too drunk to change. You worry too much."
Iruka was always good at lying. He lied a lot when he first came into this world. Eventually, every word he said became a lie. Anko knew it too.
Too bad she was a liar, too.
And like with all liars, it's easiest to deceive ourselves first.
A.N. As always, thanks for reading and supporting me, so I can continue writing without any concerns, and if you want more, up to 7 more chapters and 28 chapters in total with all my other stories, you can support me on pa treon. com \ ironwolf852.