[One year later, you discover that the number of people surrounding Mei Terumī is increasing, and a unique leadership aura has appeared in her.]
[At first, it was just Kisame. The man who, after getting into a fight with Mei Terumī, inexplicably started following behind her.]
[Then came Zabuza. It took quite a bit of effort to fish him out of the dungeon, but after he came out, he didn't ask anything; he just followed.]
[Next came Ao and Chōjūrō. They were the silent young men in the Anbu, those with no family background, no faction to rely on, and who could only climb up by fighting with their lives.]
[They didn't know where they heard it from, but they started showing up voluntarily on the path where she returned from missions, in the corners of the training grounds, and at the door of her dormitory.]
[In just half a year, Mei Terumī no longer needed your guidance at all. Those things that once required you to point out—winning over hearts, finding that "why," asking questions that no one had ever been asked before—she could now do on her own.]
[She became increasingly adept at judging people, how to speak, and how to make someone, after a long silence, suddenly look up and say, "I can go and see with you."]
As for what happened later, everyone saw it with their own eyes.
Mei Terumī began to appear in the welcoming queues for those returning from missions.
Not standing on the platform.
Not standing at the very front.
She stood in the crowd, among the family members and companions who came to pick people up, in those ordinary corners that no one would notice.
At first, she just stood far away, waiting until the crowd dispersed before she left, as if she didn't want to disturb anyone.
Later, she would walk a bit closer, to the edge of the crowd, so that those returning could see her.
Still later, she would take the weapons handed out by those who were injured:
Blood-stained Kunai, chipped katanas, and forehead protectors bleached white by Water Release.
She would take them, say nothing, just nod, and then step aside.
Once, Kisame returned injured.
The wound was on his shoulder, not too serious, but he had lost a lot of blood, staining half his clothes red.
He retreated from the mission area, passed through that gate, and walked into the base's exit tunnel. Sunlight shone in from outside, stinging his eyes and making him squint.
Then he saw Mei Terumī standing at the exit.
She was standing at the edge of the crowd, neither moving forward nor backward. Seeing him come out, she just looked at him, her expression unchanged.
He was stunned for a moment.
That hesitation was very short. So short it was almost imperceptible. But Kisame did indeed falter in his steps.
"What are you doing here?"
He asked. His voice was still as hoarse and indifferent as ever.
Mei Terumī looked at him, her gaze shifting from his face to the wound on his shoulder, and then back again.
"Seeing if you're still alive."
Kisame was silent for two seconds.
Then he let out a laugh. The laughter was very soft, so soft it sounded like a hum from his nose.
He didn't say anything else, just walked past her, out of the tunnel, and into the sunlight outside.
He didn't say anything.
But later, every time he returned from a mission, he would glance at the crowd.
To see if she was there.
Zabuza was even more silent.
The day he was released from the water prison, he didn't receive any pardon documents.
There was no "acquittal" announcement, no "re-examination" notice, nothing at all.
Only a mission scroll, placed at the entrance of the cell, with a stone weighing it down.
He looked at it for a long time.
Looking at the scroll, looking at the Anbu seal stamped on it, looking at the words written in pen: "Executor: Zabuza Momochi."
The water in the water prison was still dripping, drip, drip, just like what he heard when he was locked inside.
Then he stood up and walked out.
Walking out of the water prison, passing through the dim corridor, passing those burning torches. The sound of dripping water behind him grew further and further away, becoming increasingly blurred.
At the end of the corridor, she was standing there.
Mei Terumī. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, as if she had been waiting for a long time.
He walked over and stopped in front of her.
"Aren't you afraid I'll run away?"
He asked. His voice was very cold, as cold as the water in the water prison.
Mei Terumī looked at him.
Her gaze swept across his face, over his prison uniform, over the new wounds on his face, and then fell back into his eyes.
"If you run away, who will teach me Anbu sword techniques?"
Zabuza was stunned for a moment.
That hesitation was very short. So short it was almost imperceptible. But he did indeed freeze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly for an instant.
Then he made a sound of "Tch."
The sound was very soft, so soft it sounded like disdain. He walked past her, took three steps forward.
Then stopped.
Without looking back.
"...Come find me when your wounds heal."
He left after saying that.
Mei Terumī stood in place, watching his back disappear around the corner at the end of the corridor.
The corners of her mouth moved.
Very lightly. Very faintly. Almost imperceptibly.
Chōjūrō was personally taken by her on his first A-rank mission.
The boy was so nervous he stuttered. Before the assembly, he stood at the base entrance, clutching Hiramekarei, his fingers repeatedly rubbing the cloth wrapped around the hilt.
He hadn't slept the night before, and the next day, with two dark circles under his eyes, his under-eyes bruised and dark, he stood at the assembly point, his whole body trembling slightly.
She glanced at him.
She didn't scold him.
"Let's go."
During the mission, she let him charge at the very front three times.
Every time he charged out, his hand holding the sword was shaking, but every time, he charged.
Three times, and every time, just a second before he couldn't hold on, her attack arrived.
Blocking the fatal counterattack for him, forcing back the enemies surrounding him, and tearing open a path of retreat for him.
The mission ended.
On the way back to the village, Chōjūrō kept his head down, looking at the road under his feet.
He thought he would be scolded.
Thinking she would say:
"Too slow."
"Too weak."
"Don't do that next time."
He kept his head down, waiting for those words.
But she just looked at him.
Walking beside him, her pace neither fast nor slow, as if nothing had happened. Then she spoke.
"You don't need to become me."
He looked up.
She didn't look at him, just looked at the road ahead.
"Just become yourself."
Chōjūrō was stunned there.
Tears suddenly welled up.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
Dropping one by one, hitting the ground, hitting the back of his hand holding the sword.
The twenty-one-year-old Jonin candidate, the youngest of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist, stood on the road back to the village, crying like a seven-year-old child.
He cried while wiping with the back of his hand.
He couldn't wipe them away fast enough.
Mei Terumī stood in place, a bit unsure of what to do.
She looked at him, at the face covered in tears, at the glasses sliding down.
She stood there, at a loss, as if facing this situation for the first time.
Finally, she reached out.
Patted his head.
A very light pat.
Chōjūrō cried even harder.
Later, Kisame asked her for a position.
Not a combat post, not the front line, but the training grounds.
He wanted to teach those children who were "judged to have no talent."
Those children with insufficient Chakra, those children with average taijutsu aptitude, those children abandoned by instructors at the ninja academy.
How to survive when Chakra is insufficient.