Reiji's awareness returned slowly.
At first, there was nothing—no sight, no sound. Only weight.
A heavy, suffocating pressure wrapped around him, pinning him down as though he had been dragged beneath deep water and abandoned there. His limbs felt distant—sluggish and unresponsive—as if they no longer belonged to him. Even breathing required effort. Each inhale was shallow and uneven, pulling a dull ache through his ribs and deep into his chest.
Then came sound.
Muted. Distorted. Voices that never quite formed into anything coherent, slipping past him like echoes filtered through layers of water and distance. Nothing held. Nothing anchored.
His eyelids twitched.
Opening them took effort.
Light bled into his vision in a formless blur, shapes melting into one another without meaning. He blinked slowly—once, then again—forcing his focus to sharpen, dragging clarity into place through sheer will. With each attempt, the haze receded until the world finally settled into something recognizable.
A white ceiling.
He stared at it, unmoving, letting the stillness ground him.
Then sensation caught up all at once.
The weight beneath his back. The pull of fabric against his skin. The dull ache in his ribs sharpened with every breath. Something deeper tugged at his abdomen when he inhaled too deeply—a tight, internal pain that forced him to shorten his breath.
Covers lay over him.
Something tugged faintly at his arm.
His fingers twitched, slow and imprecise, brushing against thin wires taped to his skin. Others trailed beneath the sheets, fixed along his body. A faint itch lingered near his nose—tubes. Foreign. Irritating.
A hospital.
The realization settled quietly, without surprise.
He turned his head.
The movement was small—but costly. Pain flared along his side, deep and internal, forcing him to pause midway. His body lagged behind his intent, as though every signal took too long to arrive.
A machine stood beside the bed. Tubes ran from it into him, their presence suddenly impossible to ignore.
Reiji's eyes narrowed slightly.
…How did I end up here?
"Are you awake, son?"
The voice cut cleanly through the haze.
Reiji stilled.
He turned toward it—slower this time, controlled and deliberate.
His father sat beside him.
Soichiro looked… wrong.
Not injured. Not weakened.
But worn.
Shadows lay beneath his eyes, darker than Reiji had ever seen. Though his posture remained straight, composed, there was strain beneath it—subtle but unmistakable. Like someone holding himself together through sheer discipline.
Reiji blinked.
He tried to speak.
Nothing came.
His throat seized, dry and raw. A rasp escaped instead, followed by a cough that tore through his chest. Pain flared sharply along his ribs, forcing his body to tense before he could suppress it.
Soichiro moved instantly.
A glass of water was already in his hand, he slidded is arm behind Reiji's shoulders, lifting him just enough to drink without straining his bandaged abdomen.
The movement was precise.
Careful—in a way Reiji wasn't used to.
The water touched his lips.
Reiji drank.
At first too quickly—his throat tightening—but then slower, more measured, as the dryness eased and the burning subsided enough for him to breathe again.
Soichiro lowered him back down with the same care.
"…What happened?" Reiji's voice came out rough, uneven. "Why am I here?"
His father watched him a moment longer than necessary.
"You don't remember?"
Reiji frowned.
His mind turned inward.
At first—nothing.
Then—
Fragments.
Fūma-sensei's eyes.
Empty.
Wrong.
A body that wasn't his. Movement he didn't control. Watching through unfamiliar senses while his own body acted without him.
His hand driving forward—
Resistance.
Then none.
Blood.
A cold, sharp disconnect.
Then—
The forest.
Ropes biting into his wrists. Motion shifting constantly as he was carried. Leaves brushing past. Air rushing unevenly against his skin.
Voices.
A plan forming under pressure.
Chakra gathering in his lungs—
Cold.
Then heat.
The burn tore through his throat as he forced it out, raw and uncontrolled, scraping him from the inside even as it struck outward.
Then pain.
Sharp.
Immediate.
Deep.
Something driving into his abdomen—
Cold steel sliding in, parting flesh, opening him.
That memory struck harder than the rest.
His body reacted before his mind could.
His stomach clenched violently, muscles seizing as if reliving the moment. His breath stuttered.
Reiji's fingers curled weakly into the sheets.
Struggle.
Blood.
Air that wouldn't come.
Then—
Blonde hair.
A presence.
Relief—
Darkness.
The fragments stopped there.
Reiji exhaled slowly, forcing everything back into place—compressing the memories into something controlled. Manageable. Usable.
Too many thoughts pressed forward at once.
He cut them off.
Only one question remained.
"…Where is Kushina?"
The words left him before he could examine them.
Soichiro's gaze shifted slightly.
"She's at home."
The answer came from the doorway.
Reiji turned his head.
A woman stood there—black hair, violet eyes, dressed in hospital attire.
Recognition followed.
"…Miss Senju?"
She stepped inside, a faint, tired smile forming.
"I told you," she said gently as she approached the bed, "you can call me Tsukiko."
Her gaze flicked briefly to the machine, checking it with practiced precision before returning to him.
"How are you feeling?"
Reiji took a moment before answering, assessing himself with the same detached awareness he used in training.
"…Slow," he said. "Like everything's delayed." His brow creased faintly. "Am I drugged?"
Tsukiko nodded.
"You were severely injured."
She didn't soften it.
"Second-degree burns. Multiple fractured ribs. A cracked jaw. A stab wound through your shoulder and palms. Muscle ruptures."
Reiji didn't react outwardly.
"But the most critical injury," she continued, her tone lowering slightly, "was your abdomen."
His attention sharpened.
"Your stomach, intestines, liver, and kidney were all damaged," she said calmly. "Under normal circumstances… survival would have been unlikely."
Reiji remained still.
"The fact that you're alive is already remarkable," she added. "That—and my daughter's intervention."
A memory surfaced immediately.
Blonde hair.
Green light.
Warmth spreading through torn flesh.
"…What's her name?"
"Tsunade."
Reiji repeated it silently.
"Tsunade…"
Soichiro spoke.
"How is he, Tsukiko-sama?"
She hesitated.
"Your son should not be recovering like this," she said.
Reiji's eyes shifted slightly.
"In only two days, his organs have begun regenerating. His bones are stabilizing. His external wounds are already closing."
She studied him carefully.
"Realistically, this level of recovery should take weeks—if not months."
A pause.
"But if there are no complications… he can leave within a week."
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
"He only needs rest now."
Soichiro exhaled quietly.
"…I see. That's good."
Tsukiko turned back to Reiji and gently rested a hand on his head.
Reiji stilled.
"Kushina told me what happened," she said softly. "You were very courageous."
Her voice held warmth.
"Thank you… for saving my niece."
Reiji's gaze dropped.
He couldn't meet her eyes.
"If she told you everything," he said quietly, "then you know I didn't try to save her."
The words came out flat. Controlled.
Tsukiko's hand paused for a fraction of a second—then resumed its movement.
"You did what you thought was necessary," she replied.
"It may sound cruel, but letting her be taken…" she exhaled softly, "…would have been worse than death."
Reiji looked at her.
She wasn't lying.
No judgment. No accusation.
Only understanding.
"You may believe otherwise," she continued, "but until the very end, you tried to protect her."
Reiji's throat tightened slightly.
The decision had been correct.
Optimal.
Necessary.
…
Then why did it feel wrong?
"I…" he started, then stopped.
"…No."
His fingers curled weakly against the sheets.
"You're wrong."
His voice dropped lower.
"I was a coward."
The word didn't come from emotion.
It came from conclusion.
"If Sakumo and Danzō hadn't come…" his jaw tightened faintly, "…she would still be captured."
That was all that mattered.
Tsukiko said nothing.
Her hand remained where it was, resting lightly against his hair, but the gentle motion stilled. She didn't interrupt. Didn't argue. She simply watched him, her gaze steady, giving him space to reach the end of his reasoning.
The silence stretched.
Reiji felt it—but didn't look at her.
His eyes remained lowered, fixed somewhere beyond the sheets, unfocused. His thoughts had already moved ahead, dissecting the situation with the same cold precision he used in combat.
"In the end… what I did didn't even matter," he said quietly.
The words came slower now. Measured. Each one settled before the next followed.
"People were already chasing us. They would have caught up eventually."
His fingers tightened faintly against the fabric beneath them, the movement weak but deliberate.
"I just…" he exhaled, shallow, careful not to strain the bandages wrapped around his torso, "…I just endangered her for nothing."
The conclusion settled into the room.
"You couldn't have known that."
The interruption came sharp.
Reiji's gaze flicked up instinctively.
Soichiro was already looking at him.
There was nothing worn in his eyes now.
Only steel.
"Nobody truly knows what is happening during a mission," he continued, his voice low but firm. "Not completely. Not at any level."
His grip tightened slightly around Reiji's hand—just enough to be felt.
"Especially not someone in your position. Captured. Isolated. Acting without support."
Reiji didn't respond.
His father leaned forward slightly. The movement was subtle, controlled—but it shifted the weight of his presence entirely.
"You moved with the information you had," Soichiro said. "And you acted."
A pause.
"You didn't freeze. You didn't hesitate. You didn't break under pressure."
Reiji's jaw tightened faintly.
That wasn't the point.
His father didn't stop.
"What you did," he continued, quieter now but no less firm, "at your age… against experienced shinobi…"
His gaze didn't waver.
"…was nothing short of astonishing."
Reiji's fingers stilled.
Soichiro's hand tightened slightly around his.
"I am proud of you, son."
The words weren't loud.
They didn't need to be.
They landed anyway.
Reiji felt it immediately.
A tight, unfamiliar pressure settled beneath his ribs—deeper than the pain from his injuries. His throat tightened, his breathing catching for half a second before he forced it steady again.
His eyes shifted away.
He couldn't hold that gaze.
Pride.
That wasn't something he knew how to process.
Not like this.
Not directed at him.
His mind moved quickly, almost reflexively, searching for flaws—points to dismantle, reasons to reject it.
The result still mattered.
The outcome hadn't changed.
If Sakumo hadn't arrived—
His fingers curled faintly again.
"…That doesn't change anything," he said, quieter now.
The certainty wasn't as clean this time.
"If they had more time…" he continued, his voice losing a fraction of its edge as his thoughts outpaced his words, "if reinforcements were delayed… if—"
He stopped.
Not because he was convinced.
The reasoning still didn't align with his own. The conclusion remained the same—clear, simple, unavoidable. The outcome had depended on someone else.
That was enough.
But continuing would serve no purpose.
He could already feel it—the direction of the conversation, the subtle shift in tone, the way it would circle back to something he had no interest in entertaining. Comfort. Reassurance. Words meant to soften what had already been decided.
Pointless.
His jaw tightened faintly before relaxing again.
What happened had already happened.
There was nothing to correct. Nothing to redo.
No adjustment he could make now that would change the result.
He had made a mistake.
That was all there was to it.
The thought settled cleanly, without resistance.
And like always—
He would do better next time.
Reiji exhaled slowly, careful to keep it shallow so it wouldn't pull at the bandages wrapped tight around his abdomen. The faint ache remained, constant, grounding him in the present.
He didn't speak again.
Instead, he gave a small nod.
Enough to end it.
"Your father is right, you know."
The voice came from the doorway.
Reiji blinked, his attention shifting immediately.
The Hokage stood there.
Hiruzen Sarutobi leaned lightly against the frame, one hand resting on the wood as if he had been there for some time, listening. A faint smile touched his face—warm, almost casual—but his eyes were sharper than the expression suggested, quietly taking in everything in the room.
Behind him stood Danzō.
Still. Silent. His posture rigid, arms tucked within his sleeves, his visible eye half-lidded in what could only be described as restrained disinterest.
"…Ah," Hiruzen added a moment later, straightening slightly, as though only just realizing his presence might be intrusive. "My apologies. Was I interrupting something?"
His gaze flicked briefly between them.
"We can always come back later."
Soichiro moved immediately.
Despite the fatigue still visible in his features, his posture straightened without hesitation as he rose from his seat beside the bed.
"No, Hokage-sama," he said, his voice steady. "You are not interrupting anything. Please—come in."
Hiruzen nodded once and stepped inside, his sandals making a soft, muted sound against the floor. Danzō followed a step behind, slower, his gaze sweeping the room before settling—briefly—on Reiji.
Reiji felt it.
He didn't react.
Hiruzen's attention shifted instead to Tsukiko.
"Ah, Tsukiko," he said, his tone lightening, the faint smile returning. "How are you today? Not too exhausted, I hope."
He stepped further into the room, folding his hands loosely behind his back.
"It's been far too long," he continued, tilting his head slightly as he looked at her. "Dare I say—you seem to grow more beautiful with age."
Tsukiko didn't bother hiding her reaction.
She rolled her eyes.
"We saw each other yesterday," she said flatly. "What are you talking about?"
Her arms crossed loosely over her chest as she gave him a pointed look.
"Stop acting like a child and say why you're here."
Hiruzen sighed, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment.
"Why are you like this?" he muttered. "I understand that refusing you in favor of my beautiful wife may have wounded you deeply…"
He placed a hand against his chest in mock sincerity.
"…but I had hoped we could remain on amicable terms."
A quiet snort came from behind him.
Danzō.
"Last I checked," he said dryly, his voice cutting through the air without rising, "it was you who got rejected."
"Really?" he said, as if searching his memory. "I don't recall it that way."
Danzō's eye shifted toward him.
"I do," he replied. "If needed, I can ask your wife. I'm sure she remembers."
Hiruzen cleared his throat immediately.
"Ahem—no need for that," he said, straightening slightly, his composure snapping back into place a bit too quickly. "It was a long time ago. No one remembers those things anymore."
Tsukiko exhaled slowly through her nose, clearly unimpressed.
Reiji blinked once.
The exchange… wasn't what he expected.
The Hokage—like this?
It didn't align with the image he had built.
Beside the bed, Soichiro looked faintly embarrassed.
"Anyway…"
Hiruzen's tone shifted.
The lightness faded almost instantly as he turned his attention back to Reiji. The smile remained—but it no longer reached his eyes.
"I believe I should begin by apologizing to you, Reiji-kun."
His gaze settled fully on him now—steady, somber.
"I am responsible for this village's security. Children are the village's future… its most precious resource." His voice lowered slightly. "Allowing you and Kushina to be kidnapped is a failure of that responsibility."
Reiji held his gaze.
Hiruzen didn't look away.
"We arrived in time," he continued, "but that does not change the fact that you were pushed to the brink of death."
A brief pause.
"Your survival brings me immense relief."
The words were simple.
But they carried weight.
"There are few things more painful… than standing at the funeral of a child lost to the conflicts of our world."
Silence settled over the room.
Reiji didn't know what to say.
Nothing came to mind.
So he didn't try.
He simply gave a small nod.
Hiruzen studied him for a moment longer before stepping closer to the bed. His sandals made a faint sound against the wooden floor. He stopped at Reiji's side, then lowered himself until they were at eye level.
The shift was deliberate.
Personal.
"But I will ask something of you," he said more quietly. "I understand that recalling these events may not be pleasant."
His gaze didn't waver.
"Kushina has already given her account. However… I would like to hear yours as well."
A slight pause.
"Are you alright with that?"
Reiji blinked once.
Then nodded.
There was no hesitation.
If anything, recounting it felt… easier.
He didn't soften anything.
Didn't justify.
Didn't excuse.
He simply laid it out.
Hiruzen remained silent throughout.
Only occasionally did he interrupt—quietly, precisely—asking for clarification on timing, positioning, or specific details. His questions were measured, targeted, never breaking the flow more than necessary.
When Reiji finished, the room felt heavier.
Hiruzen straightened slowly, rising back to his full height.
"Thank you, Reiji-kun," he said. "Your account is valuable to us."
Reiji watched him for a moment before speaking.
"…Is Fūma-sensei really dead?"
Hiruzen's expression dimmed slightly.
He nodded.
"It is… unfortunate, but yes."
Reiji's hand tightened against the sheets.
The fabric wrinkled faintly beneath his grip.
"Do not blame yourself," Hiruzen continued. "Once Inoto decided to target you, there was little you could have done."
His tone remained calm.
"That man was a veteran of the First War. Someone of that level… requires someone of equal experience to anticipate."
A brief pause.
"You were never in a position to deal with him. Not even if he was weakened."
Reiji's gaze didn't shift.
"…Still," he said after a moment, "how did he leave the village like that without anyone noticing?"
There was no accusation in his tone.
Only analysis.
A gap in the system.
Hiruzen exhaled quietly.
"He was part of Konoha's barrier team," he said. "If there was anyone capable of leaving the village undetected… it would be him."
His eyes lowered slightly.
"He understood how our barriers function—the seals, the access points, the methods used to bypass them."
Reiji frowned faintly.
"So no one saw it coming?"
A small pause.
"When I saw him before… he didn't seem stable."
The words were careful.
But the implication was clear.
Hiruzen's expression softened slightly—not with warmth, but with the exhaustion of someone who had buried too many people to still believe in simple answers.
"Tell me," he said quietly, "which one of us can truly claim to be untouched by this profession?"
The room fell silent.
His gaze drifted briefly toward the window, toward something far beyond the office itself.
"We spend our lives beside death. We send children to kill and call it duty. We survive battle after battle and convince ourselves that surviving means we remained whole afterward."
A faint breath escaped him.
"But men are not blades. They do not leave war unchanged."
His eyes returned to Reiji.
"Sometimes the damage is obvious. Sometimes it hides itself behind loyalty, routine… even kindness." His voice remained calm. "And sometimes we choose not to look too closely because the alternative is admitting that the people beside us may already be broken."
The silence in the room deepened.
"He was an old comrade. A man who fought beside us for years. Someone who bled for this village and nearly died protecting it." Hiruzen's gaze hardened faintly. "We believed he understood his duty."
A pause.
"We believed he would uphold it."
Another silence followed.
"Perhaps that was our mistake."
Hiruzen slowly folded his hands together.
"But suspicion alone is not enough when dealing with a shinobi of that level. The moment he realized we doubted him, there would have been no discussion, no arrest, no peaceful resolution."
His voice lowered slightly.
"Only blood."
The words settled heavily in the office.
"And now…" Hiruzen said quietly, "someone we once called a friend betrayed us."
A faint weariness crossed his face.
"And died because of it."
Reiji remained silent.
Not because he agreed—
but because he didn't know how to respond.
The Hokage—like this—wasn't something he had accounted for. The weight in his voice, the admission, the acknowledgment of failure… it didn't fit into the framework Reiji used to understand people.
So he moved on.
"There's still something I don't understand," he said, his tone steadier now. "If you didn't suspect him… and he could leave Konoha without being detected…"
His gaze lifted slightly.
"How were you able to catch up to us that quickly?"
The answer came immediately.
"Because of the tracking seal placed on you."
Reiji blinked.
His head turned sharply toward Danzō.
"…Excuse me?" His voice dropped. "My what?"
"You are the wielder of a newly manifested kekkei genkai," he said, his tone flat, almost bored. "Given your identity and your age, you are classified as a vulnerable asset to Konoha."
He shrugged
"It is standard protocol to place a tracking seal under such conditions."
Reiji's eyes narrowed.
"I didn't agree to that."
Danzō raised an eyebrow.
"Was your agreement required?"
The question came without edge.
Which made it worse.
"We do not need your permission, child."
Reiji's jaw tightened.
His gaze snapped toward his father.
Soichiro hadn't moved.
He still stood beside the bed, posture straight, expression controlled—but his attention was fully on Danzō now. There was tension there. Subtle. Contained.
Then his gaze shifted back to Reiji.
"Do not concern yourself with it," he said quietly. "It is for your protection."
He signed.
"I carry one as well."
Reiji stared at him.
The explanation didn't land the way it was meant to.
His fingers curled slightly against the sheets, the movement tugging faintly at the bandages wrapped tight around his abdomen. Pain followed—sharp, immediate—but he didn't react.
Protection.
That wasn't the point.
He said nothing.
"Why are you so upset?" Danzō continued, his voice cutting through the silence. "It saved your life."
His visible eye narrowed slightly.
"Without it, you would be dead."
His eyes narrowed.
"Try to refrain from behaving like a spoiled child."
Reiji didn't look at him.
Didn't respond.
Outwardly—nothing changed.
But his thoughts had already shifted.
When…?
His breathing remained steady—shallow by necessity—but his focus sharpened, turning inward as he reconstructed the sequence.
The moment his Hyōton was revealed.
Danzō approaching him.
The conversation.
The distance.
Closer than necessary.
A hand—
Flicking his forehead.
Reiji's eyes widened slightly.
The pieces locked into place.
That bastard…
His fingers tightened again, harder this time, the fabric wrinkling under his grip.
Pain flared sharply through his abdomen, dragging across his body—but it barely registered.
He forced his expression to remain still.
Reiji stayed motionless for a moment, letting the tension settle into something manageable. The weight of everything said lingered in the room—quiet but present, pressing at the edges of his awareness.
Then he spoke.
"…So what happens now?"
Hiruzen's expression softened slightly.
"What happens now?" he repeated, as if considering the question more seriously than it appeared. "For the immediate future… you recover."
His gaze flicked briefly toward the bandages, the tubes, the faint stiffness in Reiji's posture.
"You've pushed your body well beyond what it should have endured. Healing properly will be your first priority."
Then his tone shifted—firmer.
"After that, you will continue to uphold your punishment."
Reiji didn't react outwardly.
"The incident involving my son," Hiruzen continued, "and what happened during your kidnapping… are separate matters."
His eyes settled on Reiji again.
"Being placed in danger does not erase your prior actions."
A brief silence.
"Withdrawing your punishment would do you no good," he added calmly. "You will still assist around the village, as previously decided."
There was no harshness in his tone.
But no room for negotiation.
"I trust there are no objections?"
Reiji exhaled slowly.
The movement pulled faintly at his abdomen—a dull reminder of his current state.
He didn't have the energy to argue.
And more importantly—
There was no point.
He gave a small nod.
Hiruzen watched him for a moment longer, then his expression shifted again—subtle, but noticeable.
"Still…" he continued.
Reiji's gaze lifted slightly.
"What you accomplished at your age is… exceptional."
There was no exaggeration.
No flattery.
Only a measured assessment.
"You were placed in a situation far beyond your level… and yet you adapted."
A brief pause.
"You engaged experienced enemy shinobi. You made use of the terrain, your abilities, and the limited time available."
His eyes sharpened slightly.
"And you survived."
Another pause.
"And more than that… you eliminated two of them."
Reiji's fingers tightened faintly against the sheets.
"One of them a jōnin," Hiruzen added.
The weight of that wasn't emphasized.
It didn't need to be.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"You're already making quite a name for yourself, Reiji-kun."
Reiji straightened slightly despite the pull in his abdomen, his attention sharpening.
"And something like that," Hiruzen continued, almost casually, "deserves an appropriate reward."
He paused—just long enough to let the curiosity settle.
"And I believe I already know what might interest you."
Reiji didn't speak.
But his focus locked onto him completely.
Hiruzen chuckled softly.
"Not to boast," he said, waving a hand lightly, "but I do have some experience with a wide range of jutsu."
His eyes flicked toward Reiji, measuring the reaction.
"Various elemental transformations as well."
A brief pause.
"Suiton… and Fūton included."
Reiji felt it immediately—
A sharper beat in his chest.
Controlled—but undeniable.
Is he really—?
Hiruzen tilted his head slightly, the faintest hint of amusement returning.
"So," he said, as if offering something trivial, "what would you think of a small crash course in ninjutsu… with me?"
***
After the Hokage and Danzō departed, Tsukiko lingered only a moment longer. Her gaze passed once more over the monitors, the steady rhythm of the machines, the shallow rise and fall of Reiji's chest. Satisfied, she straightened and offered a brief nod.
"I have other patients to attend to."
There was no ceremony to it. No need.
She left quietly, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft click that seemed louder than it should have.
Then there were only two of them.
Reiji lay back against the bed, the thin hospital sheets pressed unevenly against his body, every slight shift reminding him of where he had been cut, broken, burned. The sedatives dulled the pain, but not completely. It lingered—distant, muted, but constant. A low reminder beneath everything else.
His father stood beside the bed.
The room settled into that silence quickly, thick and unmoving. The faint hum of the machines filled the space between them, steady and mechanical. Reiji could hear his own breathing over it—shallow, controlled.
Neither spoke.
Not at first.
Then—
"If you have something to say," Soichiro said at last, his voice even, "say it now. It's not good to keep things bottled up."
Reiji turned his head slightly toward him. The movement pulled faintly at his side, a tight discomfort that he ignored.
Soichiro was already looking at him.
Like he already knew.
Reiji held that gaze for a second.
Then—
"Did you know?"
Soichiro didn't react immediately.
"Know what?"
Reiji's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Please, father," he said, his voice low, drained more than sharp. "I don't have the energy for this right now."
A shallow breath.
"Did you know there was a tracking seal placed on me?"
Soichiro's expression didn't change.
"I did not have certainty," he answered after a moment. "But I had a suspicion."
Reiji watched him.
"When you told me you were approached by Danzō."
The explanation came clean. Simple.
It didn't make it better.
"And you didn't tell me?"
Reiji's fingers shifted slightly against the sheets, the movement weak but deliberate.
"Why?"
Soichiro didn't hesitate.
"So you could react as you are now?"
His tone remained level.
"There was no benefit in telling you."
Reiji let out a quiet breath through his nose, something close to a humorless exhale.
"Right. Of course."
He shifted slightly, the motion sending a dull pull through his abdomen. He stopped halfway, adjusting instead of forcing it.
"Well, excuse me for not being okay with someone placing a seal on me without my authorization," he continued, his voice tightening slightly despite the fatigue. "Or even informing me."
His father didn't respond so he pressed.
"Do they do that to everyone?"
Soichiro's gaze didn't move.
"As Danzō told you," he replied, "it is protocol to place tracking seals on individuals of importance."
Reiji's eyes flicked toward him.
"It didn't seem like Kushina has one," he said. "And she's not even from Konoha."
"The Uzumaki are allies of—"
"I am from Konoha!"
The words came out sharper than intended.
The sudden spike in volume pulled at his ribs immediately, pain flaring through his chest and side. His breath hitched for a fraction of a second before he forced it back under control.
"What did I do," he continued, lower now but no less tense, "to deserve this?"
Soichiro didn't answer.
He simply watched him.
The silence stretched.
Reiji felt it press in.
"Well?" he started again. "Don't you have anything—"
"Be quiet."
The words cut through cleanly.
Reiji stilled.
His gaze snapped back to his father, disbelief flickering across his expression.
Soichiro hadn't raised his voice.
But something in it had shifted.
"This seal is not a punishment," he said. "It is recognition."
A brief pause.
"You carry one of the most powerful kekkei genkai—until now, exclusive to Kirigakure."
His eyes sharpened slightly.
"And you have already demonstrated an abnormal aptitude for it without formal training."
Reiji didn't interrupt.
"The village placed that seal on you because they understand your value," Soichiro continued. "And because they understand the danger you represent—to yourself."
"Do you believe the Mizukage will ignore your existence now?" he added quietly. "That he will not attempt to retrieve you—or eliminate you?"
Reiji rolled his eyes slightly.
"As if that changes anything," he muttered. "He already wanted me dead before this."
"We do not assume with enemies like that," Soichiro replied. "We prepare."
His tone remained calm.
"Regardless of the breach that allowed this situation to occur, the seal fulfilled its purpose."
A faint shift.
"It saved your life."
Reiji didn't respond immediately.
"I still don't like it," he said finally.
"You do not have to like it," Soichiro answered. "You will have to accept it."
A brief pause.
"You are a shinobi of Konoha. The village knowing your location is not a disadvantage."
Then his gaze hardened slightly.
"In fact… your reaction could be interpreted as concerning."
Reiji froze.
Just slightly.
But enough.
"Soichiro didn't look away.
"Like it or not," he continued, "you and I both carry ties to Kirigakure. To the Yuki clan."
The words settled heavier than before.
"That alone is enough to warrant scrutiny."
Reiji stared at him for a long moment.
Then exhaled slowly, letting his head sink back into the pillow. The fabric was rough against his skin, cool compared to the warmth lingering in his body.
Reiji let out a quiet groan, lifting one arm and placing it over his eyes.
The motion was slow, heavy.
Fatigue pressed down harder now.
"Great."
Silence settled again for a moment.
Then—
"For now," Soichiro continued, his tone shifting slightly, "you should focus on what is in front of you."
Reiji didn't move.
"The Hokage has taken an interest in you," he said. "That is not something to take lightly."
A pause.
"He is offering to teach you."
Reiji remained still, his arm still covering his eyes.
"The most powerful shinobi in the village," Soichiro added. "Possibly in all the elemental nations."
His voice remained calm—but there was weight behind it.
"He does not possess your kekkei genkai," he continued, "but his knowledge… his understanding of chakra and jutsu…"
A slight pause.
"…is something few could ever hope to reach."
Reiji listened.
Quietly.
"What he has offered you," Soichiro finished, "is something others would kill for."
A moment passed.
Then—
"Yeah. I know."
Reiji's voice was quieter now. Flat. Tired.
His arm didn't move.
"I'll make use of it."
Another shallow breath.
"I'm just… tired."
The words came slower.
"You should rest too," he added after a moment. "You look worse than I do."
There was a brief silence.
Then—
"…Alright."
Reiji heard the shift of fabric, the faint sound of movement across the floor.
"Rest well, son."
Reiji didn't uncover his eyes.
"You too," he said. "Thanks… for staying."
Then the door opened.
Closed.
Silence returned.
Reiji remained like that for a while.
He could feel the sedatives pulling at him again, dulling the edges of his thoughts, softening the tension in his body. The pain faded further into the background, replaced by a heavy, slow exhaustion that settled deep into his bones.
But his mind didn't stop.
He knew his father was right.
The seal wasn't placed out of malice.
It was protection.
And control.
Both.
The logic was clear.
He understood it.
And still—
His jaw tightened slightly beneath his arm.
He couldn't accept it.
If he hadn't been who he was—if he hadn't been tied to the Yuki clan, to Kirigakure, to everything his father represented—
None of this would have happened.
No suspicion.
No monitoring.
No seal.
Just another shinobi.
Another child.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
That same thing—
The thing that marked him as different—
Had saved his life.
And yet it didn't feel like protection.
It felt like a leash.
Reiji's breathing slowed.
His thoughts drifted, unfocused now.
Always watched.
Always judged.
For something he had never chosen.
For something he had been born into.
His eyes remained closed beneath his arm.
'…Is this how you felt?'
The thought came quietly.
'Mother.'
The darkness took him not long after.
***