Going around back involved passing through the bakery, which was full of scrubbed wooden tables and stacked trays and mixing bowls soaking in a sink. Massive wall-mounted ovens still radiated heat, even with the day's baking over. On the single stove, bamboo steamer baskets balanced tall over a simmering wok, while pots of chestnut and red bean paste slowly cooled. A thin dusting of flour clung to every surface.

"He cleans in the evening," Genma explained, hauling open the door onto a packed-earth courtyard and a low storage building. A few chickens, scratching in the dirt, looked up inquisitively. Genma ignored them, heading for an open staircase clinging to the back wall of the bakery.

At the top of the stair, a small array of potted plants framed the door, a welcome mat, and a grey and white cat dozing in the sun. Genma stooped, carefully, to ruffle the cat's ears. "Mochi-chan's our mouser," he told Ryouma. "You wouldn't believe how tough it is to keep mice out of the storage."

"All that flour and sugar? Not surprised." Ryouma crouched to offer his fingers to the cat as Genma unlocked the door. Mochi-chan favored him with a long, careful sniff, then stretched out on her side and proceeded to ignore him.

Genma shucked his shoes at the threshold, sliding with easy familiarity into a pair of worn house slippers. Ryouma bent to unlace his boots, flicking a glance up under his brows to drink in the lieutenant's family home.

It was big, was his first thought. There were separate areas for eating and relaxing, clearly demarcated by rugs and furniture. The kitchen opened off the dining nook, while the carved wooden cabinet of a family shrine stood between two windows in the living room, festooned with paper charms and greenery. An incense burner and a little pyramid of oranges sat in the center, before a small memorial tablet. Above, a smiling photograph of a woman with honey-colored hair looked out over the room, straight-shouldered and proud in her chuunin vest.

Genma was saying something. Ryouma dragged his gaze away and shuffled obediently into the guest slippers Genma offered.

"This way." Genma stepped up out of the genkan and beckoned down a short hall. Framed photographs lined one wall; doors opened off the other. Two bedrooms, with a bathroom at the end. Ryouma sneaked a look at the photos as they passed, and stopped.

"This's you?"

The kid couldn't be older than four — small enough to stand on a chair in order to reach the counter, hands buried wrist-deep in sticky dough, beaming a pearly-toothed smile. He was so covered in flour that his hair was nearly as pale as Kakashi's, but no one could mistake the lieutenant's whiskey-brown eyes laughing out of that child's pudgy face.

Genma turned back, leaning on his cane. The edge of his mouth tugged up as he recognized the photo. "Yeah. I wasn't the bakery's most efficient assistant at that age, but I was enthusiastic."

"So this's you, too." Ryouma prowled down the line of photos, finding the lieutenant five years old, at Academy entrance; ten, maybe, at genin graduation. The exuberant smile had dimmed a little. Did he know, even then, what they were graduating into?

"What Academy class were you?"

"I graduated in October, Sandaime year 22." Genma brushed a speck of dust off the top of the frame. "Actually, Hatake graduated the same year, but we didn't have any classes together. As far as I know, he didn't remember me when he got assigned to the team."