Street theater, Raidou thought, vastly amused. Perhaps that had even taken the shine off any lingering affection. It was hard to lust after a captain who made you work.

“Better catch him if you want to save your literature,” he said. “You need to come back together.”

“Couldn’t I just run ninety miles?” Kakashi said, sounding plagued.

“Nope. Go make nice with your teammate.”

Judging by Kakashi’s expression of growing alarm, Raidou might as well have asked a fish to bicycle.

He lowered the bar. “Don’t actively traumatize him.”

“I make no promises,” Kakashi said, setting the tempura down on the table. He raked sweat-soaked hair back from his face and glanced down the street, eye narrowing thoughtfully at Ryouma’s back. “Three hours?”

“Three hours,” Raidou confirmed. “If you’re late, I’ll hold your book for ransom until you demonstrate you can be a pleasant human being.”

“I’ll be back in two,” Kakashi said, and darted off.

“With Tousaki,” Raidou yelled after him.

One hand flicked up in wordless acknowledgement, then the lean, fast-moving figure vanished into the crowd.

If Raidou didn’t know better, he’d’ve said Kakashi liked being given tasks. That had barely been an argument.

“Um,” said the skinny waiter, tentatively reappearing. He cast sad doe eyes over Ryouma’s abandoned seat. “Was it not... good?”

“It was fine,” Raidou said, more than a little sorry for him. Being sixteen, awkward, and built entirely out of rubber-bands and pointy joints was hard on anyone. But growing up civilian in a shinobi village where everyone was strong and talented and, for the most part, spectacular looking, never did much good for a guy’s self-esteem. Still, the kid had the bone structure. He’d be handsome when he was done, and another pretty face could come along and rip his heart out.

Raidou sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Can I get another tea?”

The waiter gave a bobbing head nod and hustled back into the restaurant.

Raidou looked back down the street. He could see the upper arch of the gate and the broad sweep of Konoha’s wall stretching out beyond it. Doubtless, Kakashi and Ryouma had already passed through.

One rookie who maybe liked him a little too much, and another who hated him.

Maybe they’d rub off on each other.

More likely they’d come up with new problems to vex him with.

He put the thought aside, willing to let it rest for three hours, and tugged Icha Icha over the table. Despite himself, he opened the cover again—and paused. There was an inscription inside, dated three years ago.

Don’t get dead, kid.

Jiraiya-sama’s signature was a broad flourish underneath.

Maybe it wasn’t just about the porn. Carefully, Raidou closed the book and laid it face-down. He’d give it back in three hours, when Kakashi was good and tired and maybe even remorseful. And he’d keep a closer eye on Ryouma, in case that chopstick-snap turned out to be anything deeper.

In the meantime, he’d eat noodles and drink tea, and maybe go find Katsuko for a piece of sane company.

First time for everything.