The June heat shimred off Konoha's streets as Hanekawa made his way toward the hospital, already dreading what awaited him. Tsunade had conveniently decided that teaching dical jutsu was beneath her today—which ant it fell to him.
At least Nohara Rin was a decent student.
He found her waiting at the entrance, and his steps faltered slightly. She'd changed into a nurse's uniform—simple white over her usual outfit, dark red socks visible beneath the hem of her skirt. The effect was... distracting.
Focus, he reminded himself. This is a teaching session, not a date.
"You've been waiting long?" he asked, keeping his tone neutral.
"Just arrived," Rin replied, her smile bright. "I changed into this so patients would take seriously. Apparently being young makes people doubt your credentials."
Hanekawa understood that problem intimately. "It passes. Give it ti."
He reached up and ruffled her hair—a gesture that had beco almost automatic around her. Her face flushed, but she didn't pull away.
"Did you deal with this too?" she asked softly.
"Constantly. So patients actually requested I be replaced." He opened his office door. "But I have a trick for you."
"What?"
"Introduce yourself as Tsunade's student. Suddenly, your age becos irrelevant."
Rin hesitated. "Won't that hurt her reputation if I'm not skilled enough?"
"If there's a problem, the teacher handles it," Hanekawa said simply. "Besides, most patients would be thrilled just to see her. Now they get a chance."
Understanding dawned on Rin's face. Tsunade wasn't just famous—she was legendary. Her presence alone could ease a patient's mind better than any technique.
---
The next four days blurred together in a rhythm of theory and practice. Hanekawa spent the first three explaining the chanics of the Mystical Palm Technique—an A-rank dical jutsu that separated competent dical ninja from masters. On the fourth day, they moved to practical application.
The training dummy was a fish.
"Call if you need anything," Hanekawa said, heading to the garden to practice Wind Style. He could feel her watching him for a mont longer than necessary before turning back to her work.
By evening, Rin was still at it, her hands trembling as she poured chakra into the fish. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her face flushed with concentration.
"That's enough," Hanekawa said, returning to find her barely holding on.
"Just a little more—"
"You'll burn yourself out." He took a tissue and gently wiped her forehead.
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Rin's eyes widened. Her blush deepened until it reached her ears, and she stamred sothing unintelligible.
"You worked hard today," Hanekawa said, stepping back. "Rest well."
"Wait—" Rin caught his sleeve. "Would you... let buy you dinner? As thanks?"
Hanekawa considered. "Co to Tsunade's house instead. We'll eat together."
"I..." Rin's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "I wanted to thank you alone."
Sothing in her tone made Hanekawa pause. He recognized that particular flavor of nervousness—the kind that ca with feelings deeper than gratitude. He could have deflected, but that seed cruel.
"Ichiraku Ran?" he offered instead.
---
The ran shop was quiet when they arrived. Teuchi erged from the kitchen, surprise crossing his weathered face before he called out, "Aya! Co here!"
A small girl with dark hair bounded out, took one look at Hanekawa, and scread.
"Brother Hanekawa! You're even more handso than people say!"
Hanekawa found himself chard despite the absurdity. He lifted her onto a stool beside him. "Give her a bowl too, Teuchi."
The al was simple—good ran, genuine enthusiasm from Aya, and the comfortable silence that fell between him and Rin as they ate. When they left, Aya waved goodbye with both hands, her disappointnt at their departure almost comical.
"See you tomorrow," Rin said as they parted ways, her voice still soft.
Hanekawa watched her go, then turned toward Hokage Rock, his mind already shifting to other matters.
Lava Release.
He'd been planning this for months. The synthesis would serve multiple purposes: it would establish a precedent for him developing new kekkei genkai, and more importantly, it would make the eventual appearance of Wood Style seem like a natural progression rather than a suspicious anomaly.
Two weeks of study with Tsunade followed. She'd been skeptical at first—kekkei genkai weren't supposed to be learnable from books—but she'd helped anyway, explaining the subtle chanics of nature transformation that even most jonin never fully grasped.
They stood in her yard now, Hanekawa's hands glowing with carefully balanced chakra. Earth on the left. Fire on the right. The two natures resisted each other, pushing apart in a spray of harmless energy.
Again, he thought, gathering his focus.
Tsunade watched from the porch, her expression caught between skepticism and sothing like pride. "You're getting closer," she called out.
He was. Not because Lava Release was actually learnable this way—it wasn't—but because he was a very good actor, and Tsunade was a very good teacher. In another month or two, he'd announce success. By then, she'd be invested enough in the process that she'd accept it without question.
The sound of breaking wind interrupted his concentration.
Aoi materialized in front of them, his ANBU mask reflecting the afternoon sun.
"The Third Mizukage has mobilized five thousand ninja toward the Land of Rivers," Aoi reported, his tone clipped. "Lord Hokage requests your imdiate departure. Three thousand Konoha ninja are being mobilized now."
Tsunade's expression hardened. "Not a skirmish, then."
"No, ma'am."
"Gather everyone at the village gate. Two hours." Tsunade's voice had shifted—the lazy ntor vanishing, replaced by the legendary Sannin. "Hanekawa, inform Rin and Kurenai. Then pack for extended deploynt."
---
The Land of Rivers was a blur of preparation and movent. Konoha's three thousand ninja t Hidden Sand's two thousand, and together they ford a defensive line against the Mist Village's advancing force.
It was Chiyo who greeted them—the elder advisor of Hidden Sand, her weathered face creased with the weight of decades. She and Tsunade exchanged the careful courtesy of old enemies.
"Princess Tsunade," Chiyo said formally. "Welco."
"Grandma Chiyo," Tsunade replied with a thin smile. "Still as formidable as ever."
The history between them was complicated. Poison and antidote. The Second Ninja World War. Hatake Sakumo's blade. None of it was forgotten, only set aside for the mont.
Because now, five thousand Mist ninja were coming, and the Third Mizukage himself led them.
This was no longer a border skirmish.
This was war.
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