Kakashi had been scrupulously careful about avoiding other ninja in the valley—until the ANBU had blown up half the desert and driven everyone together, disrupting his plans to be the world’s fastest hermit for the rest of the second stage. Despite that, he’d done mostly fine avoiding notice, using the fading evening light to scout the valley floor and his route up into the mountains.

He’d even spotted what he thought might be an ANBU base camp, nestled up high and hidden.

The drawing darkness had kinked his plans; he didn’t want to navigate the treacherous Kubire Pass without light, not with his dominant arm still burning fitfully. Better to wait until dawn, hidden safely.

On his way back down into the valley, the obvious chakra flashes of Ayane’s charged blade and Ryouma’s subtler genjutsu pulled his attention sideways, goosing his curiosity. Ayane fled when the crescent-moon ANBU let her go, but Ryouma earned a full on chase.

And a needle in the neck.

From Akiyama.

Who, if Kakashi was lip-reading correctly, used Kakashi’s name.

Entirely against his better judgement, Kakashi was not okay with that. He didn’t take the time to examine why; he just moved, ignoring the watchful ANBU masks.

Ryouma’s heels had vanished inside the narrow cave entrance when Kakashi arrived. The jagged gap was a black mouth ringed with stone teeth, smelling faintly of blood. Quiet scraping sounds came from inside.

Kakashi slipped inside, following his nose.

The cave was surprisingly deep, turning a sharp corner to the right. Inside, it was pitch black, and stank strongly of overworked bodies. Kakashi trailed a hand along the damp wall and paused when he saw the dim green light of a cracked glowstick.

Behind a rocky outcrop, a slab of stone had pitched at a crazy angle, making a platform that was almost table-shaped. Ryouma’s booted feet dangled over the edge of it. He’d been dropped flat on his back, one hand hanging down, fingers loosely open.

The other hand was held in Akiyama’s long, pale fingers, with a scalpel pressed to the wrist.

“Hello, Hatake,” Akiyama said. He was sheened with sweat. “I thought you might show up.”

Kakashi dropped his hand to his kunai holster. “What are you doing?”

“Grocery shopping,” said Akiyama. The scalpel pressed down lightly, drawing up a droplet of blood. “We wanted your eye, but a flesh-melter’s hands are nearly as good, don’t you think?”

A scuff of stone near the cave entrance gave Kakashi a half-second warning.

“For what?” he asked, easing back just enough to flash a wait sign behind his back, hopefully visible to the coiled chakra signal there.

It paused.

“Cocktails,” Akiyama said, rolling his eyes. “Research, obviously. They told me you were smart.”

“Research in a cave,” Kakashi said, glancing at Ryouma’s chest. Very faintly, it rose and fell beneath the flak jacket. Still breathing. Impossible to tell his skin color in the neon green glow, but Kakashi thought it wasn’t good. “Are you testing infection rates?”

“You like this one, don’t you?” said Akiyama, making Kakashi blink. “I saw you talking at the first stage.”

“I’m talking to you,” Kakashi pointed out quietly.

“Very calmly, I note. Well done.” The tip of the scalpel twitched. “I’d tell you to drop your weapons, but we both know that won’t make a difference. So I’m going to need you to break your fingers, or I’ll slice Tousaki’s face off in front of you.”

Kakashi lifted a hand to his hitai-ate.

“Ah,” said Akiyama warningly, and pressed the scalpel in, slicing a deep line across Ryouma’s wrist. Tendons glistened for a moment, before blood welled up and drowned the view. Ryouma’s blank face didn’t change, but his scent soured like rotten lemons.

Was he awake?