Chapter Text
There was a peculiar dampness lingering over Konoha today, left behind by the recent rain. Leisurely voices of merchants drifted through the streets, mingling with the dull sounds of training echoing from the practice grounds. The village continued its ordinary life, unaware that the Hokage’s tower had been steeped in tense anticipation since early morning.
Kakashi climbed the stairs slowly, having not the faintest idea why he had been summoned to see the village leader. The reason for the call remained a mystery. There were no urgent missions on the horizon, no alarming signals and suspicious activity along the borders. The list of possibilities was short, and each option felt increasingly unpleasant — anything from paperwork to participation in some sort of “social initiative.” And yet Kakashi kept walking. An order was an order. Stopping in front of the office door, he took a deep breath and stepped inside without knocking.
The room was filled with an air of restraint, something Tsunade displayed far too rarely. Her desk was buried beneath papers: scrolls, a thick stack of reports, and an open folder detailing proposed improvements to the Academy. A half-empty mug of tea sat nearby. She leaned forward over the chaos, elbows braced against the documents. The severity in her gaze made it immediately clear that whatever news had brought Hatake here would not be pleasant.
“Kakashi,” the Fifth Hokage said curtly. “Good. You’re here. We need to talk.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I hope this isn’t about my unfinished reports,” he said, scratching the back of his head lazily. “I am working on them… at my own pace.”
Tsunade crossed her arms.
“This concerns what you’ll be doing over the next few days.”
Hatake tilted his head slightly. Despite the lack of threats or hostility, the legendary Sannin’s unnervingly calm tone only made the situation more unsettling.
“And what exactly are you planning, Hokage-sama?”
“Relax,” she replied shortly. “You’ll live. Whether you’ll be happy about it is another matter entirely.”
Kakashi dropped into the chair across from her desk, crossing one leg over the other, hands still tucked into his pockets. The casual posture bordered on insolent.
“Gui challenged someone again?” he waved a hand dismissively. “Or did you decide it’s finally time to send me off to lecture the council of elders? That would be especially cruel.”
Tsunade closed her eyes, because she really wanted to slam her fist into the desk. And possibly into him.
“Kakashi.”
He looked up with exaggerated obedience.
“You’re not joking?” she asked.
“Always,” he shrugged. “It helps me survive.”
“Then listen carefully. For the next month, you’ll be working at the Academy. With Iruka.”
The silence thickened. Kakashi blinked slowly.
“Pardon me…” His head tipped to the side. “Did I mishear that? Or should I go have Sakura check my hearing?”
The Hokage planted her palms firmly on the desk.
“You heard me perfectly. Exactly one month. You’ll be assisting Umino Iruka with classes and maintaining order at the Academy.”
Kakashi turned away, staring out the window as he tried to imagine which was worse: facing an enemy army, or spending a month in a classroom full of seven-year-olds. For a second, he actually considered it. Then:
“Kids…”
He inhaled, preparing to say something serious.
“…are loud. And sticky. And they breathe. Way too much breathing.”
A pause.
“And Iruka…”
His gaze drifted back to her.
“…is too sensitive. He’ll crack after the first remark.”
“Then behave yourself,” Tsunade snapped. “The Academy needs help, and you’re not assigned to combat missions right now. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt you to remember that people come in small sizes. And that not every problem needs to be solved with your fists.”
Kakashi let out a long, heavy sigh and rolled his eyes as though he might faint on the spot.
“Wonderful. An S-rank mission: don’t get the children killed, and don’t drive Iruka into a nervous breakdown.”
“Exactly,” the Hokage said, leaning back in her chair. “And if you’re about to ask whether someone else can replace you…”
She narrowed her eyes.
“I’ll find you another month.”
Covering the lower half of his mask with his hand, Kakashi snorted quietly. As he was leaving the office — his fingers already brushing the door handle, he froze, as if something had finally clicked into place.
“One question, Hokage-sama. What about my students? Why do you think I can just abandon genin training and suddenly babysit little kids?”
The village leader leaned back even farther in her chair. The question had been inevitable.
“Because, Kakashi,” she said evenly, “you don’t have students right now. Sasuke left the village… Naruto is training with Jiraiya, and Sakura is under my supervision.”
Silence settled over the office.
“That’s all. And the fact that I managed to catch you unassigned at all is practically a miracle.”
A quiet huff in response.
“Sounds like you were lying in wait around a corner, just waiting for the right moment.”
“That’s exactly what I did,” Tsunade grumbled without blinking. “Hunted you for a week.”
Kakashi shook his head, momentarily stunned by the legendary Sannin’s utter lack of shame. Though at this point, he really shouldn’t have been surprised.
“Iruka really is struggling,” she continued, her tone softening.
Hatake remained silent. He knew Iruka wasn’t the type to complain. If the teacher was drowning, he would do it quietly.
“The Academy is overloaded right now. Mountains of paperwork, preparation for new exams, discipline problems, a shortage of instructors. And it’s temporary,” Tsunade added firmly. “Just one month. Then I’ll find new assistants, and you’ll return to your usual assignments.”
Kakashi stood there without a word. For a moment, it almost seemed like he might bolt and disappear through the window as he usually did when he disliked a mission. Instead, he took a deep breath, accepting the inevitable.
“So… I’m the ideal candidate?”
“Yes,” the Hokage nodded sharply. “You’re ideal because you’re free, experienced, and…” she narrowed her eyes, “…because otherwise you’ll charge off on another suicidal mission and come back with a fresh collection of scars and broken bones.”
A pause.
“Iruka needs help. And you need to learn how to work in a team at least once in your life.”
Kakashi only hummed softly in response.
“A team. You mean the kids? Or Iruka?”
“Anyone you manage not to give a heart attack,” Tsunade replied tiredly.
The jonin finally turned away, straightened his shoulders, and rested his hand on the door once more.
“Alright. I understand. A month at the Academy. With kids. And… with Iruka.”
The sound of the name lingered in the air, as though Kakashi weighed it, felt its texture before letting it go.
“If you see the Academy building turned upside down in a week,” he added from the hallway, “just know that I warned you.”
Tsunade waved him off.
“Go. Before I change my mind and make you the physical education teacher for a year.”
The door shut with a dull thud. Kakashi stepped outside and headed down the path toward the Academy, feeling like a man who had suddenly been asked to replace a stone wall: pointless, perhaps, but arguing was useless. The air was fresh, and his mood felt… oddly off. If the Hokage had given the order, then it was necessary. And Iruka… well, Iruka really did need a break sometimes. Or resuscitation. Preferably a break.
The spacious Academy building was filled with children’s chatter, slamming doors, and the echo of textbooks hitting the floor somewhere down the corridor. It was all so familiar that Kakashi’s eyebrow twitched involuntarily — out of nostalgia and quiet horror.
“Why me, exactly?” the thought flickered again.
But the answer had already formed in his head in Tsunade’s voice: because there’s no one else. And, most annoyingly, he actually was fairly good with kids. When they weren’t three walking disasters with genius-level potential, anyway.
Small students poured out into the hallway during break, laughing, shoving each other, fighting with wooden sticks. One boy noticed the silver hair and froze, eyes widening in awe.
“That’s… that’s Kakashi-sensei!”
“Really?! Where?!”
“He’s real?!”
The children swarmed closer. Loud, excited, with dirty hands. Kakashi shuddered internally.
“Hey,” he drawled lazily, “don’t touch the vest. It’s worth more than you are.”
It didn’t help. At all.
“Kakashi-sensei, show us your Sharingan!”
“Is it true you defeated a thousand enemies?!”
“Why is your hair so weird?!”
“Can I touch your mask?!”
Small fingers suddenly lunged toward him. Kakashi ducked sharply, avoiding the touch as naturally as he would a thrown kunai.
“No,” he said flatly.
“Why?!” they whined in unison.
He was seriously considering activating the Sharingan purely out of desperation when a familiar, slightly tired voice echoed from deeper down the corridor.
“Kids, don’t interfere! Back to class. Now!”
The children scattered instantly. The noise died down, and the hallway became tolerably quiet again. Lifting his gaze, Kakashi spotted Iruka standing in a doorway with an armful of papers, mild confusion written across his face — the kind that always followed prolonged contact with noisy children. Hatake moved forward slowly, feeling the words already lining up on their own.
“Well then,” he drawled, “your little demons almost unmasked me. Looks like it’s going to be an unforgettable day, Iruka-sensei.”
Looking closer, the jonin noticed how clearly irritation and exhaustion were etched into the teacher’s face.
“The Hokage-sama told me to… help you,” Kakashi continued after a brief pause. “So where do I…” his gaze slid over the folders in Iruka’s hands, “fit in?”
Umino stared at him as if he had just fallen straight from the ceiling. His fingers twitched against the top page.
“Sorry?” He attempted an awkward smile. “What are you talking about? The Hokage told you to… what?”
The last word stumbled out. Kakashi stepped closer, positioning himself directly in front of him, leaving Iruka no room to step away or distract himself. He clearly wasn’t joking.
“Hokage-sama ordered me to work with you temporarily. Help with the kids. Teach classes. Keep order,” the jonin listed the duties with lazy amusement. “Be your right hand, so to speak.”
Then he tilted his head slightly, studying Iruka’s expression. A faint smile tugged at his lips beneath the mask.
“Well. Looks like we’re both victims of strategic genius.”
Iruka’s fingers dug into the pages with renewed force. Hands slipping into his pockets, Hatake scanned the corridor.
“So,” he said, “where do you want me? Back row? Or straight to the most uncontrollable ones? Which is to say — all of them.”
The corridor behind them grew quieter. Even the distant echo of children’s voices couldn’t dispel the growing sense of shock. The sensei was still silent, not yet fully processing how his day had abruptly turned into chaos he most definitely hadn’t ordered. Each thought seemed more absurd than the last.
“This is… some kind of mistake,” Iruka finally breathed, regaining a semblance of composure. “Kakashi, you… you’re not supposed to be doing this.”
The attempt to find logic where there clearly was none failed miserably. The jonin lazily turned his head, examining dust motes floating in the sunlight streaming through the windows.
“A mistake?” he echoed. “Trust me, Iruka-sensei, if Tsunade had made a mistake, I’d already be lying on her carpet with a purple lump on my forehead.”
He shrugged carelessly.
“And yet here I am,” Kakashi added, as if his presence alone were already a punchline.
Iruka winced. The other man’s casual tone threw him off balance, because only Kakashi could treat a situation like this with such calmly catastrophic indifference. Children began peeking out of classroom doors. Whispers rippled down the hall.
“That’s Kakashi-sensei?”
“What, he came to the Academy?”
“He’s with Iruka-sensei?!”
The shinobi shot a sideways glance at the spectators, and the children vanished instantly.
“See?” he remarked, turning back to Iruka. “I already love this job. Children are reacting to me.”
Iruka let out a resigned sigh and stepped forward.
“Fine. If it’s an order…” He hesitated, then nodded. “Let’s go. We’ll discuss the details.”
Kakashi nodded, never doubting that this was exactly how it would end. They walked side by side: one searching for answers, the other finding quiet amusement in the sheer absurdity of the situation. Each time their footsteps echoed through the empty corridors, Iruka felt a strange tension coil tighter inside him. Hatake walked beside him, not bothering to hide the smile beneath his mask — it always surfaced whenever the jonin caught sight of someone’s genuine surprise or confusion.
And so, shoulder to shoulder, they reached the door to Iruka’s office. Umino stopped and took a deep breath. The closed door behind them cut off the corridor: the children’s noise, the whispering gossip, the curious stares. There was no one here now but the two of them. The room was filled with warm light spilling in through the window, settling over low cabinets stacked with textbooks, piles of notebooks, uneven stacks of papers, and several children’s drawings on the walls — “portraits” of Iruka that looked far more like smiling hedgehogs. The scent of fresh paper mingled with the bitterness of tea that had long since gone cold on the windowsill. Iruka entered first, carefully setting the papers down on his desk. His fingers lingered on the top page, as if needing reassurance that some semblance of control still existed.
He looked… exhausted.
Dark shadows beneath his eyes, shoulders slightly slumped, tension etched into the line of his jaw. But the moment Kakashi stepped over the threshold, the teacher straightened, trying to reclaim his familiar steadiness, almost as if he feared showing weakness in front of someone who could see straight through people. Iruka sat down behind his desk, neatly aligning the papers. Kakashi’s attentive gaze swept over every corner, the desk, the walls and finally settled on Iruka himself. He moved forward unhurriedly and took a seat opposite him, the chair usually reserved for students who had come to apologize or explain themselves. The jonin leaned back, resting one hand on his knee while the other slipped, as usual, into the pocket of his vest. He studied the teacher without the slightest hint of embarrassment, trying to understand what, exactly, had shaken the man across from him the most. It only made Iruka cling harder to his composure.
“I still don’t understand,” he said, forcing his voice to remain even. “Why you?”
Then he looked away, briefly glancing out the window where the leaves swayed gently in the breeze.
“You have a… very distinctive personality,” he added quietly, but honestly.
“Was that your elegant way of saying I’m someone you shouldn’t mess with?” Kakashi asked, clearly enjoying himself.
Iruka flushed, just slightly, but of course Hatake noticed.
“I meant…”
“That I’m bad with kids?”
“Yes,” Iruka blurted out, then immediately faltered. “I mean you’re usually busy with far more important things.”
Kakashi was silent for a moment. Then he lifted his visible eye toward the ceiling, as if searching for an official explanation.
“Either way, we’ll have to work together.”
Iruka exhaled, tilting his head. He knew arguing was pointless, and that Konoha could survive many things but not disobedience to its Hokage. Kakashi’s presence in his classroom had already been accepted as inevitable. Still, one thing needed to be said.
“Alright,” Iruka began, steadying his voice and pulling himself together. “If you’re going to be here, then there are a few conditions.”
Kakashi merely raised an eyebrow.
“First: no being late. If you show up after me, that’s unacceptable.”
A light snort answered him. Iruka’s lips twitched into a nervous half-smile, but he continued.
“Second, don’t scare the students. Your reputation is well-known in the village, but children… they’re more impressionable than adults.”
“Scare them? Never in my life,” the jonin said, then paused. “Though if they get too noisy, I might make an exception. For discipline, you understand.”
Iruka said nothing, only blinked.
“Third: no dangerous techniques. Sharingan, Chidori, throwing anything sharp indoors…” He hesitated. “Everything must be safe for them.”
“Dangerous techniques…” Kakashi mused. “Alright. Noted.”
“Well,” Iruka sighed inwardly, feeling the tight knot in his back loosen just a little. “There’s no stopping his barbs. But as long as he’s sharpening his teeth instead of biting, I’ll take it.”
“Good,” Umino said, neatly stacking the papers, catching a fleeting sense of closure. “If you can roughly stick to these points, we’ll survive this month somehow.”
Kakashi smiled lazily.
“Roughly,” his voice carried cheerful readiness for chaos. “Perfect, Iruka-sensei. Then I suppose I’ll start preparing right away.”
Resigned to the situation, the teacher let out a quiet sigh. The month ahead promised to be long and completely unpredictable.