Chapter Text
“What did you bring in your bento today?” the shinobi asked idly, making no effort to hide his own boredom.
Izumo shifted his gaze toward his long-time partner, legs crossed and feet resting on the edge of the desk in a relaxed, comfortable posture.
“Rice, fried fish, and some vegetables I had left over at home,” he replied, turning his dark eyes back to the road, watching a small white rabbit hop along the trail. “And you?”
Kotetsu sighed, lazily resting his chin on his hand.
“I made an omelet, with carrots and pork,” the chūnin said disinterestedly, scratching his nose beneath the distinctive cloth that covered his face. “Not sure it turned out very good.”
The position of Gate Guard of the Hidden Leaf Village was an old and permanent post, held by the two shinobi for over a decade. It was their responsibility to protect the village’s most symbolic boundary—the entry and exit point for all who came and went.
It was a role of immense importance, as any communication addressed directly to the Hokage passed through their hands first.
It was also, traditionally, an interesting and dynamic assignment, granting the guards privileged access to all the news—and, naturally, the gossip—that circulated within the village walls.
Over the years, the Gate sentinels had witnessed firsthand the major events and turning points that shaped Konoha’s history.
However, after the end of the Fourth Great Ninja War, and with the advent of a period of peace and relative stability across the shinobi world, very little happened in the area—making the task exceedingly monotonous.
Not that Kotetsu was unhappy. Quite the opposite; times of peace were rare in a hidden village, and very much welcome.
Still, he longed for a bit more excitement in his dull routine—something to stir the air around that place.
The black-haired shinobi sighed audibly, tipping his head back, dearly wishing for a cup of sake and the comfort of his bed. It seemed it would be just another day where the hours dragged on endlessly.
Or so he thought—until hurried, anxious footsteps echoed in the distance, coming from the trail that led toward the Hidden Leaf Village.
His sharp eyes instinctively snapped toward the sound, and the unfamiliar figure of a teenager sprinting frantically toward the village gate filled his vision.
The boy stopped near the guard booth, panting heavily.
“I need to speak with the Hokage, sir—immediately!” the boy’s voice rang out, desperate, as he gulped down air in heavy breaths, fists clenched at his sides.
Kotetsu and Izumo assessed the scene with little interest.
He was young—no older than fifteen. Pale-skinned, with black eyes and long black hair tied into a low ponytail that framed his face. He wore simple clothes: pants and a shirt in a charcoal-gray tone.
His clothes were slightly dirty and wrinkled, as if he had been traveling for days without rest.
Even so, he carried himself with an upright, confident posture that didn’t quite match his age.
The Gate guards exchanged a sideways glance—bored, yet subtly wary of the situation.
“Who are you, kid?” Izumo asked, still lounging inside the booth, rocking his chair back on its rear legs.
The boy’s dark eyes widened slightly as he caught his breath. His lips pressed into a thin line.
“I—I need to speak with the Hokage. It’s urgent, sir.”
Kotetsu snorted dryly, unimpressed.
“Are you a messenger from another village?” asked the shinobi, chin still propped on his hand, elbow resting on the desk.
His eyes briefly scanned the teenager, noting the absence of a forehead protector or any insignia from another hidden village.
Still, the kunai holster strapped to his right thigh was visible, as well as a tantō sword firmly secured in a sheath on his back.
The weapons—combined with his alert, composed stance—made it clear he was a ninja, despite his youth.
“No. I’m not from any ninja village,” the boy replied hesitantly, straightening his posture and adopting a more serious, mature tone. “But I need to speak with the Hokage—Kakashi Hatake—urgently!”
Izumo rolled his eyes, clearly uninterested, letting out a quiet sigh through his teeth.
“Look, kid, that’s not how things work around here,” the brown-haired man said in an instructive tone, as if explaining something to a small child. “If you tell us what you need, we can report it to the Hokage later.”
The teenager shook his head anxiously, fists clenched tight.
“No. I need to speak to him directly,” he insisted, dark, analytical eyes studying the village walls around him. “Tell him… tell him it’s about Sakura Haruno!”
Both guards’ eyes widened instantly, disbelief flashing across their faces.
Izumo immediately swung his legs off the desk, while Kotetsu straightened his posture—both suddenly alert.
“Kid, is this some kind of joke to you?!” Kotetsu snapped through clenched teeth, angered by the audacity of the unknown boy invoking that name.
Sakura Haruno—the Fifth Hokage’s pupil—had been sent on an infiltration mission to investigate the now-defunct criminal organization Akatsuki nearly thirteen years earlier. Since then, no information about the kunoichi’s whereabouts or condition had ever reached the village leadership.
And after more than a decade of disappearance, there was an obvious, unspoken conclusion.
That name was a painful scar that had never healed for the people of Konoha. A lingering agony for the Fifth Hokage, Tsunade-hime, and for the Sixth Hokage—the great Copy Ninja, Kakashi himself. As well as for every teammate and shinobi who had ever crossed paths with the medical-nin.
The boy swallowed nervously.
“No! I swear this isn’t some kind of joke, sir!” he said desperately, bringing his left hand to the front pocket of his plain pants.
Instantly, both chūnin tensed, fingers instinctively reaching for the kunai strapped to their legs. Their gazes locked onto the teenager, tracking every subtle movement, ready to react at the slightest hint of danger.
Then, the boy extended a worn piece of paper toward them through the booth window—clearly a photograph. His fingers trembled slightly, despite his effort to control his anxiety.
Kotetsu looked to his partner in silent exchange as they both slowly released their kunai. Izumo pressed his lips together, studying the situation, then gave a brief nod—which Kotetsu returned.
The bandaged shinobi reached out with his right hand, taking the photograph and holding it up so Izumo could see. In the very next instant, both froze—stunned and unsettled.
Four familiar faces stared back at them from the image.
The first was the current Hokage, Kakashi Hatake, younger—at the height of his glory and worldwide fame as the Copy Ninja. His white hair was wild, and he wore the standard moss-green jōnin vest, his expression characteristically bored.
The second, with spiky blond hair, was Naruto Uzumaki—the hero of the Fourth Great Ninja War and future Seventh Hokage—wearing a comically grumpy scowl on his childish face.
Beside him stood Sasuke Uchiha, the last of his clan and the Hokage’s current bodyguard, captured with the sulky, defiant expression typical of boys his age.
And between them all was the pink-haired kunoichi with forest-green eyes—Sakura Haruno—smiling absentmindedly, the image of a hopeful, dream-filled preteen.
They stood in the familiar setting of Konoha’s training fields, where Academy photos were taken after genin teams and instructors were assigned. Kotetsu immediately flipped the photo over, spotting the official watermark printed on the back.
It was, without a doubt, one of the Academy’s official photographs.
The Leaf chūnin’s dark eyes lifted to the boy standing before him, watching with tense expectation—hands gripping the fabric of his pants anxiously, yet posture straight and fearless, like a true young shinobi.
Kotetsu narrowed his eyes.
“Who are you?”