After the reunion, life slid back into its usual rhythm.
For a few days, Gen wasn't in the village.
He'd gone beyond Konoha's walls, not for a mission, not for fun, but to deliver food to the two Uchiha locked away in that cave. Starving to death wasn't on their sentence, not on his watch.
While he was out there, he cleaned up the mess from before, traps torn apart by wild animals, carcasses left to rot, and the blackened scars where explosions had torn the earth.
For most shinobi, leaving Konoha wasn't simple. You needed a signed mission order or at least a solid excuse. But Gen?
Technically, he was the deputy captain of the Konoha Police Force. The police patrolled both inside the village and in the ten kilometers of land outside the gates.
That meant if Gen put on his flak vest, the Uchiha crest on his back gleaming in the sun, the gate guards wouldn't just let him pass, they wouldn't even think about stopping him.
It was one of the perks of the position. And one of the reasons he'd taken it in the first place.
Days passed. Yugao didn't come by. Gen didn't mind; he lived life at his own pace.
Meanwhile, the Hokage and the other elders had gone to the Land of Fire's capital. The matter of who would wear the hat next was nearly decided.
—
One quiet afternoon, after lunch, Gen was stretched out on the living room sofa, basking in that blissful haze that came when you were full, content, and happily unproductive.
"Is Master Gen at home?"
A clear, respectful voice rang from outside.
Gen called back, then got up, wandered over to the window, and looked down.
Standing by the gate was a tall kunoichi with long purple hair tied in a ponytail, a black combat suit hugging her frame, and a ninja blade on her back. Her face was pretty, her bearing sharp and next to her stood one of the older Uchiha ladies from the neighborhood.
"Sorry to bother you," Uzuki Yugao said, looking a little embarrassed but holding her ground.
She'd been waiting for him to come see her. Three days passed, and nothing. She'd wrestled with herself for another three. Would showing up at the Uchiha compound look like she was chasing status? Would people talk?
By day six, she'd decided she didn't care.
Even then, she'd hesitated at the compound's gate until an overly friendly Uchiha auntie spotted her. One warm conversation later, she'd been personally escorted to Gen's door.
"Don't worry about bothering me. I get bored sometimes," Gen said. "Wait there... I'll come open the door."
He greeted the older woman first. "Thanks for bringing her, Auntie Ryūka."
"No trouble at all," she said, then added with a smile, "But really, Master Gen, sometimes boys should be the ones to take the first step." She winked, cheerful as ever, and headed off.
Gen turned back to Yugao, who was avoiding his eyes. "Come in."
"Okay."
She followed him into the courtyard, taking in the place. It was clean enough, but there was a certain roughness to it, the kind you got from using a wind jutsu to sweep leaves. Efficient, but not delicate.
Inside, he set two bottles of mulberry juice on the table.
Her favorite. She smiled without meaning to, warmth blooming in her chest.
Gen had no idea. Mulberry juice was just what he usually stocked; someone once told him it was 'a good fuel for men.'
"Drink up. Then we'll do a little sparring," he said.
They sat, talked, finished their drinks, and stepped into the yard.
Swords in hand, they formed the seal of confrontation. The ring of steel followed.
Yugao's swordwork was disciplined, she'd survived a war as a civilian-born kunoichi, that said plenty about her skill.
But against Gen, a seasoned jōnin with battlefield experience and the Uchiha clan's refined taijutsu and kenjutsu? She was always going to be a step behind.
Still, he didn't hold back much. The clan's style was a dance meant for the Sharingan — swift, fluid, merciless.
Even without the eye activated, it was a beautiful, efficient thing.
They cycled through sparring, corrections, sparring again, and resting, until the sun dipped lower. Gen walked her toward the village streets.
That's when the voices reached them.
"You hear? Lord Minato's going to be Hokage!"
"Seriously? Since when?"
"Just came down from the admin office. Third Hokage nominated him, the Fire Daimyō approved."
"That's great news! He saved my life at Kannabi Bridge, that man is a hero."
A few more steps, and another conversation drifted over.
"No way. Why would the Hokage pass over his own student to pick his student's student?"
"Orochimaru-sama's record is incredible. Not just this war, remember the last one? His achievements are bigger overall."
"I know. But the confidence vote for the jōnin is already scheduled."
A sigh followed. "Politics. If you don't have enough supporters, you can't hold the hat, no matter how good you are."
Around them, more fragments of chatter spilled from open shopfronts and street corners. Minato's supporters were glowing; Orochimaru's were stunned. And in between, a handful of people didn't care either way, the true minority.
The tide of opinion was already shifting.
Yugao glanced at Gen. His face was unreadable.
He must be hurting, she thought. Orochimaru-sama is his teacher.
"It's fine," Gen said lightly. "I expected this."
She didn't quite believe it. The smile on his face looked… too calm.
Not knowing what to say, she reached out and took his hand. Her grip was firm — years of sword training had left her used to gloves, not bare skin.
Gen blinked, surprised.
"…Can you take the gloves off and try that again?" he asked, deadpan.
Her head snapped up. "What..."
He winked.
Flustered beyond repair, she yanked her hand back and took off down the street.
Gen chuckled, watching her retreat. Then he turned into a side alley, clapped his hands together, and vanished in a puff of smoke.
When he stepped out, he looked like a grown man. Minors couldn't buy alcohol in Konoha, or anywhere in the shinobi world, strangely enough.
War, assassination, and child soldiers? Fine.
Sake? Absolutely not.
Orochimaru could use a drink right about now.