Katsuko set the shochu down after one last swig and picked up her beer again, still sniggering quietly. After a moment, though, she stopped smiling and looked back up at the monument. The Yondaime’s face stared down at her, carved eyes blank and unreadable. “How long have you been a ninja?” she asked, thoughtfully. “Longer than most, right?”

He gave her a wary look. “All my life.” After a beat, he added, “Graduated when I was five. What about you?”

“When I was ten.” She scratched her head. “And you’re, what, twenty, twenty-one? So that’s sixteen years for you, serving.” Her beer can was empty. She popped open another one, letting out a bitter chuckle. “Sixteen years of giving whatever they asked of you, and never taking.”

Kakashi been a ninja longer than he’d been a child. So had she, but the difference in years wasn’t as stark, wasn’t as heartbreaking. Katsuko knew the story of Hatake Sakumo as well as anyone in the village did, knew the rumors about grueling missions and torture that would have broken anyone lesser. A lifetime serving as a human weapon, suffering through abandonment and betrayal, and still Kakashi had given her this—given her hope, his help, a watchful eye when all she wanted was to break down and not have to worry about dragging the surrounding buildings down with her.

She toasted him. “For that, and for everything, thank you.”