The day had been long at the Academy. Stacks of lesson plans covered Iruka’s desk, the soft hum of evening cicadas filling the quiet between papers. The faint scent of chalk still clung to his flak vest when a knock sounded at the open doorway.

Standing there was the Third Hokage, his pipe trailing thin curls of smoke as he entered with his usual calm authority.

“Iruka,” he began, setting a sealed scroll down on the desk. “You’re getting a new student. Not a child this time.”

Iruka blinked, caught off guard. “A new student? At this hour?”

The Hokage gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “A special case. Someone brought in from another village. They’ll be staying in the Leaf under observation for now, and I believe you’re the best person to guide them. I trust your judgment—and your heart.”

When Iruka unrolled the parchment, he saw the details had been deliberately obscured. Just a name. No age. No rank. No history.

By the time he looked up, the Hokage was already halfway out the door, his words lingering like smoke in the air.

“They’ve been through a lot, Iruka. Be patient.”

The evening light fell across the empty classroom, dust motes drifting in gold. Iruka exhaled slowly, fingers brushing the scroll’s edge.

He didn’t know who this person was, or what they’d done—but whoever they were, they would be his responsibility by morning.

And that, somehow, felt heavier than any mission he’d ever taken.