"Oh," Ryouma said. For a moment he could think of nothing else. "So Akiyama was working alone?"

Raidou was frowning at Ryouma's chest again. No—at his hands, which were locked together in front of him, left thumb pressed protectively over bandaged right wrist. Ryouma pried them apart and turned to switch off the coffee maker and rinse out mugs. "How d'you take it?"

"Black, one sugar." No rustle of movement, either of settling down on the rumpled bed or clearing off the weapons locker for a better place to sit. His gaze prickled on the back of Ryouma's neck. "There's no concrete proof that Akiyama was working with a partner, but the reports you and Hatake gave seemed pretty definitive. So, it's either a rabbit hole, or his backer—Orochimaru or otherwise—got cold feet. Either way, doesn't seem like attack is imminent."

Mugs in hand, Ryouma turned just in time to see Raidou brush his fingertips over the cluttered wooden surface of the weapons locker. It was an unexpectedly superstitious little quirk, but he accepted the steaming coffee mug without a flicker of embarrassment.

"Maybe he only wanted Kakashi," Ryouma said. He swept the litter of unsharpened kunai and chipped shuriken off the locker, dumped the spare jounin vest in the corner where he was even less likely to remember to take it in for repairs, and retreated two steps to the edge of his bed. "He didn't confront anyone else at the Trials, did he? And there's no point in his backer attacking the rest of the village if the first attempt failed and all you really want is a transplantable Sharingan eye."

The Uchiha might want to watch their backs for a while longer, though. So would Kakashi's new ANBU team.

Raidou settled on the locker, broad hands wrapping around the smooth white curves of the mug. "That's one theory. But if Hatake was the end goal, why switch to you? Why not just get into ANBU and attack him on a mission, when he's not primed to expect it?"

"See," Ryouma said, "this is why we'll never be evil masterminds. The ways of villains and traitors are mysteries to us. At least before caffeine." He took a long drink, rolled the taste on his tongue, and said thoughtfully, "How'd you vote for him after the first trial? He wasn't one of the ones I'd've picked."

Raidou's mouth tilted in amusement. "Why am I not surprised you had opinions?" He sipped his coffee, thinking it over. "Akiyama was borderline. Pretty good, not great. He would've done better in last year's Trials, without you heavy-hitters skewing the curve. I didn't vote for him." He lowered his mug between his knees and ran a thumb over the rim. "Which might be a reason he didn't wait. If he knew his chances of making it through weren't high, then knocking you out of the way could only help. Or, if he couldn't get Hatake, at least he could bring something back to his string-puller before he got knocked out of the running."

Ryouma stared down at his coffee. "I was thinking I was just bait for Kakashi. Cutting my hands off wouldn't tell him anything, beyond maybe the patterns of chakra-scarring in my channels. He was totally willing to kill me, anyway." He swallowed against a sudden harshness in his throat, remembered the coffee, and took another gulp. Distantly, he thought of another drink, stale water from a steel canteen, a strong hand and shoulder steadying him.

"I didn't realize that was you, there in the canyon," he told his mug. "Thanks for holding me together."