Chapter Text
The evening light filtered soft through the paper screens, warm and gold against the tatami floor. The smell of rice and grilled fish still lingered in the air, cooked by Shisui, after hearing they'd have guests.
Iruka sat cross-legged near the low table, head bent over a slip of sealing paper, his plate empty now already. His brush moved in careful strokes, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as he sketched out the pattern. Itachi hovered close by, silent as always, watching with a quiet intensity that made Iruka fidget a little.
“This line connects here,” Iruka muttered, more to himself than anyone else, as if reminding his hands how to write the seal, “and then…” He glanced up nervously when Itachi leaned closer. “You’re staring too hard.”
“I’m learning,” Itachi replied matter-of-factly, not shifting an inch.
Shisui laughed from across the table, flopping onto his side with a grin. “Careful, Iruka. Once he figures it out, you’ll be out of a job.”
Iruka rolled his eyes, but Rin’s arrival cut off his retort. She slid the door open with a soft knock, stepping inside with a smile that seemed to brighten the whole room. A paper bag hung from her arm.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, smiling warmly. “I brought something.”
She set the bag down, revealing skewers of dango. Shisui let out a victorious cheer, Iruka’s eyes lit up, and even Itachi tilted his head with interest and quickly scurried over.
“You didn’t have to,” I said, though my grin betrayed me.
“Of course I did,” Rin replied gently, passing skewers around. “You’ve been working so hard. Consider this a reward.”
We crowded around the table, passing the sweets back and forth. Shisui cracked jokes between bites, Iruka launched into a rant about Mizuki’s arrogance during training that morning, and Itachi listened, absorbing every word without speaking unless asked directly.
At one point, Rin leaned back, watching all of us with that soft, patient smile of hers
I rolled my eyes at another of Shisui’s bad jokes, but I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips.
For a while, it was easy to forget everything else, wars, exams, the weight of the knowledge I carried.
For once, I let myself stop worrying about the future, and just enjoyed the present.
The clearing smelled faintly of rain and earth, damp from a shower earlier in the day. Rin stood at the center, arms folded loosely, her expression calm but more tired than usual. There were faint shadows under her eyes, though her smile was still as warm as ever.
“You’ve done well with the Poison Cloud, and you're getting better at concealing your presence too,” she said, nodding toward me. “Now it’s time to take the next step. The Poison Mist technique builds directly from the Poison Cloud. Same principle, but on a larger scale.”
I straightened, heart thudding with anticipation. “How much larger?”
Rin lifted her hands, weaving through the seals with smooth precision. Her chakra pulsed out like a quiet hum, and then she exhaled. A rolling cloud of thick, purple mist spilled into the clearing, curling outward until it covered most of the clearing like a fog.
I pulled my cloak tighter across my mouth, instinctive, though Rin quickly waved her hand. The mist dispersed almost immediately, as she loosened her control, letting it fade back into nothing.
“In the field, it can fill a whole clearing like this,” she explained. “Against shinobi, it won’t kill without prolonged exposure. But it burns, stings the eyes, saps strength. Against civilians or untrained enemies, well, they'll drop like flies.”
I nodded, my mind already racing. This was exactly the kind of jutsu I’d imagined when I thought of building my style of combat. Suffocating, controlling, forcing the enemy into things at my own pace.
“Now you try,” Rin said gently, stepping back. “Remember, it’s not just about output. You can’t simply blow harder. You need to saturate your chakra through every breath, diffuse it wide, through the air, and hold that link.”
I worked through the seals, slower than Rin’s graceful hands, and let the chakra lace my lungs. Then I exhaled.
A cloud sputtered out, larger than the Poison Cloud, but still weak. Patchy. It didn’t cling to the air the way hers had, and dispersed pretty much as soon as it came to be.
“Better than I expected for a first try,” Rin encouraged, her tone patient. She came to my side, adjusting the angle of my stance. “You’re forcing it. Let it spread on its own.”
I tried again, focusing on the image, on control rather than force. This time the cloud was denser, clinging a moment longer before it broke apart again.
Rin clapped softly, smiling wide enough that it warmed my chest. “That’s it. You’re closer already. With practice, you’ll be able to hold it for much longer, and make the cloud bigger too.”
I wiped sweat from my brow, panting harder than I wanted to admit. “Feels like I might poison myself first.”
Rin chuckled at that, resting a hand lightly against my shoulder. “That’s part of the training too. Build the same resistance you got from the Poison Cloud even further. Strengthen your body to handle your own weapons. Every poison user does.”
Her hand lingered for a moment, steadying me. “We’ll refine it next time. You’ll have it down in a few weeks, I'm sure.”
I nodded, clutching that reassurance like a lifeline.
I couldn’t stop grinning as I paced the edge of the clearing, the taste of iron still faint at the back of my throat. It had been almost two weeks, and the Poison Mist clung thicker now, spreading wide before it faded. Not as good as Rin’s, not yet, but enough that I could feel it, real progress. A usable jutsu.
I couldn’t wait to show her.
The minutes dragged, the shadows shifting as the sun began to tilt west. I sat on a fallen log, bouncing my heel against the dirt, scroll propped on my knees as I re-read the seals again and again.
Any second now, I knew that Rin would step through the trees, tired but smiling, her hand warm on my shoulder as she said, better, keep going, you’re getting it. Almost there.
But she didn’t show up. Late again.
The sun dipped lower. Birds shifted in the canopy above. I tried the seals again, muttering under my breath, forcing myself to focus. Rin had been late before. Missions ran long. She was a medic, she was needed. That was all. No need to panic.
Still, the knot in my chest grew tighter with every hour. Something adjacent to panic twinged in the corners of my vision, as if desperate to see her emerge from the treeline and into view.
When the first chill of evening brushed the air, I snapped the scroll closed and stood. Waiting wasn’t helping. I needed to know.
I made my way back into the village, weaving through the thinning crowd of shinobi and civilians. Each face I passed, I expected, or maybe just hoped, to see hers. But I didn't. The tension crawled higher, faster, until I almost didn’t notice the two chunin leaning against the wall of a weapons shop, voices low but clear enough to carry as I paused nearby.
“...shame about Nohara Rin,” one said, shaking his head. “She didn’t make it back from the mission.”
The other grimaced, arms crossed. “Poor girl. Medic-nin never very last long on the front, not with what Kiri’s been pulling lately, always targeting them first.”
“That's the thing, it wasn't Kiri who killed her…”
The world tilted, sound muffling as if I’d plunged underwater.
I stood frozen, rooted to the spot, their words echoing like a kunai sinking into wood. Or a chidori fading, having pierced a girl's chest.
Nohara Rin. Didn’t make it back.
I wanted to scream, but I didn't.