Chapter Text
“I want to be ANBU,” she said, and her voice was empty and far too young.
Sarutobi Hiruzen turned in his chair, and his first thought was that he was hearing phantoms. For the briefest of moments, he considered that he might have died already. He blinked and looked around, seeing no one there. He almost turned back to his window, cursing old age for addling his brain, when a breath was exhaled and a miniature flag of purple bangs like a raised hand in class alerted him to her presence. He blinked, disbelieving, to meet a pair of brown eyes. Nose and chin remained below the edge. All he saw was the half moon of her forehead and the improbable purple of her hair.
She was maybe four if he was any judge of age at all. Her youth was troubling enough, but that wasn’t what sent the chill worming its way up his spine. In a military operation, generals and captains appreciated skill and experience. Nothing else mattered to the true hellions of war, and though Sarutobi was aging and famed for his compassion, he hadn’t earned his position as Hokage by throwing away the sharp, dangerous gifts that sometimes found their way into his hands. She was that. He’d passed children into the ranks of shinobi against the advice of his friends before. He hadn’t regretted a single one, either, but his reasoning had to be perfectly watertight. On one side of the balance was a shinobi that belonged, half-trained from the beginning, devoted and dutiful.
On the other pan lay the dusty remains of his soul, the blood price for child sacrifice.
The trouble was in her eyes. Too dark, soulless, eyes that saw and had seen. It was said that eyes were the windows of the soul, but when he looked into hers he saw nothing in there. Maybe that wasn’t quite accurate, he realized as he peered harder. There was something there, but it was so haunting and loathsome that he ended up looking away uncomfortably. And that… that had never happened. He cleared his throat once. Twice. Looked back into her eyes and chastised himself for indecorous behavior. She was just a child after all, no matter how ancient her eyes were.
She was rock solid. Unblinking, dark eyes stared back at him. If the child was at all intimidated by the Hokage’s scrutiny, she hid it well. He asked her all the same questions he asked of adults in her position: who, where, what, when, and why.
“Who are you?”
“Uzuki Yugao.” Her tone was clipped and matter-of-fact, the words mechanical and despised.
“Where are your parents?”
“Looking for me.” The edge of ferocity crept into her tone and her brown eyes narrowed sharply, flagging his thoughts with alarm.
“What did they do?”
“Bad things.” The breath of wrath and hatred, chilling and concerning.
So many secrets contained in those two words. Answers he didn't want. Answers no one would want. He'd seen the world and the very worst it had to offer, and he wanted nothing to do with that answer. Luckily her eyes told the truth. He didn't have to ask and he didn't make her tell. And with such nightmares nipping at her tiny heels… he found her attitude more acceptable than the alternative most in her situation might have demonstrated. He returned to the facts instead. “When did you run away?”
“Two days ago.”
“Why do you want to be ANBU?”
“So they never find me again.”
...
He drafted the papers. She didn’t know how to write yet, so he filled in the blanks for her and sent her to headquarters with her application in hand. She didn’t say thank you. He didn’t ask any more questions. And when the door shut, he shook with tremors that had nothing to do with age and let silent tears slide down his face. For a child who had to stand a-tiptoe to look him in the eye to flee the comfort of her own home seeking solace amongst the ranks of killers told him enough. She wanted to be a ghost, but a living ghost, whole and unbroken. He sent up prayers to the above that he’d done the right thing. He wondered that too often. His poor, wretched soul was on that balance so often, now. It shouldn't seem strange any longer.
She was the youngest he'd ever allowed into ANBU. A girl child, almost a toddler, with no shinobi training.
But she was his ANBU, and not Danzo's. Her emptiness was not permanent. He knew he shouldn't be so comforted by such a flimsy advantage, but then again... he was Hokage, and not Danzo. If being the leader of Konoha was only based on proper military utilization of dangerous, sharp gifts, things might have been a little different.
And though she'd never lifted a kunai in her life, she'd already learned more than three quarters of what any ANBU operative needed to know: how to survive the worst, body, mind and soul.