“I’d agree about the cake,” Ryouma said, sneaking another peek at the box. It was solid white cardboard, with a gold bakery label on top and a fancy spray of curled ribbon. Impervious to penetrating stares, impossible to open until he had both hands free. He tugged his thoughts back to the meat of Asuma’s comments. “Everything that happened to Kakashi and me?”

Asuma could only know the broad sketches of Ryouma’s story, embroidered by whatever the rumor mill had decided. Maybe there was more to know about Kakashi, about why he’d tried to throttle one of his rescuers, why the Hokage had forced him out of ANBU. All the questions Ryouma had forced himself not to ask...

Not yet. Not until he knew more.

“I got ambushed by bounty-hunters, and Konoha got me home when it could. It sucked, but it’s happened to other guys before. Probably will again. Not sayin’ I wouldn’t be happy to see Kumogakure no Sato goin’ up in flames, but I don’t know any of it’s quite worthy of righteous indignation on my account.” He hefted the boxes. “Especially from strangers. You say you’re ANBU?”

Kakashi had mentioned Hunters digging him and Ginta out, but if Ryouma’d ever run into this guy in ANBU HQ, he was fairly sure he’d have remembered him.

“For seven months and change.” Asuma flicked his fingers at his sleeved left shoulder. “Still haven’t quite got the salute right.”

Ryouma wasn’t sure he’d ever actually done that salute. Seven months explained why he’d never run into Asuma, though. The kid must’ve enlisted sometime in that last whirlwind month of hospital and missions and hospital again, before Ryouma went missing and a raw rookie was sent out to drag his would-be rescuers back.

“Kumo an’ Suna ain’t really the issue,” Asuma continued, nodding to a pretty girl on the corner. “Though I’ve got problems with ‘em keeping you for six months and trading you around like a party favour, but we'd likely do the same. It's ANBU I'm talkin' about."

He flicked ash off his cigarette and shoved his free hand into his pocket, toying idly with a jangle of coins. They passed under a golden ginko tree, leaning over the street from someone’s fenced yard; Asuma kicked through the leaves like a child. His voice was an adult’s bass, though, deep and drawling, darkening with anger.

“Missions stacked on top of missions, agents sent out still injured, no psych help beyond ‘keep your crazy to yourself’. People’re getting burned out that don't need to be, like your boy back there. He was a good agent. Didn't deserve what he got. You shouldn’t’ve been sent around on that double turnaround that got you caught. It’s stupid and it’s wasteful, and it pisses me off.”

I think the village is broken, Kakashi had said.

Ryouma took a deep breath.

“You sound like you’ve done your research. An’ like you think there’s a way things can change.”