Someone snorted. The Hokage's mouth tugged in a crooked little curve. "And why should we take you?"

"I am smart," Ryouma said. "I've got two B-rank and one A-rank jutsu no one else in the world has, and they're all deadly. I'm a good strategist and a dirty fighter and I've got a really good memory. I work well on a team." Mostly. There were a couple of team captains from his chuunin and special jounin days who might dispute that, but they'd been bastards anyway.

He said, "I'm loyal to Konoha. And I don't give up."

"Multiply four hundred and thirty by twenty-seven," Oita said.

All right, maybe not that smart. But the T&I commander spoke up while Ryouma was still wrestling with numbers. "If you died tomorrow, what would you regret?"

The extra zeroes fell away and were lost forever. Ryouma opened his mouth, and nothing came.

Shibata's scar-skewed grin could make children cry. "Haven't thought about it? Well, that does make it easier to romanticise a deathwish." He leaned back in his chair, and glanced at the others. "I'm done. Anyone else?"

Oita shook his head. The ANBU commander sat still and silent, with the vice-commander just as unreadable at her shoulder. The Hokage dropped his hand, fingers curling lightly over the carved arm-rest of his chair. "Thank you, shinobi. You may go."

Ryouma bowed, backed up two steps, and turned for the door he'd seen reflected in the wide bank of windows behind the Hokage's desk, the one he hadn't come through.

His hands were shaking.