Coming back from the dead opened up all sorts of doors around Konoha. Ryouma still wasn’t sure he’d recommend the experience, on the whole, but it did get him exclusive access to Arakaki Hisoka’s office for an all-morning debriefing, where he was a little disappointed to learn that Arakaki drank the same cheap coffee they served in the ANBU HQ cafeteria. At least the Director of ANBU Operations got his lunch privately delivered on trays to his office, even if the miso soup was starting to cool. Eating with Arakaki was fairly unnerving, too. The Director’s idea of small talk seemed to consist of interrogating Ryouma about his family history, and there were only so many ways Ryouma could say I don’t know.

“Well,” Arakaki said at last, shoving his tray away, “I’m sure I’ll wake up at four a.m. two weeks from now remembering exactly who you remind me of. My wife won’t thank you for it. Are you quite finished?”

“Yeah,” Ryouma said, a little sadly. He’d missed Morimoto’s cooking, but he’d barely been able to manage half of the oversized lunch they’d prepared for him. “I think my stomach must’ve shrunk, in Suna. I didn’t eat much last night either.”

“Hmm.” Arakaki studied him for a moment, frowning. “I’ll have my secretary set up an appointment with a nutritionist later this week as well. And a physical therapist. We’ll take a look at the room assignments as well. Headquarters is unusually fully right now, but I’m sure--”

“Arakaki-san,” Ryouma said, and stopped. Swallowed, and started over again. “Sir. Thank you, but you don’t need to bother. I want to resign.”

His words fell like lead weights into thick mud, sinking slowly, inevitably. Arakaki’s eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t the impression Hokage-sama and I received yesterday.”

Ryouma just barely managed not to point out that yesterday Arakaki was the one who had twice avoided giving any answers on when Ryouma could expect to be back to active duty. “I did some thinking, last night and this morning. Sir. I think I’d serve the village better on regular jounin status again.”

“Your face is in the Bingo Book now,” Arakaki said softly. “Once the other villages find out you’re still alive, going on missions unmasked is unlikely to make any difference.”

Getting a page in the Bingo Book had once been Ryouma’s life’s ambition. Strange how quickly things could change. He grimaced. “I know that, sir. Next time they’ll just kill me. But--”

“Think about it, Tousaki,” Arakaki said, in a voice like a knife. “You’re on medical leave for the next month at least. I won’t accept any resignation before then. Think about it--and make sure you’re the one making the decision. Not Hatake.”

Ryouma bit his tongue. “Kakashi doesn’t make my decisions for me. Sir.”

“Tell me that next month,” Arakaki said. He stood, settling the high collar of his plain black suit with a practiced twitch. “We have an appointment downstairs in ten minutes. Are you ready?”

The correct answer was No; who was ever ready for the experts down in the sub-basement to rummage through his brain? But ready or not, it wouldn’t make a difference. Ryouma sighed, shoved his chair back, and climbed to his feet. “Yes, sir.”