“Rookie,” Raidou said, with half an eye on Ryouma.

That had been something there, and not just a muscle spasm. But without the ability to peel into Ryouma’s skull and take a look, Raidou couldn’t fathom what.

And there was Kakashi to handle, with his continued streak of perfect timing.

One of Kakashi’s favourite tactics up until now, besides radiating his particular combination of surly and judgemental, was misering out words like they cost him money. This time, working with leverage and an abundance of time, Raidou was prepared to wait him out.

Several silent heartbeats stretched. Ryouma hesitated, left, and returned with new chopsticks. He sat down, watching the tableau curiously.

Kakashi cracked. “Can I have my book?”

“Did you get the stamp?” Raidou asked.

Kakashi offered an arm, turned over to show the inside left bare by the three-quarter jounin sleeve. Green ink had smudged with sweat, but the unmistakable fire-leaf stamp of the northern border house was clearly visible on pale skin. Apparently they hadn’t had paper.

Raidou felt his mouth twitch. “How do I know you didn’t forge that?”

Kakashi’s control was a thing to watch. Despite his clear desire to eviscerate Raidou, take the paperback, and run for it, he slouched backwards and dropped his hands into his pockets, a study in casual disinterest. “Easier to run.”

“But not timely,” Raidou said. “You’re late.”

“You said an hour,” Kakashi said.

“I did. You took an hour and two.”

The clocks had chimed. But more importantly, unless Kakashi had blistered the roads, there was physically no way to get from Konoha to the northern village border house and back in an hour without a translocation to cut the distance. The terrain was too difficult, and the border patrol would talk the ear off anyone who wasn’t a cow, rock, or tree. Raidou knew, because his first ANBU captain had set him the same challenge, and it had taken him thirty minutes longer.

Kakashi shifted once. “I hit delays.”

“Making excuses?” Raidou said ruthlessly.

Lean shoulders tightened, then dropped, defeated, because shinobi did not make excuses, and Raidou was prepared to bet Minato never suffered them. Kakashi glanced away. “No, sir.”

Across the table, Ryouma’s dark eyebrows had risen incredulously, but he wisely said nothing.

“All right then,” Raidou said, prepared to take that little gift horse and run with it. “What do you suggest we do?”

“What do you want?” Kakashi asked.

“Sixty miles,” Raidou said. “I’ll give you three hours. You can hit the east and west border houses, and—” He paused, then nodded. “Take Tousaki with you.”

Chopsticks clattered against porcelain. Ryouma made a sound of startled outrage. “What did I do?”

Nearly killed me with a beverage.

“You agreed that longer training sessions would suit the team, you’re getting restless without anything to do, and you need to improve your conditioning if you want to start taking missions next week,” Raidou listed off. “Plus, the more you two practice getting in sync, the better you’ll work together in the field.”

And it wouldn’t hurt Ryouma to get out of his own head for a few hours. It probably would hurt Kakashi to leg-lock a training partner to him, but it’d be a growing pain.

Ryouma’s long, aggravated aaaaargh took a little translating, but Raidou suspected it meant: Everything you say is right but why. “That’ll teach me to talk to a guy who actually listens,” Ryouma muttered, taking a last bite of noodles and standing. He pulled his wallet out and shucked a handful of bills onto the table. “You owe us lunch if we get back in time. Both of us.”

“I’ll consider it,” Raidou said.

Ryouma pocketed his wallet, took a final persecuted prawn, handed the plate of tempura to Kakashi, and swept off into the crowd. After three steps, he broke into his familiar ground-eating lope.

Kakashi looked down at the plate of fried vegetables in his hand. “What just happened?”