Reiji's palm pressed flat against the cold floor as he balanced on a single arm, upside down. His body remained rigid—aligned from shoulder to ankle—while a faint tremor in his muscles betrayed the strain. Sweat gathered at his temple and slid downward, dripping toward the polished surface beneath him. He lowered himself, elbow bending, core tightening, breath steady—then pushed back up slowly.
The hospital room was unnaturally quiet. A faint hum from the medical equipment lingered in the background, steady and distant, nearly drowned out by the rhythm of his breathing. Sunlight filtered through the window, pale and flat, stretching across the floor in a dull rectangle that didn't quite reach him.
Six days. That was how long it had been since he woke. Eight since the kidnapping. By the third day, he had already felt fine—perfectly fine—which made being kept here unbearable.
Another push. His shoulder tightened under the strain, muscles pulling, but he adjusted instantly, redistributing his weight through his fingers to maintain balance. Tsukiko had been clear—rest, no exertion, recovery. Reiji had ignored her within a day.
At first, it had been small—testing his body, moving carefully, checking for weakness. But once he realized there were no real limitations, the rest followed naturally. He couldn't sit still. He never had. From the moment he learned to walk, there had always been something to pursue—training, observation, progression. One objective flowed into the next without pause. Stillness wasn't rest. It was stagnation.
Another repetition. His arm trembled slightly this time, and he corrected it immediately. The real problem wasn't the orders. It was the boredom. And Tsukiko.
Reiji's expression tightened as he pushed himself back up.
…That woman is terrifying.
It didn't make sense. He had faced trained shinobi, fought them, killed them—and yet every time he thought he'd found an opening, every time he slipped out of bed to train, she was there. Watching. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable.
He didn't know how she did it. Worse, he couldn't argue with her. That was the most unsettling part. Every time she told him to stop, he simply… did. The resistance never fully formed. The words never came. He gave in too quickly, only realizing it afterward—and irritating himself for it.
It was… unnatural. He didn't like it.
Another push. His breathing deepened—still controlled, but heavier now.
Still, she hadn't been there since yesterday. One of the medics mentioned she'd taken leave. Which meant, for now, he was free.
Reiji pushed himself up one last time, holding the position briefly—testing the strain in his shoulder, the stability of his core, the absence of pain beyond manageable fatigue.
Acceptable.
He dropped lightly, twisting mid-motion and landing soundlessly on his feet. The impact traveled cleanly through bent knees before he straightened. His gaze flicked toward the door.
No one.
Good.
His thoughts drifted. No visitors. Not a single one—aside from his father. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because of what happened with Enji. Or maybe they simply didn't care. Or perhaps his father had restricted access. The thought lingered, but he didn't dwell on it.
Either way, he preferred it. The idea of interacting with them—explaining, justifying, or even just existing around them—felt exhausting. Especially now.
And Kushina—
His jaw tightened.
Would she hate him? Would she understand? Would she even want to speak to him?
He didn't know. Didn't want to know.
A quieter thought surfaced. Part of him almost preferred it if she did hate him. It would simplify things. No expectations. No effort. No… hesitation.
His eyes narrowed.
That hesitation—that had been the problem. When Inoto used her, he had hesitated. If he hadn't, the outcome would have no complications.
Reiji exhaled slowly. He didn't like that conclusion. But he didn't reject it either.
The thought cut off abruptly.
The door opened.
Reiji froze.
Then he saw who it was.
His father.
Reiji relaxed then dropped back into a one-handed stance, continuing his push-ups as if nothing had happened.
Soichiro raised an eyebrow. "What? You look like you saw a ghost."
Reiji didn't pause. "Nothing. You just startled me."
Soichiro didn't press. Instead, he tossed something toward him.
Reiji reacted instantly. His free hand snapped up, catching the bag mid-air without breaking rhythm. He held it briefly, then pushed up and flipped cleanly onto his feet, landing without a sound.
He glanced at the bag, then at his father—questioning.
Inside were dark clothes.
"Get dressed," Soichiro said. "You're leaving the hospital."
Reiji blinked. "Tsukiko said I had one more day."
"So?" Soichiro replied. "Since when do you listen to anyone?"
Reiji paused. A faint flush crossed his face before he looked away. "…That's not the point."
"It's enough," Soichiro said. "I spoke with the hospital. They approved. And I doubt she would object."
Something in his tone made Reiji look up.
Reiji began dressing anyway despite the lingering stiffness. "Why?"
Soichiro didn't answer immediately.
"There is a funeral today."
Reiji slowed.
"Attendance is expected. For those who can."
He stilled.
Only then did he notice it.
The black.
His father's clothing—formal, somber.
Reiji glanced down at the clothes in his hands.
The same.
He hesitated.
"…Whose funeral?"
Soichiro held his gaze a moment longer than necessary.
"The wife of the First Hokage."
A pause.
"Mito Uzumaki."
Reiji's fingers tightened around the fabric.
"She passed away two days ago."
***
The walk to the cemetery was quiet. Reiji moved beside his father without speaking, their pace steady and unhurried. The air carried a faint chill—subtle, but persistent—seeping into his clothes and settling against his skin without biting. Gravel shifted beneath their steps, a soft, rhythmic crunch blending with the low murmur of distant voices. One by one, others joined the path, all dressed in black, their movements merging into the same slow procession.
No one rushed. No one spoke loudly.
Reiji watched as people passed or fell in behind them, noting the lack of eye contact, the squared shoulders, the formal posture. Even those he recognized offered no acknowledgment. It wasn't avoidance it was adherence. Everyone moved within the same unspoken rules. His gaze returned forward.
He didn't know what he was supposed to feel.
He had seen the woman once. Briefly. The encounter hadn't been pleasant, and nothing in that memory justified grief. To claim sadness would be dishonest. There was no attachment, no personal connection with her.
But that didn't settle it.
She was Tsukiko's mother. Kushina's grandmother. Their reactions mattered—even if he couldn't fully explain why that extended to him. He understood the logic. Cause and effect. Someone important to them was gone. That loss would ripple outward.
Beyond that, there was her position.
The wife of the First Hokage.
He had read about her—studied her role in the village's early years. She wasn't merely a person; she was a fixture. A point of reference that predated most of what he knew. And now, that point was gone.
Something old had ended. Permanently.
Reiji exhaled, his breath faintly visible in the cool air.
He wasn't sad.
But there was weight to it. Recognition.
This wasn't just a death.
It was a marker.
A line dividing what had been from what would follow.
His hands tightened slightly within his sleeves as he walked.
…So this is what it looks like when a piece of history disappears.
The thought settled without resistance.
"Oi! Soichiro, wait for us!"
The voice cut cleanly through the muted atmosphere.
Reiji and his father slowed, then turned.
Sakumo approached, dressed in black, his posture relaxed in a way that stood out against the surrounding formality. Reiji's attention shifted immediately—not to him, but to the woman at his side.
Brown hair. Slender frame.
Pregnant.
The curve of her stomach showed even beneath her loose clothing. Her steps were careful, measured, her balance angled slightly forward. Reiji's gaze lingered a moment longer, noting the controlled way she moved, the subtle tension in her posture.
They reached them quickly.
Sakumo looked him over once before meeting his eyes. "Hey, Reiji. How are you feeling? You were in rough shape when I last saw you. A little… windy in there."
He gestured toward Reiji's stomach with his chin.
Reiji glanced down briefly, the memory immediate—pressure, tearing, loss of control—then dismissed it and looked back up.
"…Lighter than before," he said evenly. "Turns out you don't need everything in there."
Sakumo's mouth twitched as he started to reply—
He didn't get the chance.
The woman beside him struck him lightly on the head, quick and controlled.
"Seriously, could you not joke about that?" she said sharply. " The poor kid probably went through enough already."
Sakumo blinked, more surprised than hurt. "Hah? Reiji?" he scoffed. "Look at him—he's perfectly fi—"
He stopped.
Reiji had lowered his gaze.
His hand had shifted—fingers pressing lightly against his stomach through the fabric. His posture folded inward slightly, shoulders tightening. His lips trembled—barely.
Sakumo frowned.
Soichiro turned toward him, gaze sharp. "Look what you did."
"Hey, I didn't—"
The woman stepped forward and crouched, pulling Reiji into a hug. "Don't worry," she said, her voice softening. "I'm sorry about my thoughtless husband. Everything's okay now. You're safe."
"N-No, Rika, it's not—"
"Shut it."
Sakumo closed his mouth.
Reiji stilled in the embrace. He didn't like it—but he didn't pull away. His face hidden, his eyes lifted slightly.
He looked at Sakumo.
And smiled.
At the same time, Soichiro cast Sakumo a faintly smug glance.
Serves him right.
Sakumo watched the silent exchange, then shook his head with a small, amused smile. "Alright, you win—but Rika, you shouldn't be hugging him like that. He doesn't know you."
"So what?" she shot back, not loosening her grip. "He's cute."
A small, involuntary twitch crossed Reiji's expression. His posture stiffened just enough to register.
"I'm fine," he said flatly. "You can let go."
"Eeh, I don't want to."
His brow creased.
This woman…
Soichiro exhaled quietly. "Miss, could you release my son?"
She tightened her arms in response, pressing him closer.
Then she squeaked.
Sakumo had stepped behind her, fingers digging lightly into her sides. Her shoulders jerked, her grip loosening just enough.
"Why did you do that?!" she snapped, twisting away.
"For shamelessly groping a child," Sakumo replied.
"I did not!"
"Yes, you did."
"No!"
"Yes!"
Their argument devolved instantly, voices overlapping in stubborn refusal. It clashed with the subdued procession, drawing a few brief glances before attention quickly shifted away.
Reiji stepped back as soon as he could, smoothing his clothing where it had wrinkled. He exchanged a brief glance with his father. No words—just understanding.
Leave.
They shifted subtly, turning just enough to disengage—
"Ah, no leaving, Soichiro."
They stopped.
Soichiro turned back, expression unchanged. "What do you want?"
"Well," Sakumo said, recovering easily, "to introduce you to my beautiful wife."
"Technically, not yet," Rika cut in.
"You called me your husband a moment ago."
"Anyway," she continued, ignoring him as she turned to Soichiro, her tone smoothing instantly. "Nice to meet you. I'm Rika Inuzuka—this doofus' fiancée. Sakumo's told me a lot about you."
"Good things, I hope Inuzuka-san," Soichiro replied.
"Call me Rika," she said with a smile. "And yes—good things. And… less flattering ones too."
Soichiro raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.
Rika turned to Reiji. "And you're just as cute as Sakumo said."
Reiji took a small step back, instinctive, and glanced at Sakumo.
Sakumo shook his head quickly, clearly confused.
"…Thanks," Reiji said after a pause.
Rika seemed satisfied and turned back to Soichiro. "Also, I wanted to meet the man who's going to be the godfather of our child."
"I never agreed to that," Soichiro said.
"You see?" Sakumo smirked. "It's cute when he does that."
"Yes," Rika agreed. "Very cute."
Soichiro's expression twitched, barely, before smoothing out. "And you're fine with that?" he asked.
"With what?"
"Me being the godfather. If you know who I am, you understand why that may not be wise."
Rika studied him, then smiled—calm, certain. "If Sakumo trusts you, that's enough for me."
Soichiro held her gaze a moment, then nodded. "I see."
He turned back to Sakumo. "I'm glad you found someone. You seem… more outgoing."
Sakumo scratched the back of his head, awkward, while Rika's expression brightened with pride.
Reiji spoke before the moment lingered.
"Excuse me," he said, looking at Rika. "You're an Inuzuka, right?"
She tilted her head. "Yes. Why?"
"Where is your dog? I've never seen an Inuzuka without one."
Both Sakumo and Rika stilled.
Reiji registered it immediately.
Ah shit
Sakumo cleared his throat. "Well, actually—"
"It's fine," Rika said gently.
She looked back at Reiji, her expression softening.
"I lost my companion a few months ago," she said. "On a mission."
Her hand drifted to her stomach, resting there protectively.
"I was in a bad place after that," she continued, quieter now. "That's when I met Sakumo."
A small pause.
"And now…" Her hand remained in place. "With a child on the way, I've left the field. I won't take another companion."
Her gaze stayed steady.
"Losing one is enough. I won't go through it again."
Her fingers pressed lightly into the fabric, grounding the words.
"I have something else to protect now."
Sakumo's expression softened beside her, the earlier humor settling into something quieter.
Reiji studied her for a moment.
Then nodded once.
"I see," he said. A brief pause. "Sorry for asking."
She smiled, gentle and unbothered. "It was a fair question."
They continued with the procession, the path narrowing as the cemetery came into view. The ground changed beneath them, packed dirt giving way to uneven stone. Footsteps dulled as the crowd spread across the space. The air felt heavier here—cooler, stiller—carrying the faint scent of earth and old wood. Rows of markers stretched outward in quiet order, but all movement converged toward a single point ahead.
A newly erected monument stood there.
Reiji's gaze fixed on it immediately.
People were already lining up before it, forming orderly rows without instruction. The monument was larger than those around it, its surface clean and unweathered, the stone edges still sharp. At its base, placed with deliberate care, rested a photograph.
Mito Uzumaki.
Younger. From a time far removed from the present.
Reiji slowed as they were guided into position, his father steady beside him. Sakumo and Rika remained with them as they were directed toward the front, only a few lines behind the first row. Close enough to see clearly. Far enough to remain part of the crowd.
From there, his field of vision widened.
He began to recognize faces.
Familiar ones.
Members of the Uchiha stood to one side, posture rigid, expressions composed, their presence unified. The Hyūga were there as well, pale eyes fixed forward, their stillness almost unnerving beside the subtle movements of the crowd. Many among them were older—far older than most present. Their age showed not only in their faces, but in the way they carried themselves.
These were not merely attendees.
They were witnesses.
People who had lived through the time she belonged to.
Reiji's gaze shifted again.
At the front, facing the assembled villagers, stood the Hokage. Danzō remained at his side, unmoving, posture controlled as ever. Near them stood his grandfather and the other woman Reiji had seen before, their attention directed outward toward the crowd rather than toward each other.
The front line held more familiar figures.
Even from behind, Tsukiko was immediately recognizable. She stood straight, calm but firm, flanked by her husband and Nawaki.
Slightly to the side—
Blonde hair.
Reiji's eyes lingered on her a fraction longer.
Then—
Red.
Kushina was easy to spot, her height alone enough to distinguish her. She stood close to the others, smaller than most, though her hair would have marked her regardless.
Beside her stood someone else.
Taller.
Much taller.
Long red hair fell to his waist.
His build was unmistakably male.
Reiji's eyes narrowed slightly as he assessed him. Upright posture. Squared shoulders. Close enough to Kushina to suggest familiarity rather than coincidence.
Her father, perhaps.
The conclusion came naturally.
Then Hiruzen stepped forward.
The low murmur of the gathered crowd faded as his presence drew their attention. For a moment, he said nothing. His gaze moved across the faces before him—shinobi, civilians, elders—lingering not on individuals, but on what they represented. Then it lifted, settling somewhere beyond them, as if reaching back through time.
"Mito Uzumaki was not simply the wife of the First Hokage."
Hiruzen's voice carried across the cemetery, calm at first, but heavier than before.
"She was one of the mothers of Konoha."
A faint movement passed through the crowd.
"I still remember the first time I saw her. I was a child then, sitting in the Academy with other children who had already learned too early what it meant to lose family. She came to our class carrying bento she had prepared herself. It may sound like a small thing to some of you."
His gaze lowered slightly.
"But for orphans like us, in those days, it was the first time many of us felt the warmth of a mother."
Silence settled more deeply over the gathered villagers.
"She did not seek the spotlight. She did not demand praise. She preferred to stand behind others and let them shine. But do not mistake silence for absence. While Hashirama-sama built the home we now live in, Mito-sama helped give that home its shape, its protection, and its heart."
His hands folded before him.
"She endured the death of the First Hokage. Then the Second. She watched generations rise, fight, grieve, and continue. And through all of it, she remained. Until her final breath, she carried a burden few in this village could truly understand, and she carried it without complaint."
His voice softened.
"She gave more than most people will ever know. More than history will properly record. And yet, from what I knew of her, she was content. Not because the burden was light, but because she believed the village was worth protecting."
A pause.
"Without her, many of us would not be standing here today. Not as shinobi of Konoha. Not as children of this village. Not as inheritors of the peace she helped preserve."
Hiruzen lifted his gaze again, and when he spoke, his voice had become firmer.
"Now that she is gone, it falls to us to continue what she protected. Not only the legacy of the Hokage, but hers as well."
He looked across the crowd.
"To remember Mito Uzumaki is not only to mourn her passing. It is to prove, through the lives we live and the village we protect, that her sacrifices were not made in vain."
They moved forward with the line, one by one offering flowers at the base of the monument. When his turn came, Reiji stepped up without hesitation. The ground was firm beneath his feet, the scent of fresh stone and cut stems lingering in the air.
He placed the flowers down with a controlled motion.
Then his gaze lifted.
The photograph.
Younger. Unmarked. Almost unrecognizable compared to the woman he had seen—lined, worn, aged by time.
But the eyes—
The same.
Sharp. Steady. Unyielding.
Reiji held that gaze longer than necessary, something in it anchoring his attention. He remembered the way she had looked at him. The way her eyes hadn't wavered when she spoke, as if she had already decided what he was before he had the chance to prove otherwise.
He straightened slightly.
I didn't know you, he thought, the words forming cleanly. You spoke to me for a few minutes… and decided you understood me.
A brief pause.
…And now you're gone before I can prove you wrong.
It irritated him, how final that felt.
An unfinished argument with someone who would never answer.
He didn't linger. There was nothing more to add.
He stepped aside, letting the next person take his place.
The ceremony ended soon after. People began to disperse, the tight formation loosening into smaller groups. Quiet conversations replaced the silence. Reiji had already shifted his weight, preparing to leave, when a voice called out.
"Reiji-kun!"
He turned.
Tsukiko stood a short distance away, one hand raised slightly as she beckoned him over. The rest of her family was gathered around her, their attention already settling on him. Reiji paused, then glanced toward his father.
"Go," Soichiro said simply. "I'll wait."
Reiji exhaled quietly, then stepped forward.
Up close, the differences were clearer.
Tsukiko smiled at him, her husband beside her, posture composed. Kushina—he noticed her immediately—didn't smile. Her eyes were swollen, the skin beneath them faintly darkened, her gaze fixed on the ground. She didn't look at him. Nawaki shifted slightly, less steady than the others, awkward in the way he held himself.
The blonde woman—Tsunade—watched without expression.
And beside Kushina stood the red-haired man.
Tall. Taller than most.
Long red hair fell cleanly down his back. Violet eyes. His expression didn't shift as Reiji approached—cold, restrained, as if he were present out of obligation rather than intent.
Reiji slowed, then stopped before them.
Tsukiko spoke first. "Well, young boy, I see you're out of bed."
Reiji scratched lightly at the back of his head. "My father said it was fine, so…"
She reached out and ruffled his hair, earning a faint twitch of annoyance. "Don't worry. I'm kidding."
Reiji stared at her for a moment. There was nothing outwardly different—no visible grief, no disruption in her posture. Without context, someone might have mistaken this for an ordinary day.
"…My condolences for your loss," he said, bowing slightly.
His eyes flicked briefly toward Kushina.
She didn't react. She only kept staring at the ground, one hand gripping her arm, shoulders slightly drawn inward.
Well… that makes things easier.
"Thank you," Tsukiko replied with a small smile. Then she shifted her gaze aside. "I called you because someone seems a little shy. Well? Don't you have anything to say, brother?"
That gave Reiji an opening.
He turned his attention fully to the red-haired man.
The man exhaled quietly before speaking.
"Thank you."
The words were flat. Almost annoyed.
Then his eyes settled fully on Reiji.
Reiji straightened slightly without meaning to, something in that gaze forcing the adjustment.
"So you are the boy."
"Yes."
"The boy who was kidnapped alongside my daughter."
He placed a hand on Kushina's shoulder.
She shook it off immediately.
The movement was small, but deliberate.
For a brief moment, something shifted in the man's expression—something quieter, almost disappointed—but it vanished just as quickly.
He nodded once, then continued. "I heard you tried to protect her to the end. For that, you have my thanks."
A short pause.
"You should not have been the one to protect her," he added, voice sharpening. "But it seems this village continues to disappoint me."
"Itama," Tsukiko warned, her gaze flicking toward the Hokage.
"What?" he replied, not lowering his voice. "That monkey already knows what I think. I've never hidden it. He knows he fucked up."
"Still," Tsukiko said quietly, "there are things that shouldn't be said in public."
"It's always simple when it doesn't affect you, isn't it?" he shot back.
Tsukiko's gaze hardened instantly. The tension between them was immediate—contained, but unmistakable. The rest of the family remained still, not intervening.
Reiji watched the exchange for a second, then shifted his attention to the blonde woman.
"I never thanked you for saving my life," he said.
She raised an eyebrow, then waved a hand dismissively. "Eh, don't worry about it, kid. I came for Kushina. Finding you and healing you was a bonus. Honestly, I'm more surprised you're standing here already. When I found you, I didn't think you'd make it."
Her eyes moved over him again, assessing.
Reiji shrugged slightly. "I've always been a little sturdier."
A brief pause.
"…I'm Homura Reiji."
"I know. I'm—"
"Tsunade, right?"
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
He froze.
Tsunade raised an eyebrow.
Heat climbed up Reiji's neck.
"I mean—I didn't ask or anything," he said quickly. "Your mother said it. I didn't—"
What am I doing?
The realization hit too late.
He wanted to disappear.
Tsunade stared at him for a second longer before her expression shifted—understanding, followed by a low chuckle. She stepped forward and ruffled his hair.
"Relax, kid," she said. "I have that effect on people."
Reiji swatted her hand away lightly, avoiding her gaze. "Anyway… my father's waiting. I should go."
He turned quickly, not waiting for a response, catching only a faint "Oh my" from Tsukiko behind him as he walked away.
He didn't slow until he reached his father.
Reiji exhaled, trying to force the moment from his mind.
The women in the Senju family are dangerous.
He would keep his distance.
Soichiro glanced at him, faint amusement in his expression. "That was quick."
"She called me over because Kushina's father wanted to say something."
"Ah," Soichiro said. "So that was him. Itama Uzumaki, if I remember correctly."
"That's what I heard," Reiji replied, then hesitated. "He's the Uzumaki clan head, right?"
Soichiro nodded.
Reiji paused again, still troubled. "There's something I don't understand."
"Go on."
"If the Uzumaki clan head is Tsukiko's brother… then he's the son of the First Hokage, right?"
Another nod.
"Then why is he Uzumaki and not Senju?" Reiji asked. "Shouldn't he have been raised here? As a shinobi of the village?"
Soichiro was silent for a moment.
"It's not something people talk about much. Keep it to yourself."
Reiji's attention sharpened.
"When the Senju and Uzumaki allied through marriage, there were conditions," Soichiro continued. "An agreement between clans. One condition was that the first son born of the union would be raised in Uzushiogakure."
Reiji blinked.
"So he was never raised in Konoha?"
Soichiro shook his head. "From birth, he was sent there. Raised by them. Not by his parents."
Reiji was quiet as he processed it.
"That… sucks a little," he said finally.
"It does," Soichiro replied. "But that's the cost of being born into power. Nothing comes without a price."
Reiji nodded.
There was nothing more to add.
They turned and left the cemetery, the weight of the past settling quietly behind them.
***
It was the day after the funeral when Reiji finally returned home.
The house was quiet, still wrapped in early morning calm. He had slept well—deep enough that the fatigue from the past several days had finally eased—and now stood in the kitchen, preparing breakfast as he always did.
His movements were simple and practiced.
Water poured.
Rice set.
A knock came at the door.
Reiji paused.
He glanced toward the entrance, briefly wondering who it could be this early. His father wasn't even awake yet. The timing made little sense.
No second knock followed.
Which meant whoever stood outside was confident enough to wait.
Reiji wiped his hands quickly and moved toward the door. His steps were light, controlled out of habit even in his own home. As he reached it, his hand hovered over the handle—not hesitation, just a final check, awareness settling into place—before he opened it.
He blinked.
Standing there, framed by morning light, was the Hokage himself.
White robes. Hat. A familiar, composed presence that didn't need to assert itself to be felt.
Smiling.
Reiji straightened instinctively.
"Good morning, Reiji-kun," Hiruzen said easily, as if this were an ordinary visit. His gaze flicked past him, toward the inside of the house, catching the faint scent of food in the air. "I hope you made enough breakfast for me. I didn't have time to eat."
A small pause. The smile remained.
"And if we're going to train properly," he added, tone light but deliberate, "we should eat enough, don't you think?"