Kakashi felt his eyebrows crease. “‘Improve your basics’ includes coursework? You didn’t mention that, lieutenant.”

“You’re expected to do sixty continuing education hours every year just like any other jounin. And working with your senpai to foster better communication and polish your basic skills fits with your ANBU-specific performance goals.” He shrugged. “Why not kill two birds with one stone?”

Katsuko had bridled slightly at Genma’s earlier rebuke, but she hadn’t argued against it. She said now, “How can it count as coursework? I’m not a continuing education teacher.”

“We can get you registered as one,” Genma said. “That’s what I’m doing to teach Tousaki medical jutsu.”

“I’ll think about it, lieutenant,” Katsuko said politely.

Which meant, no.

Registered teachers had a duty to accept qualified students. They could — theoretically — refuse, but there was a pressure to the position nonetheless. Kakashi smirked behind his mask, and cradled the pleased little feeling of winning a teacher who rejected everyone else. Even if it meant he’d have to make up more hours.

Genma made an open-handed gesture of acceptance: As you like. “Keep me updated on your progress, even if it’s just a report on hours spent working together? It’s team training hours even if it isn’t official continuing ed.”

Katsuko nodded.

In the brief silence that followed, Kakashi looked pointedly at Ryouma’s knee and said, “Now can we get Tousaki unbroken?”

Ryouma’s head jerked up. “You’re all talking like I’m barely keeping my feet. I haven’t held anyone up so far, have I?”

Kakashi opened his mouth to say, Well..., but Katsuko’s quiet voice got there first.

“It hurts, though, doesn’t it?” she said, soft. “When the weather’s bad, or after a hard fight.” Her hand settled on her stomach, where deep scars lived under her shirt. “Nobody should have to go through unnecessary pain. Especially not when we’re already putting our bodies on the line for the village.”

Sometimes she was a knife who could make her edges gentle.

Ryouma’s palm covered his left knee, fingertips pressing into the tendons around the joint. Low, he said, “Yeah, but it works now. What if surgery makes it worse?” His shoulders hiked up defensively, as if he expected one of them to hit him for this relatively typical concern. He shot a look at Genma. “I’ll go. I already said I would.”

“It isn’t necessarily surgery,” Genma said. “You’re just getting it evaluated today. Maybe it’s something that can be treated with chakra-based PT.” His face remained calm, but his eyes were sympathetic when he added, “If they do recommend surgery, you’d be in good hands. ANBU are scarce resources; no one’s going to risk disabling you.”

Kakashi traded a glance with Katsuko, measuring his good eye against the hand she still held over her patchwork stomach. You could go a long way, even after a surgeon’s knife.

They held their silence, letting Ryouma have the space to think.

Ryouma’s fingers flexed against the joint, making his kneecap slide and pop. He relaxed and turned his hand over to reveal the livid pink scar on the inside of his wrist, where Akiyama had tried to end his career and Konoha medics had restored it. “Well, they did okay before.” He straightened his shoulders. “If we’re all going, we should get breakfast on the way.”

Katsuko brightened up. “Are you buying?”