His mother had been doing the dishes. Konohamaru, his face unusually serious, had been staring at his son from across the breakfast table for the better part of fifteen minutes, saying nothing and eating nothing. Himaru had been trying to ignore this, crunching his cereal and avoiding his father’s gaze for the better part of the time, but eventually it had gotten to be too much. “What?” He’d asked, a slight tinge of exasperation in his voice. And his dad had started, coming back from some reverie. He’d looked away, and coughed. “Himaru-kun,” He began softly, “we’re at war now… You know that, right?” The boy was, of a sudden, wreathed in smiles. “Yeah! It’s gonna be great! We’re going to protect the village and beat the bad guys, right dad?” But his dad had just smiled. Even though he was the product of a peaceful era, Konohamaru knew full well the trials and hardships of the shinobi lifestyle. He could remember being innocent like his son, fresh graduated from the academy, without a single mission under his belt. He’d learned, though, just as Himaru would learn, that there was no place for idealism and fantasy in the life of a Konoha ninja. But it was something that would come in time, and it wouldn’t improve matters any to point it out to his son now. And now, with a war on, that experience would come all the sooner. He wished once again that the Rokudaime had approved his request to take the leadership of his son’s team, so he could make the transition as smooth as possible, but Naruto had stood firm. “I want teamwork among the genin, and not favoritism,” He’d said. Konohamaru sighed. He understood, and even agreed with the Hokage’s decision, but that didn’t make it any easier. He looked back at his son and spoke, quietly and firmly, holding the boy’s eyes with his own. “Himaru, I want you to listen.” The boy perked up, staring back into his father’s black eyes. “You’re a shinobi of the Hidden Village of Konoha. You’re also Sarutobi, the great-grandson of the Third. As such, there’s something I need to teach you. I want you to meet me tonight at seven, under the eaves of the trees on the north side of the village. Come prepared.” At the sink, Himaru saw the shape of his mother freeze, and heard the shattering of a plate. His father glanced over at Hanabi before fixing Himaru with his stare again. “Go have fun today, son. I’ll see you at seven.” Himaru had tried to protest that he hadn’t finished eating yet, but he’d been ushered out of the room quickly and firmly. As he grabbed his staff, he heard the voice of his mother, indistinct and muffled. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. He’s still so young…” Then his father had made calming noises, and Himaru had slipped out the door quietly. He hated it when his mother cried.

Himaru reached the appointed area and looked around, panting. He didn’t see his father anywhere…maybe he was running late too? The boy looked hopeful. “You’re late.” The voice was cold, disapproving and coming from the boughs of a nearby tree. Himaru looked up, his face falling. He rubbed the back of his head and spoke, “Sorry dad…I was training with Hakusen and a bunch of other people and lost track of time. Sorry.” Konohamaru ignored the apology and spoke again, coldly. “You will follow me. Don’t get left behind.” Then the jounin bounded away through the trees, moving at a terrific pace. Himaru froze for a second, and then bounded away in pursuit. Keeping up was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. His father moved gracefully, slinging himself from tree to tree as easily as he would run across a flat plain, pushing off whatever branch was closest with whatever limb happened to be there. Never losing speed, never making a wasted movement. By contrast, Himaru stumbled, often needing to plant both feet before leaping again and coming close more then once to a fatal encounter with a sudden trunk or outstretched bough. But somehow he managed not to lose sight of the elite jounin, and every time he was about to resort to his byakugan to see where his father had gone, there was a flash of a green vest up ahead, or a disturbed bird marking a place he had passed.

He didn’t know how long it had been going on, but he knew he was farther from the village then he’d ever been when he finally slung himself into a clearing and saw his father leaning against a tree. He put his hands on his knees and panted, looking up at the man for further instructions. They were not long in coming. “Stand up straight!” The Jounin barked at him. “What if I were an enemy you’d been pursuing? Never show weakness! If an enemy sees you’re weak, he’s already beaten you!” Himaru raised himself to attention quickly, staring straight ahead fiercely. “Hai!” He yelled. He knew how this went. His father paced in front of him. “What are the first three rules of Taijutsu?” he snapped. “Hai!” the boy shouted, “Ichi: fight with spirit! A weak attack hurts you more then your opponent! Ni: always be ready to be hit! An opponent is never more vulnerable then when he’s just hit you! San: don’t over-commit! Somewhere, someone is going to be able to stop your attack, however good it is, so leave yourself a way out!” His father nodded. “What are three ways of telling if you’re caught in genjutsu?” “Hai! Ichi: There are logical inconsistencies in the world around you! Ni: The effect seems too powerful to be ninjutsu. But remember that somewhere, someone is that powerful, so compare the technique with what you know of the enemy shinobi! San: inflict pain on yourself. Pain sharpens the mind, makes it focus on what’s real, not what isn’t!” His father nodded again. “What is the most important thing about ninjutsu?” “Hai! Whatever your technique, however powerful it is, there is a ninja out there who has trained from birth in exactly the right technique to defeat you! Don’t rely on your techniques!” “Then what does a shinobi rely on?” “Hai! A shinobi relies on his mind, on his body, on his teammates and on his village in that order!” “What?” Himaru’s mind raced. Damn! “A shinobi relies on his mind, on his body, his teammates, his clan and his village in that order, sir! Os!” Konohamaru’s expression, sharp for a moment, relaxed a bit. He nodded. “Alright then. Good. You can relax.” Himaru sagged. Konohamaru walked closer, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder and bending over to look into his eyes. “How are you feeling, Himaru-kun? Are you tired?” Himaru nodded, unable to look away. “Good,” the older shinobi said, “We’re ready to begin.”

Now it was later. Himaru tried to pick himself up, but only made it to his knees before slumping back to the ground. He coughed, spraying blood from his cut lip and shattered nose to mingle with the dust. A shadow fell over him, and he turned feebly to watch his father approaching. Konohamaru knelt by the boy’s side. “What is the most important thing about being shinobi?” The jounin asked softly. Himaru fought to focus. His dad had been sparring with him non-stop for more than two hours, no rests, no pauses, no mercy. He’d tried everything he could think of to get past the jounin’s guard, but he hadn’t even come close to scratching Konohamaru. The older man hadn’t even so much as made a hand seal, and only attacked if Himaru took too long between strikes. He hadn’t held back with the counter-attacks though. Himaru was hurt worse then he’d ever been; besides the shattered nose and cut lip he could feel at least three broken ribs, and his right ankle didn’t seem to take his weight anymore. He wasn’t thinking clearly anymore either, and could recognize the symptoms of concussion. The most important thing about being shinobi… He fought hard to focus his scattered thoughts. The most important thing… Somehow even his eyes, his kekkai genkai eyes were giving out on him. His father’s figure looked blurred, wavering. The most important thing… He remembered…

He hadn’t been very old, maybe two or three when he had heard about his great-grandfather, the great sandaime of Konoha. He’d been sitting on his mother’s lap in the living room while his father talked to Raido, the captain of the village ANBU team. The talk had come around to his last hours, and the desperate fight with Orochimaru. It had the feeling of a story told many times before, and one that was participated in as much by the listeners as the teller. There was a quote, something that always brought tears to the eyes of his father and the stern captain…

Himaru coughed again, bringing up a wave of fresh blood. “The most important thing about being shinobi is protecting the people you care about!” His father sighed and stood up, reaching down towards the boy and pulling him to his feet. Himaru leaned against his father’s weight, coughing. He’d passed the test.

Then, “No.” Konohamaru’s voice was flat, emotionless. “What?” Himaru was shocked. That’s what everyone said! You had to protect the people who were important to you, that was the whole point of being a ninja! The jounin’s voice came again, “No. The most important part of being shinobi is not to protect the people who are important to you.” He slung the boy onto his back and sighed. “Your mother was right, I shouldn’t have brought you out this soon. I guess you aren’t ready for this yet.” Himaru struggled with this. “But, I remember,” he cried, “I remember Raido-san telling us about the Third!” “Do you?” His father asked, “And is that what my grandfather said, Himaru?” Himaru was crying now, humiliated and in pain, and he hated it. “Yes! He said that he would protect the people that were precious to him even if it meant his life!” Konohamaru stopped. “’For the shinobi, protecting those who are precious to you is the key to true power.’ My grandfather said this once, but there was more to it. Do you remember?” He looked over his shoulder, his eyes once again boring into his son’s.

Himaru couldn’t focus, couldn’t force his brain to come up with the rest of the quote. I got it right, I know I did! What more could there be? A shinobi uses his power to protect the people that are important to him. To protect the people that are important… No, that wasn’t it, was It? Or at least, it wasn’t the right way to put it. “A shinobi uses his power to protect.” His voice was weak, but growing stronger. “To protect those that need protecting. A shinobi protects his village, his clan, his teammates. A shinobi gives his life for his village because of the people who can’t protect what is precious to them. A shinobi must be strong because of the people who can’t be strong. Those are the people a shinobi protects, and they become precious to him. He doesn’t protect his precious people, he protects everybody, and then everybody becomes precious to him!” He could see the smile blossoming on his father’s face, and laughed despite the pain. “That’s right, isn’t it?” His father nodded, grinning widely. “As expected from my son!” He said, beaming with pride. He slung the injured boy down to the ground and rummaged in his pouch, pulling out a scroll. Himaru’s eyed widened. That’s the contract!

Konohamaru spread the paper out on the flat surface. “Look here, son,” He said, pointing. “There is my grandfather’s name. There, below it, is Asuma. There I am. There is your cousin, Zotsu. And now,” He took Himaru’s unresisting hand, drawing a kunai from the pouch on his leg and pressing it into the boy’s palm, “now, this space is for you.” The scroll was blank beneath the name Sarutobi Zotsu. Himaru took the knife, knowing immediately what to do. He drew a thin red line on his finger, signing the contract in his own blood. Then he looked up. “Is that really all I have to do?” Konohamaru laughed. “Not quite, Himaru-kun, but that was the hard part.”

It was a misleading statement. Nearly the whole night had passed before Himaru could perform the hand-seals that unlocked the summoning jutsu, and a medical ninja had to be summoned to work on the boy’s battered body before Konohamaru would even let him try to put chakra into the technique. But it was right, nevertheless. The hardest part was behind him.