The barbecue dragged on until around half past eight, the air thick with smoke and laughter.
When the check came, it was split evenly, a standard practice in Konoha when nobody was feeling particularly heroic with their wallet.
High-end yakiniku wasn't cheap, even for shinobi.
In this group, there were maybe three people who could comfortably cover everyone's bill if they wanted to; Asuma Sarutobi, backed by the Hokage's household; Gen of the Uchiha, heir to one of the wealthiest clans in the village; and Kakashi Hatake, who had the Hatake fortune quietly collecting dust.
Once the last plates were cleared, everyone filtered out onto the busy street in front of BBQ. Clusters formed naturally; friends leaning into each other's jokes, teammates heading off together, couples drifting into the night.
In the end, only seven of us were left under the glowing paper lanterns; me, Anko, Asuma, Kurenai, Yugao, Hayate, and Ebisu.
We were scattered in loose pairs.
Yugao stood at my side, our conversation still running warm.
Anko was shoulder-to-shoulder with Kurenai, their laughter bubbling in short bursts.
Asuma had Ebisu hanging back beside him, the picture of a loyal shadow.
Hayate stood a little apart, looking like he'd wandered into the wrong scene.
"Alright," I said, "we'll head out first."
Earlier, I'd invited Yugao to see a movie. She'd agreed.
"Hold on, Captain," Kurenai said suddenly, that sly smile of hers slipping in.
I raised an eyebrow. "You didn't call me that all night. Why's it sound like an insult now?"
Asuma squinted through the smoke curling from his cigarette. "Captain?"
"During the Mist campaign," Kurenai explained, "I got reassigned under Gen. One of three subordinates."
Asuma gave a small nod. He'd wanted to go to that front, but the assignment never came. His jaw flexed.
Damn old man.
"No," Kurenai went on, "I was just thinking... we should find a teahouse. Grab some snacks. Swap training stories."
She tugged lightly at Anko's sleeve.
"Yeah," Anko agreed. "Feels like a waste to split up so soon."
Kurenai tilted her head toward me. "Come on, Gen. Give me a little face here."
I glanced at Yugao. "What do you think?"
No one else knew about our movie plans, except Hayate, who was suddenly paying very close attention. His eyes were practically begging her to say no.
Yugao's lips curved faintly. "I'll go with whatever you decide."
"Alright," I said. "Tea it is."
BBQ sat in the middle of Konoha's busiest commercial street. A short walk brought us to a warm-lit teahouse tucked between a bakery and a bookstore.
We took a private room. Tea steamed in our cups, snacks filled the table. The talk came easy — each person taking a turn to share training methods, little discoveries, old lessons.
Yugao and Ebisu had both come from civilian families. Hayate's clan had a shinobi history, but only a small one. Kurenai, though from a lesser-known line compared to Sarutobi or Uchiha, carried generations of genjutsu tradition, a foundation most ninja could only envy.
They spoke, one after another, until only Asuma and I remained.
As the only jōnin here, I planned to go last. But Asuma… pride is a stubborn thing. He might not match my strength, but in theory and insight? You could see it in his eyes — he thought he could stand even.
He didn't speak. Just leaned back, cigarette between his lips, watching me.
Fine. If he was going to hand me the stage, I'd take it.
I sipped my tea and began.
First, taijutsu, fists, kicks, weapon throws, sword work. Then genjutsu — the five senses; sight, sound, smell, touch, taste. Sight and sound were the common ones; the rest, rare and tricky. I'd mastered sight-based illusions, dabbled in the others. Time was always the enemy there.
Finally, ninjutsu. The three basic techniques, shadow clones, body flicker, and elemental releases. My wind and earth were passable for a jōnin. Fire was another story. Few in the village could match me for control, not even the Hokage when it came to pushing flame temperature higher.
In Konoha, fire-style bloodlines were led by two clans — Uchiha first, Sarutobi second. And as far as reputation went, the Sarutobi had always been in our shadow.
I spoke to each person's strengths, tailoring advice to what they could use. And I didn't rush.
By the time I wrapped up, the owner was knocking on the door to tell us they were closing.
We spilled out into the street. The shops had dimmed, the moon had climbed higher.
Our group walked together for a while, my story tying itself off. Then came the goodbyes — brisk and polite. No one asked Asuma to speak. No one even seemed to notice he hadn't.
I didn't walk Yugao home. Sometimes a man leaves just enough space to keep things interesting.
One by one, they all left, Ebisu sticking close to Asuma until he, too, disappeared down another street.
In the end, Asuma stood alone at the crossroads, the wind catching his hair, the glow of his cigarette fading in the dark.
How the hell did it come to this?
The worst part? He'd been so caught up listening, he'd forgotten to take his turn.
He flicked ash into the night, shoved his hands in his pockets, and wandered off, the quiet streets swallowing him whole.