By day three of "welcome to mid-tier war zone," my hands smelled permanently like herbs and sweat.
Which, to be fair, was better than blood.
"Don't wander too far," Kakashi had said that morning, stretched out under a tree like a retired cat. "Gather these three. Don't mix them up. Don't die."
Naruto and Sasuke were already sprinting off to go one-up each other up their respective trees, so I'd taken the basket and the little illustrated notes Kakashi had drawn. Leaf shapes, stem patterns, kanji scribbled in the margins.
Now I was ankle-deep in mist-wet grass a little way from Tazuna's house, basket on my arm, muttering to myself like a tiny hedge witch.
"Round leaves, serrated edge, purple underside… you are not my problem today," I told a plant, pushing it aside. "Where are you, muscle-ache friend…"
The forest here wasn't like the one I'd died in.
The trees were taller, older. Moss climbed up trunks like they were trying to escape the ground. The air was heavy and damp, full of the slow drip of water from leaves. Every now and then, a gust of wind would comb through the branches and drag the smell of salt from the distant sea.
Still. A forest is a forest. Too many shadows, too many places to disappear in.
I swallowed that thought and focused on the chakra hum in the back of my head instead. Kakashi was a dim thrum somewhere behind me, calm and steady—resting but alert. Naruto and Sasuke were two bright, competitive spikes a ways off, slamming into tree bark and each other's pride.
The land itself was… tired. Wave's chakra felt like its people looked: worn thin, threadbare around the edges.
I pushed aside some ferns and finally spotted what I needed: a clump of pale green stalks with star-shaped leaves and tiny white flowers.
"Yes," I hissed. "You, come here."
I knelt, fingers brushing the stems, and focused enough chakra into my fingertips to check they matched Kakashi's sketch: cool, slightly fizzy, like ginger ale in my palms. Good for circulation, muscle pain, and—according to Kakashi's notes—"making sure your idiot students don't collapse halfway through a mission."
"Generous of you," I muttered, and started to cut.
My basket was half full when the air shifted.
Not with killing intent. That felt like a punch, like Zabuza's chakra-wall that had almost knocked me to my knees. This was smaller, subtler. A prickle along the back of my neck, like static. The sense of another presence sliding into range.
Soft. Layered. Polite.
I froze, one hand still on a plant stalk, and listened.
A twig snapped somewhere to my left. Footsteps followed—light, careful, barely bending the grass.
"Okay," I thought, pulse picking up. "Civilian? Thug? Round two ninja boss fight?"
The chakra answered before my brain finished the list.
It wasn't like Gato's men, all greasy fear and aggression. It wasn't like Zabuza's blade-sharp weight. It was… folded. Deliberate. A still pool with something hard at the bottom.
And threaded through it, bright and brittle, was one overwhelming note: devotion.
I didn't move. If it was an enemy scout and I startled like a rabbit, that'd be it. If it was just some local herb-picker, I'd look stupid for nothing.
The footsteps came closer, then stopped just beyond the low brush in front of me.
"Those are good for fevers," a voice said mildly. "But they won't help much with torn muscles."
My brain blue-screened for half a second.
Slowly, I pushed the leaves aside and looked up.
The person standing there had a basket on one arm and an armful of plants cradled in the other. A dark green kimono, worn but clean. Long dark hair pulled back. Fine features, the kind of soft you usually only see on dolls or expensive paintings. A blank hunter-nin mask hung loose at their hip, pushed aside.
Definitely older than me. Not by much, but enough to move them into that weird space of "not quite adult, but absolutely out of your league."
Chakra: soft silk, sharp needle.
"Uh," I said intelligently.
Their mouth curved in a small, polite smile.
"Sorry," they added. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"You… didn't," I lied.
We just kind of… stared at each other for a second.
Internally, my thoughts were doing laps:
Girl. No, boy. No, girl. No—does it matter? Why does it matter? Stop staring at their eyelashes.
Externally, I was kneeling in the dirt with a handful of herbs like the world's least threatening mugger.
They glanced at my basket. "You're gathering medicine?"
"Yeah." My voice finally remembered how to work. "My sensei overdid it with the big flashy murder magic, and now he needs help pretending he's fine."
That got a tiny laugh out of them, quick and honest.
"Ah," they said. "Overusing chakra can be dangerous. Especially for adults who think they are invincible."
"You say that like from experience," I said, before my caution filter kicked back in.
They tilted their head, amused. "Something like that."
Silence stretched again, soft as the fog.
I realized, belatedly, that my hand was still on the plant. My knuckles had gone white.
"Um," I tried. "You said these aren't great for… muscles?"
They stepped closer, moving easily over the roots, and crouched opposite me. For a second, their chakra brushed against mine—a cool, precise touch. Not probing, just noticing back.
They pointed at the clump in my hand.
"These are for circulation," they said. "Useful, but not what you want if your sensei is only strained, not poisoned. Those, however—" Their finger shifted toward a patch a little further on, thin stalks with serrated leaves. "—will help fatigue and pain. If you combine them carefully."
I followed their hand, then looked back at their face.
"You know a lot about this for someone wandering around in cosplay," I said.
Their eyes warmed. "I could say the same for a small kunoichi with paint on her cuticles."
I reflexively tucked my hands under my thighs. "Rude," I said, cheeks heating. "You can't call someone out like that. It's illegal."
They laughed again. It was a soft sound, edged with something sad.
"I'm sorry," they said. "I didn't mean to offend you."
"You didn't," I muttered. "You just… noticed too much. Occupational hazard, I guess."
They hummed thoughtfully, then shifted to kneel beside me, close enough that our shoulders nearly brushed.
"May I?" they asked, nodding to my basket.
"Sure," I said.
They scanned the contents with a practiced eye, setting a few stems aside and substituting others from their own collection. Movements neat, careful, almost… reverent.
"You're not from around here," I blurted, because my mouth hated me. "Wave, I mean. Your chakra feels too… precise. No offense to the locals, but everyone's kind of leaking despair."
One eyebrow arched. "You can feel that?"
"Sometimes," I said. "If I'm close. Or touching someone. It's like… colors. Or textures. I'm still figuring it out."
"So you're sensitive," they said. "To people."
"I'm annoying at parties, is what I am," I said. "But yeah. Something like that."
They mulled that over.
"I am Haku," they said finally, like offering a gift. "It's nice to meet you."
Haku. The name fit. Gentle consonants, edges smoothed off.
"Sylvie," I said. "Sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier. Brain lag."
We sat there in the filtered green light, two strangers swapping plant tips like this was some normal countryside meet-cute instead of… whatever it was.
"So," Haku said after a moment, fingers busy tying a small bundle with twine, "are you gathering herbs for someone precious to you?"
The question hit harder than it had any right to.
"Precious" was a simple word. Basic vocab. But the way they said it—quiet, steady, like it really meant something—made my chakra stutter.
"My… team," I said, buying time. "They're idiots. Loud, stubborn, take stupid risks. But they're my idiots, so. Yes, I guess."
Haku's eyes softened. For a second, the calm surface of their chakra opened, and I saw it: one point of light in the center, blindingly bright in their inner map. One person, held so close everything else got dimmed.
"And for your sensei, of course," they added. "Even if he plays at being lazy."
"The man reads porn in public," I said. "It's less 'plays' and more 'full commitment to the bit.' But yeah. He's… ours."
Haku's mouth quirked. "That's important," they said. "Having people you want to protect."
"Is it?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
They picked up a leaf, rolling it gently between their fingers.
"A person with nothing precious to them is… empty," Haku said. "They have no reason to become strong. No reason to endure. But if there is someone you wish to protect more than yourself… then even a very weak person can become very strong."
Their chakra flared as they spoke—briefly, sharply. Not big like Zabuza's, but intense. The devotion in it was enough to make my fingers tingle.
They weren't exaggerating. Whoever they meant, they weren't just important. They were the axis Haku spun around.
"Sounds like a lot of pressure to put on someone," I said lightly, because the alternative was thinking too hard about how that felt in my own chest. "Being someone's entire reason to exist."
Haku blinked, surprised. No one had pushed back on that before, probably.
"I don't see it as pressure," they said slowly. "More like… a gift. I was… nothing. For a long time. No worth, no place. Then I met someone who gave me a purpose. To be useful to them. To be their tool."
They said "tool" like it was holy.
My stomach twisted.
I thought of Naruto, yelling that he'd never go back on his word even if it killed him. Of Kakashi, standing between us and Zabuza with that tired, stubborn set to his shoulders. Of Inari's shut-down eyes. Of myself, bleeding out in one forest and waking up in another, shoved into a role that wasn't mine.
"Tools break," I said quietly. "People… shouldn't."
Haku looked at me properly then, head tilted, expression somewhere between curiosity and caution.
"You disagree?" they asked.
"I—" I dug my nails into my palm, grounding. "I think it's good to have people. To care enough to fight. I just… don't like the idea of disappearing completely into someone else's story. Of only having value because you're useful."
Their gaze slipped away, out over the water, where the mist hugged the surface like a blanket.
"For some of us," they said, softer now, "there was never any other way to be."
The weight under those words made my chest ache.
My chakra sense picked up a faint tremor under their calm, like old fault lines. Pain. Fear. And under those, that same blinding devotion, stitched over the cracks like gold.
I wanted to reach out. To put my hand over theirs and say, "You're allowed to exist for yourself." To pull that word "tool" out of their mouth and throw it in the trash where it belonged.
Instead, I let my fingers curl around the edge of the basket.
"Maybe," I said. "Or maybe no one ever taught you the other options."
For a moment, I thought I'd gone too far. That they'd pull away, go cold, slide the mask up and walk off into the mist.
Instead, Haku smiled. Not polite, not distant. Something small and sad and real.
"You are kind," they said. "And… strange."
"Rude again," I said weakly.
"But not wrong," they added.
We sat together in the quiet for another minute, the mist beading on our hair. Somewhere far off, I felt Naruto's chakra spike as he probably yelled at Sasuke for cheating at tree-walking. Kakashi's presence shifted a little, like he'd adjusted his position to keep both idiots in sight.
I wondered, suddenly, about the person at the center of Haku's map. Someone brutal, probably. Someone who'd taught them herbs and senbon and the use of a hunter mask. Someone dangerous enough that loving them felt like standing in front of a storm on purpose.
"Is the person you're gathering for… alright?" I asked carefully. "Injured?"
Haku's fingers stilled over a sprig of leaves.
"They were hurt," they said. "But they will recover. With time. And help."
Their chakra flickered—worry, affection, that deep, frightening loyalty.
I thought of Zabuza, skewered by Kakashi's jutsu, falling into the lake. Of the masked "hunter-nin" who'd whisked his body away with too much care for a simple disposal.
Pieces clicked.
"Oh," I thought. "Of course."
Aloud, I said nothing. I wasn't stupid enough to accuse them of anything in the middle of nowhere with no backup. And honestly, it didn't change what was in front of me: one person, kneeling in the dirt, trying to save someone important to them.
"Whoever they are," I said instead, "they're lucky you're looking out for them."
Haku's eyes softened again. "I am the lucky one," they said simply.
The sincerity in their chakra was so sharp it almost hurt to feel.
Kakashi's pulse of presence nudged at the edge of my awareness then, a subtle tug like a hand on my collar. Time's up.
I pushed myself to my feet, legs tingling from too long crouched. "I should head back," I said. "If I stay gone too long, my sensei will assume I've been murdered, and then he'll have to get up to look for me. Can't ruin his nap schedule like that."
Haku stood as well, smooth and easy.
"It was nice to meet you, Sylvie," they said. "I hope your team recovers quickly."
"Thanks," I said. "I hope your… precious person does too."
We looked at each other for a heartbeat longer, something unspoken hanging in the air.
Enemies, some part of me whispered. On opposite sides when this all shakes out.
People, another part insisted. Just people.
Haku adjusted their basket, the hunter mask at their hip clinking softly against the lacquered handle.
"Perhaps," they said, "we will see each other again. When that happens… I hope you will still be strong enough to protect what is precious to you."
There it was. A tiny shift in the words. Not if. When.
I swallowed. "You too," I said. "Try not to disappear completely into being someone's sword, okay? It'd be a waste."
They met my eyes, and for the first time, something like conflict flickered across their face.
Then they smiled, stepped back, and melted into the trees like they'd never been there at all. Their chakra slipped away with them, folding down, gone.
I stood in the clearing for a long moment, heart beating too fast, basket suddenly heavy on my arm.
"Great," I muttered to the empty air. "Fall into a magic ninja world, immediately develop a type: 'emotionally damaged, terrifyingly devoted, gender-complicated.' Fantastic. Totally sustainable."
My cheeks felt hot. I blamed the mist.
Gather herbs, Kakashi had said. Don't die.
He hadn't mentioned running into walking philosophy in a kimono.
I took a breath, focused on the weight of the basket, and turned back toward Tazuna's house. Naruto's chakra flared again in the distance, bright and wild and stubborn.
"Precious people," I thought, stepping around a root. "Being useful without disappearing. Being a tool, but on your own terms."
Haku's words and Naruto's promise tangled together in my head, impossible to separate. My own chest felt like someone had drawn a seal there and not told me what it did yet.
"I'm never going to be the strongest hitter," I reminded myself quietly, Kakashi's training still echoing in my legs. "I can be the one who makes sure they get to hit."
And maybe, someday, I could be more than a tool too.
For now, there was a bridge to survive, a crime boss to not die to, and two idiots to keep upright.
I tightened my grip on the basket and walked faster, mist swallowing my footprints behind me.