The cry of a seagull caught his attention. Conrad admired how the bird soared through the air before falling toward the sea to catch its prey. It emerged with haste, a fish firmly trapped in his beak, wobbling a bit with each flap of its wings, as if it was drunk.

Which was not surprising, given that the ocean was made of mead.

Reaching overboard with a cup, he filled it with the sweet nectar. The color, the transparency, the smell… without a doubt, this was the best mead that ever was and ever would be, and even better, he had a whole ocean of it at his disposal. It was his mead, and only his! No one else could have it!

Resolute in his judgement, he moved the cup close to his lips, anticipating the taste—

“Captain, ships to port! They’re chasing us!” the lookout called from the top of the mast. Conrad frowned. Of course someone would try to come between him and his mead. Well, they would have to fight for it.

“Everyone, battle stations!” he ordered, opening his arms wide in a theatrical gesture. He found himself embraced by two lovely and identical women whose outfits would’ve offended any proper lady in any known land.

“Oh, Dragonborn,” the one on the left moaned as she sensually caressed his chin. “Your beard is so… manly.”

“Yes, I know,” he answered without taking his eyes away from the horizon.

“There’s so many of them,” the one on the right said, following his gaze while playing with the clasp on his cloak.

“There are always many,” he sighed. He found himself grasped by a strange discomfort, for reasons he couldn't really discern. Maybe it was just because the position he found himself at the moment rendered it impossible to drink the mead.

The woman on the left hummed and leaned in closer, stretching her neck to reach his ear, as if to whisper something to him. Conrad felt her hot breath tickling him, and eagerly waited to hear whatever voluptuous words she wanted to say.

"I'M LATE!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, deafening him. Conrad forcefully freed himself from the women's’ hold as he stumbled away, tumbling over the ship's railing in the process. A brief fall, and he found himself deep in the ocean of mead.

Instead of trying not to drown, he cleverly figured that there were worse ways to go and opened his mouth to finally have a taste.

Mead, apparently, tasted of cheap blankets.

“I’M LATE!” the voice sounded again, still painful to the Nord’s abused hearing. This time, though, it didn’t sound like a woman at all. It sounded more like a loud, young and rather whiny boy.

Conrad opened his eyes and realized that he hadn't fallen into a more or less limitless supply of his favorite mind-numbing beverage. Instead, he was trapped in a land of mead-less heathens overly obsessed with rice-based dishes, walking around without shoes and adding stupid words at the end of everyone's names. He owned the only bottle of mead on the whole continent, but he didn't dare drink it yet, because there was no way of knowing when more would be available.

He had also gained a nephew in exchange for being a prisoner for the better part of two months. Part of him wasn't yet sure if it had been worth it.

"The tournament’s starting soon! I'm gonna be late!" said nephew yelled as he scampered around the room, trying to collect his belongings and put on his way-too-bright jacket all at once. Even in his mostly-conscious state, Conrad could hear his students stirring and grumbling about being awakened in such a manner.

"Too loud..." one of the three growled, throwing a shoe in Naruto's general direction. It didn't even come close, but at least it caught the boy's attention.

"Hey! Watch it!" he yelled, scowling at the magelings as they slowly got up, apparently having surrendered to the arrival of a new day.

"What go on?" Conrad asked, spitting the blankets from his mouth and not even caring about using proper words. It was too early for grammar.

"Sorry I woke you guys up," Naruto quickly apologized as he grabbed whatever food he could find in the small pantry. Were those cookies? Since when did they have cookies? "But I gotta go!"

"Is tour important enough to panic?" the Nord asked, rubbing his eyes, wondering what hour it was.

"Tournament, not tour!" Naruto corrected, munching his improvised breakfast. "And of course it's important! I need to become a chunin otherwise I'll never become Hokage!"

Even in his barely-awake state, Conrad's mind analyzed what he had just been told. The statement implied that it was possible to 'become' Hokage. But if the Hokage was the city's leader, as well as the shinobi's general, commander or whatever, it meant it could be attained only through military service.

Unless he was wrong and Naruto had been told he could become Hokage because he was Minato's son. Sadly, he wasn't able to confirm or deny either theory because Minato had forgotten to explain to him how to access the memories that had been forcibly engraved into his skull.

He would have to refrain from making assumptions until he could ask Inoichi or one of the masked curs outside, if he managed to pester them long enough to get an answer. But that wasn't important at the moment.

"Why would you ever want that?" he asked. Naruto was ten, eleven at the most. What kid would want to attain a position that required assuming way more responsibility than it was worth, and involve themselves in politics?

A wide range of emotions flashed across Naruto's face as he fumbled for an answer.

"I don't have time to explain it," he whispered, frowning, eyes downcast. He walked toward the door. "See you later, okay?"

After the boy left, silence reigned for a few seconds. The apprentice wizards stirred in their pallet, and Conrad found himself wondering if he had said something wrong. The boy couldn't have been offended by his question, right? Because that would've just been ridiculous.

Also, what did “okay” even mean?

Eh, whatever. The kid would get over it.

"I was having a dream," Conrad bemoaned as he turned his attention back to the important things in life. "Twins, they were."

A sudden, grumbling sound caught his attention, but he wasn't sure if it was coming from the pile of youngsters or from his stomach.

"Are you three still awake?" he asked them, switching back to Cyrodillic, to which they replied with a noncommittal noise. "Then get up and prepare some breakfast.”

A moment later, Sven was promptly thrown out of the sheets by his fellow students.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

The public had already started to gather inside the stadium in spite of the early hour. So far, only villagers and the odd off-duty shinobi had shown up to more or less peacefully contend for the best seats. The rich merchants and envoys from the various nobles of the lands, who were more interested in getting a good idea of who to hire for their shady business than a good show, had the luxury of arriving later.

After all, their seats were reserved.

Under normal circumstances, Kakashi wouldn't have been anywhere near the place yet. He would've taken his sweet time, maybe even making a nice last-minute dramatic entrance just to have some fun.

But orders were orders, and the Sandaime's messenger hawk had carried very precise ones. Recommendations to be punctual, a short briefing about a possible threat to Konoha, instructions about what to watch out for during the day's event and the promise of doing unspeakable things to him if he failed to show up before the tournament began. Like burning down his Icha Icha collection. Or worse, send him to teach at the Academy.

So here he was, escorting one of his cute little genin to his first Chunin Exam finals.

“Now, remember,” he said, not bothering to even glance at Sasuke. “Be polite to your fellow finalists until you’re actually inside the arena.”

“Hn,” Sasuke grunted, barely acknowledging the jonin’s words. Kakashi inwardly sighed. Whatever Orochimaru used to create that cursed seal of his, it definitely hadn’t helped the kid’s personality.

“And more importantly, don’t underestimate your opponent,” Kakashi continued, a much more serious tone in his voice.

"You’ve told me that a hundred of times already!" Sasuke spat, looking straight at him. "I know Gaara is dangerous."

"I don't want to see you end up like Lee or worse, Sasuke," Kakashi explained once again. As much as he trusted his student, this was going to be the hardest battle he had ever fought so far. Setting foot in the arena with a cocky attitude wouldn’t do him any good.

Sasuke opened his mouth, more than likely to protest, but ended up not making a sound as his eyes darted down the street.

Kakashi followed his gaze, only to see Naruto walking toward them. He looked more unkempt than usual with an inside-out jacket, unbrushed hair, and specks of crumbs at the corners of his mouth. The kid must have been in one hell of a hurry to get to the stadium.

But that wasn't what worried Kakashi. It was Naruto's downcast eyes that got his attention.

"Hn," Sasuke grunted in surprise, confused and perturbed by his teammate’s actions "You look more terrible than usual."

There was no comeback to that: no grin, no boasting, no posturing, no reciprocal glaring like usual. Naruto just passed them both, barely sparing them a glance.

What the hell had happened while Kakashi was gone? Jiraiya-sama was supposed to train the kid, not turn him into an unresponsive drone. Even Sasuke was surprised by this behaviour, as he stared at the blond's back with a raised eyebrow.

The genin shot his sensei a questioning look. Kakashi didn’t reply, trying to figure out what was wrong. Maybe Naruto was just nervous about the upcoming match? He was sure that Jiraiya wouldn't have let Minato's son participate if he wasn't sure of his skills, so the kid shouldn’t be all that worried.

"Well, Sasuke, you already know what you need to do," Kakashi said, making a mental note to ask for an explanation from the Sannin later. "Now I'll just be on my way and—"

"Are you going to read porn again?" the Uchiha asked with an annoyed tone.

"Yes. Yes I am," he nodded sagely. Technically speaking, he was going to do that as well as meet with the Hokage. He waited until Sasuke was just about to leave, clearly unamused, before speaking again. “Keep an eye on Naruto, would you?”

Sasuke looked at Kakashi for a moment and nodded before turning away and disappearing into the deep bowels of the stadium.

Kakashi didn’t linger, and started to make his way towards the Hokage’s box, taking the long route around the bleachers as his mind lingered on what he had just witnessed. He didn’t want to admit it, but seeing Naruto acting so strangely and out of character had worried him more than he’d thought it would. Not even Sasuke’s brooding over revenge during their little training trip had unsettled him as much.

Walking slowly, lost among the crowd that was moving to their seats, was actually good. It allowed him to think over this and be fashionably late—but not too late—for his appointment with the Hokage. Two birds with a stone.

Maybe he was just overreacting. Maybe there was no reason to be worried. Maybe—

“I’m telling you, it was the Yondaime Hokage!” a voice suddenly yelled from the crowd, bringing Kakashi’s train of worries to a screeching halt. A new thought took its place instead, one that could be fully expressed with a flat ‘what’.

“As if,” someone else denied. Closer inspection revealed the two conversationalists to be two regular civilians sitting a few isles from the shinobi, although it seemed their conversation was catching the attention of a few others. “You must have been seeing things. There’s no way you saw the Yondaime.”

“But I did see him! I was there!” the first civilian protested. “I even checked some old pictures of the Yondaime, and the guy looked exactly like him!”

“Okay, so maybe you saw someone who looked like the Yondaime. That doesn’t prove that he was Namikaze Minato.”

“How come?” the first civilian frowned in confusion.

“We’re a Hidden Village. That means that there’s thousands of people who could’ve used an illusion to look like the Yondaime. Even children can use it, my son showed me!” the skeptical man replied in an amused tone. “What did they call it…?”

“Henge,” a third person helpfully supplied. “But I thought that was a physical transformation, not an illusion. Right?”

“Yeah, that one,” the skeptical man nodded. “But how it works doesn’t matter. What matters is that it would explain all these crazy rumors that started yesterday.”

“Look, I’m telling you that I was there! I saw everything!” the first man protested as Kakashi, who had gotten more and more confused as the conversation progressed, was tempted to ask what the heck happened yesterday. “The Yondaime was in a fight with that crazy green dude—”

“Crazy green dude?” the third man interrupted. Kakashi was sure he knew who they were talking about. “You mean the one who’s always exercising and preaching about Youth?”

“Yeah, him! But anyway, they were fighting in front of the hospital. They were hitting each other. It must have been a damn good transformation if it didn’t waver even once.”

A moment of silence descended on the trio of gossipers as they pondered over this.

“But… wasn’t the Yondaime dead?” the second man asked, dubious at his own words. “Against the—”

“Maybe it’s the Yondaime’s ghost?” the third man supplied, not very helpfully this time.

"Aren't you a little too old to believe in ghosts?" the first man asked skeptically.

"But it would explain the Yondaime's weird ice powers!” the second man replied, feigning shock. “Of course, it’s the only answer! He's back from the cold, frozen land of the dead and—"

As the first villager reached over and whacked the second on the back of the head, Kakashi realized that he was wasting his time and immediately stopped listening to their nonsense. Civilians were part of the village, and thus part of what was worth protecting—Will of Fire, and all that—and Kakashi would’ve gladly put his life on the line to protect the village and its inhabitants, of course... but sometimes they just made up the most absurd stories.

His mind kept wandering back to the strangeness of it, though. The message from the Hokage had arrived the previous day, and the rumors about the fight started yesterday as well. Could the two things be related?

Had it not been for one crazy little detail, he would’ve gladly accepted the explanation that Naruto had posed as Minato—oh, the irony if that was true—for some reason and been scolded by the Hokage because of it. That mighte explained Naruto’s mood from before.

And that little crazy detail was “ice-powers”.

Kakashi made up his mind and turned on his heels. He had already planned to be a bit late to the meeting with the Hokage, mostly for the sake of tradition. He may as well keep an eye out for Gai to have a little chat.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

Conrad shifted the small brush he was holding between his fingers. He didn’t know what material the handle was made out of, or from what kind of animal the pale bristles came from. Yet, such a small contraption was incredibly good for its purpose.

The weird-tasting paste that had to be used along with it—which Inoichi had insisted wasn’t poisonous nor the fruit of alchemy—was more efficient than simply chewing a mixture of herbal plants, or spending time brewing a potion that helped guard against teeth rot.

For all the annoyance he felt for the Akaviri civilization, given his current experience with them, he had to admit that they had a few interesting contraptions that seemed to make daily life easier.

With that last thought, Conrad finished brushing his teeth and left the toothbrush on the side of the basin. That done, he forced himself to look in the mirror.

An artisan would’ve described the mirror as a perfect craft. Not a bump or a deformation in sight, a completely smooth surface. Said artisan would’ve probably mentioned how such a masterwork should’ve been encased in a fitting frame, maybe with lots of marqueries or gold furnishments, instead of just being put on a wall like that.

Conrad didn’t care what an artisan would’ve thought at the moment, though, as he moved his fingers along the ghost of stubble that was growing way too slowly on his chin. It would take weeks before his beard would even be able to pass as a proper one.

For a moment he began thinking about a possible use of the Alteration school to suit his needs, or at least a possible potion that would help. But previous experiences in his younger years had taught him that beards didn't like to be messed with magically.

He could still hear J'zargo and Brelyna's laughs.

Giving one last glare at his sissy chin—which he blamed on his mother—he left the bathroom, thankful that nobody he knew from back home could witness the damage.

Nobody except for the three students of his, of course.

He supposed he could bribe them by teaching them a spell of two in exchange for their silence. Or blackmail them. Blackmail always worked—

"Master?" Sven called from the dining table, interrupting the Dragonborn's musings. "We finished cleaning up, and Beta and Ta'Sava are waiting us outside."

Conrad nodded absently, retrieving his tunic and preparing to face yet another day of shinobi hospitality. At least he had the prospect of spending time with family, now. Which was strangely nice.

"We also finished taking inventory and assessing the damage, as you asked."

"And?" the Nord asked, turning to look at his apprentice. This was actually worth hearing.

"Well... we lost almost all the ingredients we took with us from the ship. Especially the fire salts," the young Imperial said, checking a couple of notes. "That’s what caused the flames, I think. Oh and your alambic was destroyed, but that shouldn’t be a problem. I mean, it was an old, battered thing—"

“That alambic was a gift from one of my teachers. It used to be his,” Conrad sighed, ignoring the sudden panic on his student’s face. He really hoped that Tolfdir's ghost didn’t decide to manifest and demand an explanation. Then there was the matter of the fire salts. Somehow he doubted he would've been able to find some in a local store, and he really wasn’t looking forward to wasting time summoning and killing fire atronachs to harvest them. "What about the potions?"

"If we count the ones made by us during practice, and the few you made as examples that were spared—"

"Numbers, Sven. Just give me the numbers."

"We have five healing potions, three magicka restoration ones, six stamina tonics, and one to resist frostbite. Or at least I think it's for frostbite."

"... why do we have one for that?" Conrad asked in genuine confusion. "This place is way too warm."

"I added the wrong ingredient during practice," the younger wizard admitted, having the decency to look embarrassed.

“At least you’ve learned something that will help you once we get back back to Skyrim,” Conrad said, trying to see the silver lining.

“Will we even be able to get back?” Sven asked after a moment of silence.

“Of course we will!” the Nord exclaimed, harsher than he had wanted to. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“It’s just… it’s been a long time since we arrived. We don’t know if the ship will wait for us.”

“Yes but they should wait for us until… what’s the date, anyway?” Conrad asked, a bit peeved by the fact of having lost track of time during their imprisonment turned into a forceful welcome to stay.

“Beta and I tried to make sense of it all, but these Akaviri use a different calendar,” Sven explained. “We’re not sure of the exact day, but we should be well into Sun’s Dusk’s third week by now.”

Conrad bit his lip, pondering over this. He had agreed—and not coerced at all—with Edyval that the ship would wait for them for two months at maximum, which meant they were running out of time.

Greed could hold a man in a place for only so long, especially a smuggler that was sitting on a pile of silver coins. If the Breton had not departed yet, he would as soon as his patience reached the boiling point. That would leave Conrad stranded in this forsaken country, along with three far too inexperienced apprentices. Only the gods knew what was going on back home. He hadn’t planned to stay away for such a long time.

Sadly, his studies and general area of expertise had never really covered magical long-distance communication, unlike the wizards and battlemages of old. Nowadays it was a knowledge that the Synod kept for themselves as a politicking tool, the hoarding bastards. So trying to contact the Winterhold College or some of his allies magically, to ask how things were going, was out of the question.

Unless he dared to delve into... alternative methods, which normally he wouldn’t touch with a three-meter long mage’s staff. It was nice knowing that the option existed, but he wasn’t that desperate.

Even if he miraculously managed to get back to the ship on time, or find—or borrow, if he was forced to—another one, fate had conspired for keeping him in that insufferable city by putting someone in his path.

Albeit, to be fair, Minato should get his share of credit for Naruto’s existence.

Conrad was many things, some of which were not all that praise-worthy. But he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, leave after finding a relative just because it was convenient.

He wasn’t like his mother.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Sven asked, much to Conrad’s surprise.

“Am I that easy to read, now?” he asked with a snort. He was getting way too used to these kids.

“I’m a wizard,” the young apprentice smiled thinly. “I can do anything.”

“Hah! No, you’re not,” Conrad said, with a short-lived grin. “Not yet, at least. Now come on, let’s join your friends outside.”

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

Naruto's tunnel vision operated splendidly as he stomped into the finalists' waiting room, ignoring the various people around him.

Since he had left the shack, his uncle Conrad's question kept raging in his head.

Why did he want to be Hokage?

The answer was easy, he wanted to become Hokage to be acknowledged by everyone. To force them to acknowledge him and shove how much of a great Shinobi he was down their throats!

Or at least that had been the idea when he was younger. But since then, he’d had people who actually acknowledged him, who accepted him! Sure, there were still plenty of jerks who couldn’t stand the sight of him, but he had people he cared for and that was all he really needed.

So why did he need to be Hokage now? It wasn’t because he wanted acknowledgement… or at least, not just acknowledgement. Yet he still couldn’t find a good answer for his uncle. Not because he was having second thoughts about his dream, but because he didn’t want to admit to the man just how badly the villagers regarded him.

His uncle might ask why.

The thought actually terrified him. Would his uncle leave him if he knew what he was? No, uncle wouldn’t do that. At least, Naruto thought his uncle wouldn’t do that. The man had treated him nice enough, considering Naruto had punched him almost as soon as they had met, but despite that, Naruto didn’t actually know him. It had been, what, less than a day? That wasn’t enough time to get to know anybody, much less family.

Maybe being ordered by the Hokage not to tell his uncle about the fox was a good thing.

Before he could ponder it any further, though, he found himself being grabbed from behind and yanked away from his train of thoughts. Literally. He formed a fist to punch whoever had assaulted him, but stopped when he found himself face to face with Sasuke.

"What are you doing?!" the last Uchiha hissed. Naruto immediately regretted not punching him.

"Mind your own business—" he started, only to be silenced as Sasuke motioned to look behind him. Naruto did so, and he was met by two cold, light green eyes.

Naruto had not seen Gaara since that episode back at the hospital, but he doubted the Suna genin's disposition had gotten any better. Then he realized that he had almost collided with him when he had stomping across the room without a care for his surroundings.

He could swear he saw a few grains of sand floating between him and the redhead. He abruptly stopped resisting Sasuke's attempts to distance the both of them from the bloodthirsty teen.

"Idiot," Sasuke hissed while Naruto stared at the sand Shinobi, images of Lee's preliminary match and subsequent crippling flashing through his head. Thankfully, said images were quickly dismissed as the Uchiha released him with a shove toward the wall. "What is wrong with you today? At this rate, you'll end up dead before your match with the Hyuuga."

"Shut up! I was just thinking about the match, that's all!" Naruto lied. He didn't want to give the impression that he wasn't thinking about the finals. Besides, it was his own business.

"I hope you're taking this seriously," Sasuke muttered.

"Of course I am! I'm not scared of any stupid Hyuuga!"

"Good,” Sasuke said, unconvinced as he glanced at Naruto’s opponent. “Don’t underestimate him.”

"Hmph. Not that it matters, it's his fate to lose," Hyuuga Neji scoffed from his place on the other side of the railing, making Naruto realize that the rest of the finalists were there too.

“Save it for the match, you two,” a voice called before Naruto could retort in an appropriately creative but probably rude manner. Turning around, he saw that a Konoha shinobi had arrived, although he wasn’t the same proctor from the preliminary matches. Maybe they had decided to go with someone that didn’t cough all the time as the finals’ referee. “Come along now. The public, and the customers, are waiting for you.”

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

Conrad had decided to spend the day teaching magical theory out in the open because of the sudden lack of alchemical equipment and his personal desire to breathe fresh air. All under the watch of the masked guards, of course, who—apart from silently observing—had made it clear that practice of something called ‘jutsu’ was forbidden.

Which the Nord was pretty sure meant ‘spell’ in their tongue.

Sadly, the lesson had deviated from his original plan because of the magelings’ tendency to nag him about details.

"If such spells exist, then why—"

"Because you can't just make rock," Conrad explained as patiently as he could while plucking yet another blade of grass. They may have been forbidden to go too far from the shack but at least the view of the city was nice.

"But there are a lot spells that create things,” Sven countered. “Fire, and—"

"No, they don't,” Conrad interrupted. “Combustion is just an alchemical reaction. You use magic to force it happen. Still, you can't create matter from nothing."

"What about ice?" Beta asked.

"Where there's air, there's water. Unless you're inside a burning building," Conrad answered, citing personal experience.

“That can’t be the only reason though,” Beta protested. “You can find soil everywhere!”

“Not in the middle of the sea,” Ta’Sava pointed out.

“There’s earth at the bottom of the sea!” the girl frowned.

“Yes, yes. There’s a lot of earth and rock everywhere,” Conrad conceded, patting the ground he was sitting on. ”But using it for a spell is very taxing.”

“Why’s that?”

"Because most spells would require manipulating the ground. Earth, rock, sand, bricks, it's still solid matter, and grasping it is more difficult than, say, turning water into ice. Then your spell has to shape it, move it, change its appearance or whatever you may have designed," he explained with a huff. “It’s better to use that energy to directly attack your enemy or to protect yourself."

"Can you even talk about magic without using combat for context, Master Conrad?" Ta'Sava asked, tilting his ears.

"I'm a battlemage, kitten. It comes with the territory,” the Nord said with a faint smile.

“What about conjuring it?”

"That would cost even more, because you would have to pull the damn thing from beyond the veil of Oblivion. Unless you want to summon an earth atronach, that is."

"There are earth atronachs?" Ta’Sava wondered out loud.

"Why wouldn't there be?" Conrad asked, enjoying the looks on his students’ faces as they realized that they didn’t have an answer to that.

“Have you ever met a wizard that specialized in earth spells?” Sven asked after a moment of silence.

“Yes, I met one once. I think it was eight, nine years ago. She made a living restoring fortifications for the Empire, or nobles that could afford her services—”

A distant roar stopped Conrad before he could get on with the anecdote of that encounter, catching everyone's attention. It was as if thousands of people had screamed all at once in a mix of excitement, cheer and enthusiasm.

"What was that?" Beta asked.

"How should I know?" Conrad asked, getting on his feet before turning towards the guards and addressing them in their tongue. "What's that noise?"

The two guards didn’t answer immediately, but seemed to have a silent conversation just by exchanging a glance. They were probably debating if they really had to answer, and how much they could say to him.

“That was the beginning of the tournament,” the one with a mask that resembled a bird of prey’s head answered.

"What," Conrad muttered with a frown.

"I said, it means that the tournament—"

"Yes I understand that," Conrad grunted. That sounded like half the city had cheered at the same time, which utterly confused him. "Who would care so much for children sparring?"

This time they seemed even less eager to answer, much to Conrad’s annoyance. If there was one thing Conrad had learned quickly about shinobi, it was that they were so paranoid that he had no idea how they even managed to go to the outhouse without checking for spies and traitors.

“What do you mean by that, Harissen-san?” the birdie asked with what sounded like genuine confusion, as yet another roar echoed from the distance.

"I think it’s coming from over there," Beta said, pointing to the city in the distance. "From that oval-shaped building."

"That's not an oval, it's a round!" Sven said, before looking at the building with a puzzled expression. "It almost looks like an arena."

"Uh, Ta'sava wonders... did the Akaviri imitate the Imperials' arenas, or is it the other way around?"

As much as Conrad would've liked to ponder over that very intriguing historical and anthropological question, he was too busy connecting ugly little dots in his mind. And he did not like the picture he was seeing.

"Bird-face," he growled slowly, his eyes glued on the arena that lied way too far away for his liking. "What the tournament consists of, exactly?"

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

It was over. His opponent was laying on the ground, unable to move and quite shocked to have his worldview proved wrong.

"Fate, fate, fate... stop whining about stupid stuff like that," Naruto said, still catching his breath and trying to ignore the pain all over his body. They may call it gentle fist, but there was nothing gentle in getting a beating from it. "Instead of giving up and accepting something you don't like, why don't you just change it?"

Neji’s eyes seemed to widen for only a moment, but before he could say something else he heard the proctor yell something. Then the whole stadium started cheering for him.

He had won.

Naruto couldn’t help but grin, ignoring his bruises, and wave happily at the audience. He still had to win the other matches, but he couldn't wait to tell his uncle about his victory!

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

The Dragonborn’s reaction to the explanation of how the tournament worked, which was just the final phase of the chunin exams Naruto had been gushing so much, was surprisingly reasonable. Cordial, even. In fact, he wasn’t roasting the masked guard that had explained it to him alive.

Instead, he was just strangling him. Which was much nicer in comparison. While the idea of applying fire to express his disdain had crossed his mind, it would’ve probably been considered rude. Also, he strongly believed that sometimes it was more satisfying to use his own hands instead of magic to do something.

As the masked warrior was gasping for breath, his comrades were trying to restrain the enraged but eerily silent Nord instead of stabbing him with various pointed objects, although that may have been because they had received orders to not kill him and instead, merely reciprocate Conrad’s tact.

Strangely, the magelings had been completely ignored, and were forced to look on as a strange stalemate of pulling, choke-holding and grasping had been reached.

“Maybe if we don’t protest too much once this is over, they’ll just force us to fight in their arena instead of being executed on the spot,” Sven mused, while the rest of the trio wondered if they should get involved or not.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

Gareki Ishina’s mood had not improved in the last few weeks. It wasn’t because of the stares or whispers of the crowd, though. She was above such petty things. Civilians’ opinions meant nothing to a shinobi, or at least that what she kept telling herself.

Having to coexist with her enemies for so long, though, wasn’t exactly a cheerful way to spend her time, mission or not. And speaking of the mission, the lack of progress was incredibly frustrating.

All her attempts to locate and infiltrate Konoha's archives had been unsuccessful, mostly because she had been trailed by ANBU shinobi almost the entire time. She had expected it—after all, they would've done the same in Iwa. But slipping away and leaving a mud clone to 'train' her 'students' had taken much more effort than she had anticipated.

Even the rumors going around the village hadn't helped her, since the civilians seemed to be just happy that the weird blue lights that had caused the whole mess had stopped.

She had noticed, though, that there seemed to be a tighter security detail patrolling the village than what would've been usual for the standard chunin exams affair. Especially around the monstrous ego trip that the locals referred to as a monument.

Seriously, what would they do when they finally found themselves out of space on that mountain?

Impracticality aside, the Hokage monument was just that: a monument. And from what she had been hearing, open to the public until recently. Just before the exams, visiting the top had been forbidden with no explanation, and the village had accepted it without question. And just yesterday, even more guards had been added around the secluded area on the top.

Ishina hadn't tried to get up there yet, since there were almost as many ANBU operatives as there were in the Hokage's tower—she knew because she had checked. But having to keep her cover as her teammates' sensei had stopped her from attempting a climb up the moment. If Konoha was hiding something, it was surely valuable.

An annoyed groan distracted her, and she glanced at her third 'student' sitting right besides her.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Somehow, watching Konoha shinobi beating each other up is less amusing than I thought it would be," Kurotsuchi, the Tsuchikage's granddaughter, replied. Of course, she had not called her by her real name in the last few weeks to keep their cover. Which was the same reason why the younger kunoichi had been forced to retire from the preliminaries. As much as she would've liked to compete, Ishina had pointed out that they couldn't afford the risk of someone among the spectators recognizing her.

"You have to admit that this match had an unexpected outcome, though," Ishina pointed out, as she watched the two genin leaving the arena, the loser on a stretcher and the winner on his feet.

For a moment, she felt a strange feeling in her gut. Blond hair and blue eyes.

Could it have been... ?

No, there wasn’t a snowball's chance in hell. The Leaf would have raised the Fourth's son as a goddamn prince. As much of a good fighter he was for his age, that kid couldn’t even dress himself properly. It was just her personal obsession and paranoia going awry.

"I suppose," Kurotsuchi mumbled. "It's still better than the match between Mizu and Yano will be once it's their turn."

Ishina would've liked to object to the dismissal of their fellow comrades, but briefly tried to imagine how such a match would've played out from what she had learned during the 'training' sessions. Mizu would immediately hunker down, building bunkers and defensive battlements... and Yano would spend the rest of the match blowing them up, acting like he was Deidara's little brother, in a flashy but boring stalemate. And, of course, they would bicker the whole time.

Not exactly a great moment for Iwa in front of the international shinobi community and foreign dignitaries, and that was her best-case scenario. Ishina shuddered at the idea of the Tsuchikage waking up one morning and finding a missive from Konoha that said “You owe us a new stadium.”

At least, it would make a good distraction for her last recon trip around the village. Today was the last chance they had to complete their mission, because Konoha would probably throw them out as soon as the exams were over. She would've done the same.

The crowd finally became silent as the proctor called the next fighters to the arena. This had been the most anticipated match in these exams, and for a good reason. Everyone was eager to see the Uchiha's skill, Ishiha held no doubts about that, and verify that the power of his bloodline held a candle to the stories they’d certainly all heard.

Ishina personally wasn't interested in that very much. She just wanted an excuse to leave send back a mud clone, and move on to accomplish the mission. Kurotsuchi could evaluate the last hope the Uchiha had of existing in her stead.

The Suna genin, though... there was just something plain wrong about him. And it wasn't just how eagerly he had crippled his opponent during the preliminary matches. The way he looked at the people in the stands sent cold chills down her spine.

If that Konoha genin wasn't careful, the Uchiha clan risked becoming a footnote in the shinobi world history.

That wasn't her problem, though. With that thought in mind, Ishina lurched to her feet, signaled her companion that the operation was starting and began walking off towards the staircase.

She just had to find a secluded area, like the ladies’ restroom, make a little switcheroo trick with a clone and sneak out of the stadium. And that was just the easy part.

Just as she reached the top of the walkway, though, she stumbled into an unexpected problem.

A tall problem. A tall, silver-haired, green-jacket-and-dark-mask-wearing problem. She hadn’t even heard him coming, but standing right at the top of the staircase, looking down at her, was one of the most infamous shinobi that Konoha had produced in recent years.

Hatake Kakashi, the copy-nin, son of Hatake Sakumo, student of the Yondaime, and according to Iwa’s intelligence division, the most probable candidate to succeed Sarutobi Hiruzen.

Did she screw up? Had they found out about their mission?

No, that wasn't possible. Had that been the case, she would've already been ambushed and carted off to their intelligence division. Instead, he was just staring at her with his only visible eye, which lingered on her hitai-ate for a moment as he seemed to gauge her.

Maybe the jonin in front of her had a personal matter to settle with her, or another Iwa-nin. In any other circumstance, she would've gladly taken part in that, considering her own personal baggage regarding this man's teacher, but—

“Excuse me, have you seen a man wearing an atrociously green outfit?” the son of the White Fang asked, in a bored voice. “Kinda boisterous, yells about ‘Youth’ all the time? Wears his forehead protector as a belt?”

They both remained silent for a moment, while the rest of the stadium cheered at the match everyone was waiting for finally starting below.

“I’m sorry, what?” she eventually managed to ask.

Ishina wasn’t sure how to react to such a weird question. She had half-expected to be attacked, or called out on her intentions, or maybe something along the lines of “We are watching you, scum,” but instead she was being asked about the whereabouts of another Konoha shinobi?

“I said—” Kakashi asked again, only to stop as he saw a feather passing between the two of them. Ishina followed it with her eyes, and saw another and another appear all around.

It began raining feathers.

All around them, people slumped to the ground with their eyes closed. As if they were asleep.

Then, she heard the explosions going off in the distance.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

Everyone froze in their tracks. The masked guards, the Dragonborn and the masked guard that the Dragonborn had been trying to throttle. The magelings, too, but they had not been moving much to start with.

It would’ve been almost an amusing sight had it not been for the cause of their sudden stop.

Conrad let go of the guard, who collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. When the others let him go with a poignant glare, he moved close to the mountain’s edge to get a better look of the city.

A city dotted by black smoking columns, and echoing with panicked screams. A city under siege, something that Conrad hadn’t seen in a long time.

For a moment he thought of asking how the enemy, whoever they were, had already got in the city. Then he remembered that the enemy probably had shinobi of their own on the inside. They didn’t need to breach the walls.

As he stood there, sounds of fighting and clashes of weapons reverberating through the city, he realized that most of fighting was centered around the arena in the distance.

Exactly where Naruto was.

The next thing Conrad knew, he was running back to the shack, flanked by the guards that were probably thinking that he wanted to escape and chased by his worried students who were shouting questions. He didn’t even bother to listen as he slammed the hut’s door open.

“Stupid, moronic shinobi!” Conrad yelled. “Busy with an important event my arse!”

If the Hokage didn’t want to tell him the city’s little dirty secrets, that was fine by him. Everyone had some, especially the world’s rulers. He had gotten into enough trouble by stumbling upon way too many to believe that anyone in a position of power was a knight in shining armor. But not being told that the city was at risk of being attacked? That was something he took as a personal offense.

Grabbing his bag, he roughly emptied it onto the table, making a mess of pens, pencils, sheets of paper and whatever else he had kept in there. Then he quickly started putting various potions inside.

“Five healing, three magicka, six stamina,” he recounted with a grimace. “All made by greenhorn alchemists.“ Beggars couldn’t be choosers, though. He was more worried about the lack of armour and weapons, but that wasn’t going to make him balk. No army would.

Leaving behind the useless potion of frost resistance, he closed the bag, strapped it on his shoulder and stormed outside. He was met by a wall of masked guards, who were already on edge for his completely justifiable actions of a few moments ago.

"Halt, sir," their leader called, his voice firm even if it was still a bit coarse.

"Move," Conrad growled without stopping.

"We have orders to—"

"Don't care,” the Nord interrupted, still advancing. “Move."

"We need—"

"There is war out there, or did you not notice with that mask on?!" Conrad asked, finally coming to a stop right in front of the other man. The other guards surrounded him, hands ready on their weapons.

"I did notice. We all did,” the guard with the bird mask said, icily. He was probably pissed. Who wouldn’t be? His city was under attack and he was forced to keep watch over the crazy foreigner. “But we were tasked with keeping you safe here—"

"My nephew is out there, where people are dying,” Conrad said flatly, looking straight in the holes of the man’s mask. “I dare you to stop me."

The guard stared at him in silence for a few long seconds. After a tense moment with both sides preparing for a brawl, the man finally stepped aside.