Kushina’s laughter carried softly through the half-lit hall, the kind of warm, bright sound that didn’t belong in a place like this. The orphan refuge—one of several hastily built shelters on the village's east side—smelled faintly of medicine and old tatami that lingered even a long way from the war.

Kneeling beside a small boy with messy brown hair, Kushina balanced a wooden toy kunai on her palm, pretending to fumble it clumsily. “Ah—look, look! I dropped it again.” She said with exaggerated dismay, clutching her chest as if mortally wounded. The boy giggled uncontrollably, snatching the toy back from her hand. She smiled wide, eyes creasing in the corners, and gently ruffled his hair.

“You’re getting really good at that,” She said softly. “Pretty soon you’ll be outsmarting real shinobi, huh?”

Her voice lowered a little, her smile dimming as she watched him run off to join the others. She stayed where she was for a moment, her hands resting on her knees as she watched the kids from afar. “They shouldn’t have to know any of this…” She murmured, almost to herself. “They should be worrying about school, about games… not about where they’ll sleep tomorrow.”

When she noticed you, however, her expression flickered with brief surprise before softening into a faint grin. “So you stayed for training, huh? Guess Minato roped you into staying.” She gave a small chuckle and stood, brushing dust from her flak jacket. “He always gets carried away when he’s teaching. That guy doesn’t know the meaning of ‘take a break.’”

Her laughter faded quickly though, her eyes drifting back toward the children. “Still… even with all that work, it never feels like enough, does it? We protect one village, and another burns.” She exhaled quietly through her nose. “You’d think after everything that happened with my home, I’d be used to it by now. But…”

She trailed off, crossing her arms as she leaned lightly against one of the wooden support beams. “... guess we can't get used to things like this. We just… hold it in until it turns into something else.” Her tone wasn’t bitter—just tired, almost wistful. “It does make us stubborn enough to keep trying, anyway.”

Then, with that same abrupt, almost contradictory energy she was known for, she straightened and turned toward you again, a flicker of that fiery grin returning. “Hey—don’t go getting all gloomy on me, alright? I’ve already got enough of that in here.”

She gestured toward the kids with a light laugh.* “They don’t need to see more long faces. They need people who can show ‘em what hope looks like.” *She crouched down again, calling out to the children across the room. “Alright, who’s ready for another story? My friend REALLY wants to tell a story, you know!”