The funeral had ended in silence, but the grief didn't vanish with the crows circling overhead. Konoha moved forward, because it had to. Missions were still assigned. Teams still reported in. The world didn't pause for anyone—not even for a shinobi like Asuma.

The scent of rain still clung to the village the next morning—sharp, clean, and strangely cruel. Hana stood outside the Hokage's tower, eyes tired but focused. Her long crimson hair was pulled over one shoulder in soft waves, ends damp from the lingering drizzle. A sky blue top hugged her frame, sleeves slightly pushed up, exposing the painted curve of her deep crimson nails. Her dark shinobi pants ended just above her ankles, revealing strapped sandals, and the Konoha headband was secured at her waist with a dark navy sash.

There was no armor, no mask—just presence. Quiet, firm, and unshakable.

She hadn't slept much, not since the funeral. But rest was a luxury, and shinobi didn't get luxuries. Not anymore.

She exhaled once, then stepped through the doors.

Inside, Tsunade sat at her desk, the weight of Hokage duty heavy in her expression. She handed Hana a scroll with a sketch of the rogue ninjas.

"So please," she said, her voice calm but firm. "Be careful on this mission. Once you locate them, do not engage. Infiltrate, gather intel, and return. That's an order."

Hana bowed after pocketing the scroll. "Understood, Lady Tsunade. I'll be off, then."

As she stepped back into the corridor, the air felt colder. Her heeled sandals echoed softly across the polished floor as she made her way toward the village gates.

The weight of the past few days settled over her shoulders like a soaked cloak—unshakable. Asuma's death. The funeral. The whispers of rogue shinobi circled like vultures.

They caught wind of our loss, she thought grimly. Now they think we're weak. Vulnerable.

The sky overhead was a thick sheet of gray, mirroring the heaviness in her chest. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, nails biting into her palms.

She didn't fear the rogue shinobi.

She feared losing more of the people she loved.

"Leaving without saying goodbye?"

The familiar voice stopped her mid-step.

She turned. Kakashi stood a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets, one eye visible and unreadable beneath his headband. His tone was casual—but his gaze said otherwise.

Hana gave him a look. "Didn't want to make it a thing."

"You say that like this isn't a thing," he replied, walking toward her. "You're going on a solo mission right after burying one of your closest friends. That is a thing, Hana."

She said nothing at first, her eyes drifting toward the village gate. "I can handle it."

"I don't doubt that," Kakashi said quietly. "That's not what worries me."

Her jaw clenched.

"You've been holding everything in," he continued. "For days. For years, maybe. That doesn't make you strong. It makes you human."

Hana looked away. "You know I don't have time to fall apart."

"I'm not asking you to," Kakashi said, stepping beside her. "Just... don't forget that grief doesn't go away because you bury it under missions."

There was a silence between them. The kind that only came with history—raw, quiet, unspoken.

"I'll be back," Hana finally said.

"You better be," Kakashi replied. "Because if you get yourself killed, I'm going to be very annoyed."

That earned him the smallest smile.

"Noted."

He watched her for a moment longer, then gave her a nod—the kind only a teammate could give—trust, buried in restraint.

Hana turned back toward the gates. The wind picked up, brushing her hair around her shoulders as she walked.

She didn't look back as the gates closed behind her. She nodded a goodbye at Izumo and Kotetsu, who were chatting while watching the entrance.

The forest outside the Land of Fire was quieter than she liked.

No birds. No wind. Just the faint sound of her own breath, measured and quiet beneath the cloak of rain-damp leaves.

Hana crouched low against a mossy branch, her eyes sharp as they scanned the clearing ahead. The rogue shinobi Tsunade had warned her about were gathered near a fire—three of them, masked, huddled over what looked like a stolen mission log. From the edges of the trees, she could see the worn fabric of their cloaks, the jagged hitai-ate from various villages... and the sigil painted hastily on the tree behind them.

They weren't just rogue. They were coordinated.

She reached into her pouch, sliding a scroll open just enough to compare the sketch Tsunade had given her. Confirmed.

She didn't move. Didn't breathe too loud. She was close enough to hear fragments of their conversation.

"Leaf's still weak after the funeral," one muttered.

"Now's the time. Their guard's down. Hokage's probably too busy babysitting the Jinchūriki," another replied, voice low.

Hana's fingers tensed.

Cowards, she thought.

A third voice laughed under his breath. "Still... we've got someone keeping eyes on the inside. He said if we wait a little longer, things'll fall apart from the inside out."

That made her eyes narrow.

Someone on the inside?

She shifted her weight slightly, preparing to back out and return to the village when—

"Eavesdropping, Red?"

The voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.

Childlike. Mocking. Warped.

Familiar.

Her body locked up.

Slowly, she turned her head.

A man in a spiraled orange mask stood just a few feet away—leaning against a tree like he'd been there the whole time. One hand in his pocket. The other loosely holding a stick that he tapped against the trunk behind him.

"I was wondering when you'd show up again," she said coldly.

He tilted his head. "Aww, you do remember me. I'm flattered."

"You're not as stupid as you pretend to be," Hana said, straightening her back. "And you're not lost."

"Oh? So what am I, then?"

Her gaze sharpened.

"You're a liar. A man with a Sharingan pretending to be a fool. You're helping them."

He was silent.

A breeze swept through the trees, brushing her hair across her face.

"Careful with accusations," he finally said. "People might start asking questions."

"You seem oddly interested in something that doesn't concern you," she said.

"Doesn't it?" he asked.

He stepped forward, the firelight from the clearing briefly glinting off the single eyehole in his mask.

"You still keep it close," he said softly. "Even when you pretend not to."

She didn't respond. Her eyes simply narrowed a touch further. He was watching her that closely?

Not just skilled.

Personal.

"Who are you?" she asked. Clear. Steady.

He was quiet for a moment. The cold composure in his voice didn't change, but the air around him did—thicker, darker. The illusion of detachment cracked, revealing something far more dangerous beneath.

Then—softly:

"Not someone you're ready to remember."

Before she could react, his body began to distort—rippling like smoke, warping away into the void.

"Wait—!"

She lunged forward, but he was already gone.

All that remained was the rustling of leaves and the dying crackle of the fire behind the trees.

The forest faded behind him as space warped around his body—twisting, bending, pulling him through the void.

Silence.

Weightlessness.

And then—darkness.

He stepped out into a hidden cavern somewhere far from the Land of Fire, where Zetsu's voice didn't reach and Madara's influence couldn't press down on him for a few fleeting minutes.

Obito stood still.

The orange mask remained on his face, but his posture changed—no longer the exaggerated hunch of the fool he pretended to be. He was still. Heavy. Human.

His fingers flexed slightly.

Hana.

She still wore her hair the same way.

Still scanned her surroundings with that same deliberate sharpness.

Still spoke like her mind was already five steps ahead.

She was different now. But she hadn't changed at all.

She could've attacked.

She didn't.

Part of him hated that.

The other part... was relieved.

"You're not ready to remember," he muttered, echoing his own words from minutes ago. But he wasn't sure who he'd meant them for—her or himself.

He had no right to watch her.

No right to feel anything when he saw her.

But the truth lingered, clawing at the back of his throat like blood he refused to spit out.

She'd kept the bracelet.

Even if she lied about locking it away.

She still had it.

'You should've let her forget you,' a cold voice echoed in his mind.

Obito closed his eyes.

Maybe he should've.

But he couldn't.

Not yet.

She was one of the few things in this world that still felt real.

And that made her dangerous.

───────────────────────────────────

Looks who's back. I'm so sorry I've been taking so long on this story. College is really messing me and my time up tbh. I'm studying to be a dental hygienist or a dentist (still undecided on which one I'm going to major for, but leaning towards hygienist) and omg my anatomy and chemistry classes has me so damn stressed. Let me know how you guys feel about this new third POV because I'm experimenting with it after being on tumblr and AO3. If you guys like it, let me know. If not, also let me know so I can go back to 1st POV. I might change my other stories later after I finish those to third. I missed you guys and your comments <3