"Yes," Natsumi said, numbly. She set the bucket down on the floor at her feet, accepted the glass of pale yellow juice, and took a sip without tasting it. She'd known his opinion of her chakra reserves, of course; everyone else shared it. There was a reason shinobi didn't often marry civilians, and it wasn't only because civilians found it so difficult to adjust to their loved ones' brief and bloody lives. Shiota Takahiro had been one of the most talented jounin of his generation, but his son Takeo had less than three quarters of his father's chakra. Natsumi had even less. The day she'd finally accepted that she'd never inherit the family summoning contract had been one of the bitterest of her life.

But she hadn't let that hold her back, and she'd never quite believed he'd thought it would.

"My mother refused to give her consent until I made special jounin. My father supported her. But--he believed in me, too. And he stood sponsor for me, when I swore my oath."

Would she have gone against his wishes if he'd refused?

The tang of pineapple juice couldn't quite drown the bitter flavor of the truth. She set the glass down half-full on the counter. "I proved you wrong anyway, Ibiki-kun. That's a rare occurrence. I think I'll savor my victory."

It didn't taste much like one.