Chapter 272: The Ones Who Wait
"Still not back?"
Uchiha Mikoto and Uzumaki Kushina stood at the street corner near the main gate, their eyes straining against the thinning crowd. The returning shinobi had been filtering past for what felt like hours—each one greeted by family, embraced by lovers, swept into the warm current of celebration.
One by one, the heroes found their homes. One by one, the crowd began to disperse.
And still, no sign of him.
"Where is he?" Kushina's voice was smaller now, the fire in it guttering. "He should be here. He has to be here."
She had been so certain. She had waited through two full contingents, absolutely convinced that Ragnar would be in the third. The last. The final. That was just how he operated—always the anchor, always the one who saw things through to the end. But the third wave had come, and the third wave had gone, and the faces she had searched for had not appeared.
Something cold settled in her chest. Something she refused to name.
"Could something have happened?" Uchiha Mikoto murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.
Her gaze drifted toward the village gate, where the Third Hokage still stood in conference with Hatake Sakumo and the other high-ranking officials. Among them were the returning commanders—Tsunade and Orochimaru—their postures tired but relaxed. There was no tension in that gathering. No grim tidings being delivered. No bowed heads or clenched fists.
If something had happened to Ragnar, those men and women would not be standing so calmly.
"Boss..." Akimichi Dango shuffled his feet, his chip bag hanging limply at his side. He wanted to offer comfort, but his experience with Kushina had taught him that comfort, when poorly timed, could result in physical injury. He opted for silence instead. Silence and strategic distance.
"Sister Mikoto." Kushina's voice cracked at the edges. "Is it possible that he... that something..."
She couldn't finish the sentence. The words lodged in her throat like stones.
Death in war was normal. Everyone knew this. Konoha had won the Second Shinobi World War, but victory did not mean the absence of sacrifice. Names had been read. Funerals had been held. Families had been shattered even as the village celebrated. Kushina had never once considered that Ragnar might be among the fallen—because he was Ragnar. Because he was invincible. Because the idea was too terrible to entertain.
But three waves of returning shinobi had come home, and none of them had brought him back.
What if—
"No."
Uchiha Mikoto's voice was firm. Absolute. It carried the kind of authority that did not invite argument.
"Ragnar-kun is too powerful to fall to ordinary enemies. Do not let your thoughts wander to dark places."
How can a shinobi who ended the Second Shinobi World War simply die?
Mikoto had been on that battlefield. She had seen him fight. She had seen the Demon of the Battlefield with her own Sharingan, and she knew—knew with a certainty that bordered on faith—that no ordinary force could bring him down. When she had been rotated back from the front lines, Ragnar had been alive. Whole. Unstoppable as ever.
If he wasn't here now, there was a reason.
"How can you be so sure?!" Kushina's voice rose, cracking through the festive noise like a whip. Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes, unshed but threatening. "You weren't even there! You don't know what it's like on the battlefield! You can't just—just say things like that and expect me to believe them!"
Mikoto did not flinch.
She wanted to say: I was there.
She wanted to say: I fought beside him. I watched him carve through enemies like a scythe through wheat. I owe him my life, and I am telling you, with everything I know, that he is not dead.
But she could not. The ANBU oath bound her tongue. Her codename—Tengu—was a secret she carried alone. To the world, Uchiha Mikoto was a gentle young woman from a prestigious clan, not a shadow operative who had slit throats in the dark.
So instead, she softened her voice and said, "You have to trust him. And—look. His name is not on the casualty lists. The village has announced the fallen. He is not among them."
She hesitated, then added, more gently, "He may have been assigned a mission. ANBU shinobi often are. You know he serves in the shadows. Missions come without warning."
It was logical. Reasonable. And Kushina wanted desperately to believe it.
But the cold knot in her chest did not loosen.
Mikoto, for her part, understood the fear Kushina could not voice. She understood it better than Kushina knew. Because Mikoto, too, was ANBU. She knew that Konoha was not as clean as it presented itself to be. Ragnar's meteoric rise had drawn attention from all quarters. Some admired him. Some envied him. Some hated him. And some—the ones who operated in the spaces between policy and morality—wanted him dead.
An ambush on the road home was not impossible. A knife in the dark was never impossible in the shinobi world.
But through the subtle perception of her Sharingan—hidden beneath the dark curtain of her bangs—Mikoto watched the high-ranking officials at the gate. Their expressions were relaxed. Their emotions, normal. The Third Hokage puffed his pipe with his usual calm. Hatake Sakumo's face showed mild concern but no grief. Tsunade looked annoyed, not devastated.
If Ragnar had fallen, those faces would tell a different story.
Before the truth is known, I can only pray for his safe return.
Around them, the village rejoiced. Lanterns swayed. Music played. Lovers kissed in the shadow of the great gate. The contrast between the collective joy and the private anguish of two young women standing alone on a street corner was sharp enough to cut.
Little Shisui, oblivious to the emotional currents swirling above his head, was focused on a matter of far greater importance. His candied hawthorn was almost gone. Only a few sticky bites remained. And he had just remembered that the fat brother with the snacks had something even better.
Colorful Sticks.
His enormous Kazilan eyes drifted toward Akimichi Dango. His small brain began calculating the optimal strategy for acquiring another one.
He was two years old. He had Uchiha blood. He could walk, talk, and form basic strategies. What he could not do was understand why Sister Mikoto looked so worried. Or why the red-haired sister's eyes were wet. He was not yet the Shisui of legend—the teleporter, the peacemaker, the boy who would one day stand between his clan and the village and choose both. He was just a child. A child who really, really wanted another snack.
In the entire shinobi world, there were very few who truly deserved the title of ninja. Shisui would become one of them. Rooted in darkness, protecting the light. And for his loyalty, he would be betrayed by the very system he served. But that tragedy was years away. Today, he only wanted sugar.
"Hey! Mikoto! Kushina!"
A familiar voice cut through the crowd. Both women turned.
Tsunade Senju strode toward them, her blonde ponytails swaying, her bearing still carrying the faint edge of battlefield authority despite the exhaustion lining her face. She moved through the celebrating villagers with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly how much space she commanded.
"Tsunade-sama," Mikoto said, inclining her head respectfully. Her voice carried genuine regard. Whatever her personal feelings about many things, she respected the Sannin. They had earned it.
"Sister Tsunade!" Kushina's tone was far less formal.
It made sense. Kushina was the granddaughter of Uzumaki Mito. Mito was the wife of the First Hokage. Tsunade was the granddaughter of Senju Hashirama. The two of them were, by the tangled arithmetic of clan lineage, essentially of the same generation. They were practically family—and Kushina, who lived with her grandmother, had seen Tsunade visit the Senju estate more than once.
Usually to borrow money. Or lose money. Or both.
"Kushina!" Tsunade planted her hands on her hips. "Shouldn't you be at the Academy? What are you doing out here? Waiting for someone special?"
"No! No!" Kushina's hands waved frantically in front of her face. The blush that flooded her cheeks completely undermined her denial. "I'm just—I'm part of the welcome delegation! From the Academy! That's all!"
Tsunade's smirk suggested she found this explanation deeply unconvincing.
"Tsunade-sama," Mikoto interjected, her voice gentle but purposeful. "May I ask—why is Ragnar-kun not among the returning shinobi? Has he not come back?"
The question seemed to deflate Tsunade's teasing mood. She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.
"That idiot? He's staying behind. Said he'd be back in ten days. Maybe two weeks." She clicked her tongue in irritation. "I was planning to celebrate with him tonight. Drink until we couldn't see straight. Now I have to wait. Ugh."
"Ragnar is a minor," Kushina said flatly, her earlier panic giving way to something approaching indignation. "He's not allowed to drink."
Wait.
Sister Tsunade said he's coming back in two weeks.
That means—
That means he's fine!
The realization crashed over Kushina like a wave. Her legs went weak with relief. The tears that had been threatening to spill now threatened for an entirely different reason. She clenched her fists and bit the inside of her cheek. She would not cry. Not here. Not in front of Tsunade and Mikoto and the snack-obsessed little gremlin at her feet.
"Is he on a secret mission?" Mikoto pressed, her curiosity genuine.
"Not a mission." Tsunade shook her head. "Private matter. Believe it or not, that kid took in three war orphans in the Land of Rain. Made them his students. Since he can't bring them back to Konoha, he needs to wrap things up before he leaves."
She pressed a hand to her forehead, the gesture of a woman who felt suddenly inadequate.
"I'm a Jōnin, you know. A Sannin. I don't have a single student. Orochimaru has one. Jiraiya has one. And now even Ragnar—my junior—is ahead of me in the teaching department."
Headache.
"As expected of Ragnar-kun," Mikoto said, and the warmth in her voice was unmistakable.
"Ragnar took students?!" Kushina's jaw dropped. "But—but he's not even a Jōnin yet! How is that allowed?!"
Only Jōnin were qualified to take on students. That was the rule. The system. The way things worked.
"Kushina." Tsunade's voice took on a conspiratorial edge. "You weren't on the battlefield. You didn't see what I saw. That boy—Ragnar—he walked into enemy camps like he owned them. He made hardened veterans flinch just by looking at them. The enemies called him Rakshasa. The Demon. They were terrified of him. And he's barely older than you."
She leaned closer, her smirk returning.
"So taking on a few students? Please. At this point, he could probably declare himself Kage and half the world would just nod and accept it."
"Tell me everything!" Kushina's eyes blazed with desperate curiosity. "Everything he did! Every battle! Every story!"
"Not here." Tsunade waved a dismissive hand. "We're not doing this standing in the middle of the street." She paused, considering. "Konoha Hot Springs. Let's go. We'll soak, relax, and I'll tell you all about your precious Ragnar."
Kushina's blush reignited with nuclear intensity. "He's not my—!"
"Mikoto, you come too," Tsunade continued, steamrolling over Kushina's protests. "It's been too long since we've had a chance to just... breathe."
Mikoto inclined her head, a soft smile gracing her features. "I would like that."
"And you." Tsunade's gaze dropped to little Shisui, who was still eyeing Akimichi Dango's snack bag with predatory intensity. "You're Mikoto's brother? You can come too. Hot springs are good for kids."
Shisui looked up at the loud blonde lady, then at his sister, then at the red-haired demoness who was still radiating waves of flustered embarrassment.
"Will there be snacks?" he asked.
"That's the spirit!" Tsunade laughed.
The group began to move toward the hot spring district, their footsteps carrying them away from the thinning crowd. Behind them, Akimichi Dango trailed at a safe distance, his snack bag clutched protectively against his chest, his expression one of long-suffering resignation.
Somewhere in the Land of Rain, Ragnar was preparing for his final lesson.
And here in Konoha, the people who cared about him were learning to wait.
(End of Chapter)
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