Chapter Text
The first time Mikoto sees snow, it’s falling on incoming refugees from the Hidden Eddy Village. She’s at one of the village watchtowers with the rest of her class quietly trying to guess which refugees will cause trouble for the chuunin at the gates. They aren’t causing any trouble, not even when the chuunin demand that they surrender their headbands. It bothers Mikoto that they don’t. She doesn’t have a headband yet but when she earns it, only death will pry it from her fingers.
Mikoto puts her hand out the tower window, wondering how snow feels when it hits the skin. It’s like being poked with the tip of a cold feather. She takes her arm back and stares at the snowflakes on her forearm. Soon, they’re water droplets sliding off her skin.
“Fire Country hasn’t seen snow for more than a decade,” says Minato Namikaze, who’s standing beside her. He’s only nine and looks even younger—has to use chakra to half climb to the windowsill otherwise his blue eyes wouldn’t catch anything outside the tower. Nevertheless, he’s still ahead of everyone else in their class, Mikoto included. She wants to hate him for it—looks like she won’t be graduating at the top their class, after all—but the sad truth is he’s too polite and unassuming to inspire anger. “Must be colder than usual over in Water country,” Minato continues, biting his lower lip. “It’ll be a bloody year for them even if their harvest was good.”
“Then I guess we’ll probably get more escort missions from people wanting to go that way,” says Mikoto.
Minato begins to say something but their teacher silences them with a glare and gestures at the incoming refugees. Their classmates are beginning to whisper and Mikoto doubts they’re discussing weather patterns and their effects on revenue. Sometimes, Mikoto wonders if they realize they're supposed to be on guard all the time, always trying to learn from their surroundings though in all fairness, she doesn’t think watching a procession of hunched-over old people and skinny children is going to teach them anything they don’t already know. If they don’t fight outsiders tooth and nail, Konoha will be razed to the ground and the survivors will have the scatter across the globe. Just like whatever’s left of Uzushiogakure.
Hours later, when they half-hearted snow has stopped, they’re finally allowed to return home. It’s much later than usual. Mikoto barely has time to respond to Minato’s goodbyes before she’s running through the village roofs as fast she can. Rakshasha—Elder Rakshasha now—will not be pleased with her tardiness, never mind the reason for it. Mikoto's so harried she almost slips on the sloshing ice when she makes it to the Uchiha compound. She regains her footing before she does something embarrassing like break her neck, but some of her cousins still laugh at her. Fair enough. No ninja should ever slip on anything.
Her family does not approve of the Hidden Eddy refugees. The Elders argue about it all the time . . . well, they argue with Rakshasha about it, who thinks welcoming them to Konoha was the best thing they could have done. “At least some of the ones we let in must know Sealing,” she tells her peers.
“Sarutobi just opened our gates and let all the riffraff in,” argues Elder Hideaki. “We’ll be lucky if even one of them can tell the Cursed Seal from their asshole.”
“Not that it matters either way,” adds Elder Kazuhiko. “They have no reason to share any of their secrets. No demands have been made of them.”
Mikoto thinks swearing to give up their careers as ninja is more than just a demand, but she knows better than to interrupt. Her only job at these meetings is to keep her mouth shut and fetch tea and/or sake whenever commanded.
“You mean besides revenge?” says Rakshasha. “They’ll pass on whatever they know to their children and their children will join our Academies. That’s how you assimilate a subset of jutsu. Get the knowledge and then offer it to home grown talent.”
“Meanwhile, our rivals negotiate with all fully realized Sealing masters!”
“Maybe two or three escaped,” dismisses Rakshasha. “Let Kumo enjoy a couple of self-important geniuses with chips on their shoulders.”
The argument goes on circles before the Elders leave, most of them shooting Rakshasha ugly looks. They’re still angry that she managed to convince Seiji-sama to agree with the Hyuuga and the rest of the clans about accepting so many Hidden Eddy refugees, especially since none of the surviving Eddy jounin agreed to come along.
“Those idiots let their hatred for the Hyuuga cloud their already poor judgment,” Rakshasha mumbles while helping Mikoto clean up. Her white hair is coming off its bun and she seems too inebriated to care. “Even a broken clock is right twice a day. Besides, we got what we needed out of Uzushio. For once, kindness is a luxury we can afford.”
Maybe. Mikoto has heard that Konoha stole some great weapon from Uzushio, something that will keep even Kumo from trying anything for quite a while. What it might be, she has no idea. She’ll have to keep her ears to the ground, especially when it’s Rakshasha’s turn to host the Elder meetings. Also, the rest of the village will be abuzz with rumors about the refugees for a while yet. Mikoto feels the truth buzzing about the air. She just needs to pay attention.
Unfortunately, it turns out that the chuunin and merchants don’t have much to say about the Eddy refugees. Mikoto supposes that destitute children and hunched over grandparents without a ryo to their name don’t inspire much gossip. Aside from vague arguments among the Elders, Mikoto hears no more about the Eddy refugees for weeks.
Competition among pre-genin becomes frantic towards the end of the year. It’s not just the usual fighting for spots in the top quintile; it’s the ever present possibility of impressing the instructors so deeply that they hand over a headband. Trainees from the major clans all work like they’re possessed. Mikoto does as well, stubbornly ignoring the inner voice reminding her that girls are never allowed to graduate early.
“It’s not going to happen this year,” Minato says one day while practicing Shurikenjutsu with Mikoto. “I don’t think a jounin has been by the Academy in months so the fighting must be at least at an impasse. It makes sense since the weather’s been bad, which is always really worse for Suna than it is for us. Plus, I think Konoha benefitted a lot from whatever happened at Whirlpool country.”
“You talk like you’ve been in Hokage-sama’s meetings,” says Mikoto, striking one of his shuriken off course with one of her own.
Minato shrugs, launching a whole set of shuriken.
If there’s anyone who’s going to graduate from the Academy early, it’s Minato. He’s already skipped two years and then rose to the top of their class, never mind he’s surrounded by kids older than him. Their teacher’s eyes practically glow with exited tears whenever he watches Minato master a new jutsu.
Before Minato was added to her group, it was Mikoto who’d been the most promising pre-genin. Mikoto excels at meditation, is blessed with naturally high chakra reserves, and is deadly accurate with shuriken. She doubts that Rakshasha would ever raise a dumb child, so in a way it was fortunate that her mother was killed in action long before she learned to walk. Strategy is never an issue for her either.
Mikoto’s only real struggle had been dealing with a teacher who liked to rant that women were a distraction in the field, though even that only made her more determined to wipe the floor with all the boys she sparred with. Though she's hardly popular, Mikoto liked to think that her stubborn successes helped the other girls in her class deal with their teacher’s complaints about the distracting nature of kunoichi.
Then Minato was escorted into her classroom by Jiraiya himself and Mikoto quickly faded to the background. Their teacher practically fell in love and the other boys in the class no longer cared if a girl was better than they were. Not if she wasn’t the best.
Though she’d been discouraged at first, Mikoto soon decided to stop measuring herself against people who were her beneath her skill level and started competing against Minato. Maybe she’d never manage to beat him—probably would never manage to beat him; Minato was scarily smart—but it didn’t take long for Mikoto to realize that beating him wasn’t the point. If nothing else, an unattainable goal would force her to challenge herself and keep her from becoming complacent.
Still, how she became friends with Minato is still a mystery to her.
“Doesn’t it seem weird to you that no one’s saying anything about the people from Whirlpool?” she asks him one day during lunch.
“They’re leaving in the poorest parts of the village,” says Minato. “The crippled ones are begging for food, the ones who could got jobs cleaning up at the restaurants, and most kids can’t start school because their dialect is different from ours. Give it a couple more years and many will be in the Red Lights district.”
“But . . .” Mikoto trails off, hesitant to share her grandmother’s ideas with anyone outside the clan. What Minato's describing doesn’t sound like the kind of assimilation Rakshasha predicted.
“It’s not the kind of thing you would her,” continues Minato, tucking some locks of unruly blond hair behind his ear.
Mikoto’s first urge if to defend herself against some sort of slight—she is definitely observant enough to learn about the refugees; she has been paying attention. The thought that she hadn’t come to the same conclusion as Minato is the only thing that keeps her mouth shut. She slips into silence and Minato doesn’t try to engage her in conversation again.
When she’s walking home that day, Mikoto understands why she’d heard nothing of the Hidden Eddy refugees. Minato is one of Konoha’s many orphans. He survives on the small pension awarded to him because his father had been a chuunin and his mother a genin, a sum that only affords him a small apartment in Konoha’s poorer districts. That’s why he’s privy to the fate of the Eddy refugees and Mikoto isn’t.
That night, she decides she will invite Minato to her house if the opportunity ever arises.
When Minato suggests that they study for their final exams together, Mikoto agrees on the condition that they do so at her house. She expects Minato to decline since it’s not like he actually needs any help, but he nods with a hesitant smile. Privately, Mikoto is relieved. Sometimes, Minato makes more sense than their textbooks.
Rakshasha barely glances their way when Mikoto tries to introduce Minato, which is probably for the best. Mikoto drags him to her room before her grandmother can make any demands of her. She’s curious to see how exactly Minato studies in case it holds the secret to his uncanny intelligence.
That isn’t the case. Minato does the exact same thing she does, but he retains twice the information even though he spends half the time on it. An hour later, he’s studying by teaching her what he’s already reviewed.
They finish with the theory in a matter of days and after some consideration, Mikoto takes Minato to one on the training grounds in the Uchiha compound. Chances are nobody will care. It’s not like she’s bringing a Hyuuga to the place.
Perhaps because she’s two years older, sparring is where Mikoto shines. She’s still faster than Minato, still better at molding large amounts of chakra. It’s her turn to give him pointers, to tell him about how to improve his stance and how to flick his wrist to hide a shuriken behind another.
In the end, nobody says anything about Minato, probably because he’s still just a little orphan with some promise. Mikoto’s grateful she’s allowed a friend. She’s a peculiar position; all her cousins are either younger or older than her. Everyone else in her class either belongs to another clan or hates her for being a clan brat. The other girls . . . well, Mikoto’s never shown much interest in the kunoichi classes and they sense it. They’ve decided that she thinks she’s too good for them, and Mikoto doesn’t know how to explain that she can’t figure out how to make the muscles of her face twist into a fake smile.
Mikoto and Minato’s final exam scores are three standard deviations above their class’ average. They look at the sheet with stoic expressions, nod solemnly when their classmates congratulate them, and bow respectfully when their teacher praises their efforts. Then when they’re reasonably sure no one’s watching, they laugh and bump their fists together. That’s not enough to express their excitement so they hug each other tightly, Minato resting his head on Mikoto’s shoulder and giggling like a baby being tickled.
“They’re going to sends us to the last year of training,” Minato says when they break apart, blue eyes shining with happiness. “That’s when we get to start learning basic jutsu!”
Mikoto nods even though she’s not certain that’s going to be the case for her. There’s no getting around their teacher’s disdain. Undoubtedly, she will be discredited since it’s no secret that she prepared for the exams with Minato.
Much to Mikoto’s surprise, Rakshasha seems delighted by her accomplishment. She gets two full days without any shores and orders to bring Minato over for a celebratory dinner. Mikoto’s surprised that Rakshasha even remembers Minato’s name as she nods, feeling stupidly touched by her grandmother’s pride. She hopes that Minato will come. Rakshasha rarely lets anyone in the house and is in fact deeply resentful that her duties as an Elder require her to host near weekly meetings in her humble home.
Minato is surprised when Mikoto invites him to dinner, but he nods quickly and looks away, like something embarrassing has just happened. Mikoto realizes that she has no idea how long it’s been since Minato enjoyed a family meal with anyone. He seems to have no more friends than her—clan brats avoid him out of jealousy and everyone else complains that he’s a know-it-all. Mikoto is suddenly concerned that Rakshasha will take to him the same way she takes to everyone else and worries that he’ll end up banned from her home by the end of the night.
Dinner time arrives and rather amusingly, it only takes Minato half an hour to coax Rakshasha into regaling them with tales of the first Secret War.
“It was a loooong shit show,” she tells them. “The Hyuuga had only just joined us and most of them were so hungry and stupefied that they couldn’t tell a Kumo ninja from their own mother. But we had more soldiers and were fighting in our own Country.”
“How long did it take the Hyuuga to establish themselves in the village?” asks Minato, a question that surprises Mikoto. She’s more interested in learning about Kumo battle tactics.
“About fifteen years,” answers Rakshasha. “They breed like rabbits and Tobirama was convinced that Byakugan would eventually be indispensible. I doubt he realized just how strong that blood line can become, the spirits rest his conniving soul.”
The answer deflates Minato and it bothers Mikoto that she can’t begin to guess why. As far as she knows, Minato has no connections to the Hyuuga.
“Tell us about Lightning Jutsu, Grandmother,” she asks Rakshasha, hoping that talk of chakra and battles will cheer Minato.
Rakshasha tells them of the first time she saw another ninja attuned to Lightning perform nature transformation. It’s a story Mikoto has heard many times but she loves it anyway. Not only does it include the intricacies of Sharingan and nature transformation; it’s also one of the few memories that makes Rakshasha smile.
“I felt deficient before that day,” says Rakshasha. “All my cousins and even my idiot sister were well on their way to mastering Fire, but I couldn’t generate a spark without searing down my bones. Then I saw one of those Kumo bastards pushing chakra into metal, turning it into lightning and directing its flow, and I was a different person.”
It’s a nice night, but all nice things must come to an end. A couple of hours after the sun sets, Rakshasha tells them that she wishes to be alone and starts limping towards her room. Mikoto drags Minato away before Rakshasha can start yelling, glad that she has been given the opportunity to escape one of her Grandmother’s rants. Besides, she wants to ask Minato . . . she doesn’t know what exactly, but she means to find out why he’s been so morose.
“Why did you ask about the Hyuuga?” Mikoto begins after they’ve left the Uchiha compound without saying a word. It visibly startles Minato and for once Mikoto wishes they weren’t so comfortable with silence.
“I was hoping . . .” Minato shakes his head and laughs quietly. “It doesn’t matter.”
Mikoto wants to press for information but it would be rude. She looks up at the stars, questions niggling at her thoughts. Why the Hyuuga? Minato has never cared about the clans before. Also, everyone who asks about the Hyuuga asks about the Cursed Seal. Or the Byakugan.
“I was hoping Eddy refugees might learn something from the Hyuuga,” says Minato after a few minutes. “It was a stupid thought. They have no bloodline limit and they didn’t come to Konoha willingly.”
The people of Uzushio could not have been farther from Mikoto’s mind. She wonders why Minato even cares and decides that he must have met some of them in his district.
“They’re lucky we let them in at all,” she says. Minato has to know that their fate would have been worse in any of the other hidden villages.
“Yes, I suppose so,” he agrees.
They say goodbye shortly afterwards, pleasant as they always do. Nevertheless, Mikoto feels what most people must feel when they try to talk to Minato—like she’s completely failed to grasp what he’d tried to say.
Mikoto sees very little of Minato during the summer weeks. Neither of them is the kind to laze about and they’re in different school grades. Mikoto greets him the few times she runs into him in the markets, happy that he at least looks healthy. She feels a twinge of sadness every time she remembers that he’ll be placed a year above her in the Academy. It will be lonely for her once again, worse this time since she know knows she rather likes having a friend.
One hot July morning, while the sun is brightening the sky, Mikoto learns that Seiji-sama’s first born son had been unexpectedly killed in action.
“Second time this happens in as many generations,” says Rakshasha, rolling her dark eyes. “At least the spare’s young enough that it shouldn’t make too much of a difference.”
In all honesty, the news doesn’t really affect Mikoto much. She’s only distantly related to the Head family. Her mother had been Seiji-sama’s third cousin and her father some peasant from Water country. If Rakshasha wasn’t an Elder, Mikoto would not have been expected to attend the funeral proper.
She’s happy that she gets to go, insofar as it’s possible to be happy at a funeral of a person she didn’t hate. The other important families make a point to pretend Rakshasha isn’t present—they must still be angry that she convinced Seiji-sama to side with the Hyuuga over the Eddy refugees. Mikoto’s fairly certain that they don’t even have to pretend not to notice she’s there. It doesn’t bother her. In fact, she prefers it that way.
“Such a shame,” a lady is whispering loudly. “Fugaku doesn’t exactly inspire confidence does he?”
“They said the same thing about Seiji-sama and he turned out fine,” says another. “And he even had to take leadership earlier than expected.”
“Not everyone’s happy with Seiji,” adds a man wearing a headband.
Mikoto decides to walk away before anyone notices her. Curious she might be, but she’s also cautios. She has no desire to be caught in the drama of the higher families.
Before she notices it, Mikoto has wandered to the edge of the forest encroaching on Seiji-sama’s home. She takes a moment to enjoy the sight of the summer leaves before remembering that she’s encumbered by a gleaming white kimono and sighs. Rakshasha might not care if her ward ruined her clothes, but Mikoto doesn't want anyone to remember her as the near-grown girl who dirtied her clothes like an infant. She decides to go back to the house, but a sniffling sounds draws her deeper into the forest.
With her fingers hovering over the kunai she hid in the sleeves of her kimono, Mikoto makes her way deeper into the woods. A ninja would hear her, of course. But a ninja would also not make a sound. She finds a boy dressed in white, stares at the back of his head for a few seconds, and the turns around when she realizes who he is.
“Who are you?” he demands, hiccupping.
Mikoto turns around and stares straight at Fugaku Uchiha’s eyes, relieved that she’s far away enough that she can’t see if his eyes are red-rimmed or not. They probably are, but this way they can both pretend otherwise. After some moments of tense silence, Mikoto turns away and starts walking back to the house. She thanks all their common ancestors that Fugaku doesn’t try to stop her or speak to her.
It’s a weakness, especially for men, to be caught sobbing. Even at a brother’s funeral. It’s a little unfair. Mikoto doesn’t pretend that she isn’t going to be reduced to tears when Rakshasha passes away, difficult though her grandmother might be. She understands and hopes that Fugaku, who will one day be Head of the clan, won’t hold a grudge because she caught him in a moment of grief.
A week before Academy classes begin, Mikoto gets orders to report for the last year of pre-genin training. She stares at the scroll for an entire minute and then runs back into the house to give Rakshasha the news. “I’m graduating early!” she yells then slaps a hand over her mouth, mortified at how loud she’s being.
“The Academy was mostly bullshit from what I remember,” says Rakshasha. Then she glares at Mikoto and waves her away. “You might miss it anyway.”
It’s not surprising that Rakshasha is unconcerned with Mikoto’s schooling, but Mikoto still can’t shake off her excitement. She wants to go back and ask Rakshasha if any other girl has ever graduated the Academy even a measly year earlier—perhaps Lady Tsunade?—but she knows better than to bother her grandmother after she’s been dismissed. Finally, she remembers another person who knows about as much of Konoha’s history as a textbook.
A few minutes later, after she’s already in the village proper, Mikoto stops in her tracks and remembers that she has no idea where exactly Minato lives. She blushes and stares at her toes feeling like the biggest fool in the village, then decides to return home. Perhaps Rakshasha will be more amenable to conversation at dinner.
“Mikoto?”
She beams and whirls around, embarrassingly happy to hear Minato’s voice. His blue eyes widen when he sees her, but he accepts her hug and lays his head on her shoulders. If he wasn’t carrying a bag of groceries, Mikoto begs he’d be hugging her back.
“I did it!” she says. “I won’t have to stay at the Academy for two whole years!”
“Well, no,” says Minato. “You got what, three more questions wrong than me?” They speak under the shade of a maple for a few moments and then Minato suggests they go to his apartment, where he’s got a bunch of books about basic jutsu.
Minato lives between the markets and the Red Lights district, only a couple of street away from the former. Mikoto generally avoids the area because trash litters the streets and barefoot children run from house to house begging for scraps. The people are hollow-eyed and suspicious, and there’s no way they don’t notice the Uchiha fan on the back of Mikoto’s shirt. She suspects that the term “clan brat” and its less polite siblings originated somewhere around there.
“How long have you lived around here?” she asks when they’re at Minato’s door, mostly to make conversation.
“My father died two years ago,” says Minato, reaching for his keys. “A genin’s salary’s not enough for anything nicer . . . my orphan’s allowance is actually more than what my mother used to make.”
Mikoto can’t think of anything to say to that and she doesn’t really have to. Before Minato’s opened his door, one of his neighbors is in the hallway glaring daggers.
“I was waiting for you, you little Leaf holier-than-everyone motherfucker,” a redheaded girl is saying, striding close to Minato with a hateful grimace. She grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls until Minato has to drop his groceries. “What the fuck did you say to Naoki?”
“Kushina . . .” A boy with hunched shoulders and a black eye is staring at the back of the girl’s head with furrowed eyebrows.
“I told him the truth,” says Minato without making a move to defend himself. “He’s never going to get anywhere in life hiding behind your spectacles.”
And that makes the girl raise a fist. Mikoto’s rushing forward, dimly wondering why Minato isn’t doing more to defend himself. She grabs the redhead’s arm and is surprised when she reacts the way an experienced fighter would, immobilizing Mikoto’s wrist and dragging her forward, pulling back her arm to follow up with a punch to her chin. Mikoto begins to duck, plans to strike at the redhead’s flank, and then Minato’s between them. The redhead’s forced to release Mikoto’s wrist and take a step backwards, though not so far away that Mikoto can’t see the challenge in her violet eyes.
“That’s enough!” Minato yells when Mikoto starts bending her knees. “I don’t want the chuunin here again!” he snaps.
Mikoto doesn’t think she’s ever heard him angry before.
“Kushina, please come on,” the tanned boy is suddenly begging, grabbing a hold of the redhead’s hand. “You know we’re going to get it worse than him.”
“Why shouldn’t you?” asks Mikoto. “She’s the one who started this.”
Minato shoots her a pleading look, but Mikoto can’t muster up any embarrassment. The air of victimhood around the redhead and her little friend has her muscles spoiling for a fight.
The redhead chuckles, not unlike the way Rakshasha does when she thinks Mikoto’s said something naïve and stupid. “You keep your advice to yourself from now own,” she tells Minato, “or I’ll make you eat one of your books.”
Minato sighs when the redhead and her friend are back behind their door. He bends down to pick up his groceries and sighs again when he notices Mikoto staring at him. “That’s Kushina Uzumaki,” he tells her as he straightens up. “One of the refugees from Uzushio. We don’t always agree.”
Mikoto nods and holds the door open for him, suddenly understanding his questions about the Hyuuga during their celebratory dinner so many nights prior. Though this Kushina is as aggressive as a rabid dog, it seems like Minato has tried to help her. She hopes it’s for the boy’s sake.