Genma wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, or why he hadn’t expected this. Morita Rei was never one to stand on ceremony, and after a decade as ANBU’s quartermaster, he clearly had no qualms about telling agents to strip. Genma shrugged and shucked off his hoodie and t-shirt, folding both and laying them on the counter, while Ryouma simply unfastened his jeans and unceremoniously dropped them around his ankles.

Ryouma had black trunks on underneath, but the wound on his thigh was clearly visible. More a scar than a wound really—a tight pink line where Genma had closed the slash in the field, and Konoha’s medics had healed it altogether when they’d returned. It shared space on Ryouma’s tan skin with older, silvery scars. The new one was by far the most extensive, at least of the scars on his legs. Genma’d seen the evidence of more than a few serious fights on Ryouma’s upper body, but they were mostly hidden by his green Shutdown Assassin t-shirt.

Morita came from behind the counter and headed straight for Genma, stooping down to eye level with the long red line carving a diagonal across Genma’s stomach. He glanced up at Genma with cursory politeness, hands already poised over the scar. “May I?”

Genma shrugged and nodded. “It’s still a little tender,” he said, as Morita’s fingers touched down to probe the depth and extent of the injury. Morita’s hands were quick and firm, and absolutely merciless as he felt out the borders of the scar. When he pressed the right edge and center, where the cut had gone deepest, Genma had to take a deep breath.

Morita sucked on his lip with an unhelpful, “Hm,” then turned to Ryouma. “Let’s see that leg.” He had to crouch on his haunches to get a good look at Ryouma’s healed wound, which he subjected to much the same prodding as he had Genma’s. Judging by Ryouma’s reaction, it wasn’t quite as painful.

Ryouma shifted his weight, glancing over at Genma. “If we're looking for vulnerabilities in the uniform, you should take a look at the lieutenant's shoulders, too,” he said. “He an' Katsuko both got messed up.”

“I was going to mention that, actually,” Genma said. “I know mobility is important, but four of five of us on the team took shoulder damage. Ueno, the captain, Hatake, and me. Tousaki’s the only one who didn’t.”

Morita straightened, casting his eyes over the freshly healed wounds on Genma’s shoulders. “What’d you do different?” he asked Ryouma.

Ryouma blinked. “Saved the day,” he said, grinning.

“I’m fairly sure it was a group effort,” Genma said mildly. “And possibly a statistical anomaly.”

Ryouma shrugged agreeably, silently mouthing anomaly like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the word.

While Ryouma pulled his jeans back on, Morita snorted and ducked back around the counter. “We tried shoulder coverings,” he said. Genma remembered the old ANBU uniform, with its wing-like epaulets. It had gone out of use long before he’d joined. “Cuts flexibility, raises injuries,” Morita went on. “I don't care what you tell me about the jounin uniform; that flak-jacket is sleeveless, and the shirt under it doesn't protect jack. My uniform is a perfect balance. Guards your vitals, gives you the freedom to move. If I start adding stuff, I might as well send you out in plate armor.”