Naruto:This Time, I, Kotetsu Hagane, Will No Longer Be Lazy

Kotetsu and Iruka stumbled out of the chaotic bar, the night air cool against their faces after the suffocating heat inside. Iruka was still sheepishly adjusting his jacket, looking down at the ground with an embarrassed laugh.

"Man, I can't believe I let them do that to me," Iruka muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just... couldn't help it. They were so nice and so convincing."

Kotetsu chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, they've got that effect. They're practically professionals at making you feel like you're the only guy in the world for five minutes." He looked over at Iruka, who was still visibly flustered. "Don't worry about it, kid. You're new to the whole... night life thing. First time's always a bit much."

Iruka's face flushed again, but he gave a soft laugh. "Yeah, this is definitely a lot to take in. I've only been Chunin for a few months, so I'm still getting used to... this." He gestured vaguely to the streets, where more bar girls and nightwalkers were trying to lure in customers, their voices laced with the promise of something more.

Kotetsu paused for a moment, thinking about Iruka's words. He couldn't help but notice how young the guy really was. Iruka was 16, but in this world, it felt like he had been thrown into adulthood far too soon. Kotetsu himself was just 18—barely older, but still older enough to notice the gap. The whole world of shinobi was a constant reminder of how young everyone was, how fragile life could be.

"It's to be expected," Kotetsu said, ruffling Iruka's hair playfully. "You're just getting your feet wet, and you're still figuring out who you are in all this chaos. Hell, at 16, I was probably worse off than you, so don't sweat it."

Iruka shot him a surprised glance. "Really? You were worse than me?"

Kotetsu grinned, a dark edge to his voice. "I was an idiot back then. Trust me, I was worse than anyone here. But that's why I get to say I told you so now." He winked, hoping to lighten the mood.

Iruka laughed, the tension in his shoulders loosening a little. "Well, I guess I'll take your advice. I owe you one, Kotetsu-senpai."

Kotetsu waved it off with a smirk. "Nah, don't worry about it. Let's just get a drink somewhere else. We're not done for the night yet, right?"

Iruka brightened up, his earlier embarrassment forgotten. "Yeah! Let's do it. But... no more bars with bar girls, please."

Kotetsu smirked. "You got it."

The two made their way down the street, dodging the occasional drunk passerby, and eventually found their way to a quieter part of the district. They stepped into The Crimson Kunai, a bar known only to those who had served in the war. It was dark, dimly lit with low hanging lanterns, the air filled with the hum of muffled conversations. It wasn't the place for frivolous nights of drink and flirtation—this was where those who had seen the worst of the world came to escape, even if it was just for a moment.

The heavy atmosphere was soothing in its own way. A pool table sat in the corner, the soft clink of balls hitting each other barely audible over the low chatter and the faint strumming of a shinobi jukebox. There were no fancy drinks, no loud bar girls—just hard, no-nonsense people looking to get lost in their drinks or their games for a few hours.

The door closed behind them with a soft thud, and Kotetsu glanced around, making sure there weren't too many familiar faces. This wasn't the kind of place you wanted to be seen in unless you were the type who had nothing left to lose.

Iruka sighed, visibly relaxing as the weight of the night seemed to lift from his shoulders. "This is... way better than the last place."

Kotetsu nodded, heading toward a table near the back. "This is where shinobi come when they need peace. No pretenses. Just people trying to forget for a little while." He sat down and motioned for Iruka to join him. "Here, we don't talk about who's got the biggest paycheck or how much we can spend. We just drink and... keep to ourselves."

Iruka lowered himself into the seat, looking around at the worn faces that sat scattered about the bar, lost in their own thoughts. "It's... different. Not the kind of place I expected."

"Yeah, most don't," Kotetsu replied. "It's not for everyone. But if you've seen war—if you've seen real loss—places like this just feel right. You don't have to pretend like everything's fine. You can just... be."

Iruka gave a small nod, his gaze drifting toward the jukebox in the corner. "Yeah. I get it."

A man at the bar had started arguing with the bartender, and before Kotetsu could blink, the situation had escalated into a near-fistfight. The regulars didn't flinch, though. This was the unspoken rule of The Crimson Kunai: fights happened, but no one intervened. It was part of the release, part of the way they vented their frustrations. The bartender eventually threw the guy out, but made sure to write down how much he broke so he could bill him later after he sobered up tomorrow. 

Kotetsu grinned. "See? Told you. Just a place to be."

Iruka looked around at the scattered patrons, all of whom seemed like they were carrying their own heavy burdens, and his shoulders relaxed. "This place isn't it kind of, depressing."

Kotetsu looked around and let his drink settle for a bit, "well for those who've never experienced pain then I guess I could hear that point of view but your a chunin, that alone means you've probably loss someone and that pain hurts you. That's the general vibe of the place. Its a quiet reminder that their still here in the land of the living. Y-know."

The hours passed in The Crimson Kunai with a quiet, almost somber rhythm. The soft clink of glasses, the occasional murmur of voices, and the distant hum of the jukebox filled the air, but there was no real cheer in the room. Kotetsu and Iruka had moved from light conversation to a deeper, quieter place. The alcohol had loosened their tongues, and now, they found themselves talking about the things that had shaped them—about the parts of their lives they didn't usually let anyone see.

Kotetsu leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping absentmindedly against his glass. "You ever been to the Hidden Mist? I was stationed there for a while. Kiri's a hell of a place." His voice was low, rough—familiar to Iruka, but it still carried that edge of something else. Something that didn't want to be remembered.

Iruka looked at him, eyes wide. "Kiri? You mean... you were actually there, during the war?" His voice faltered slightly. He'd heard stories of the brutal conditions in the Mist, how it had been a place where young shinobi went to die for no reason other than to fuel a war that never seemed to end. Iruka had been too young to even be sent there, but the war had been something that hung over his generation, something that shaped every decision made by the higher-ups.

Kotetsu nodded slowly, his gaze growing distant. "Yeah. I was stationed there for a while, back when I was a Genin. We didn't really have the luxury of being sent on 'normal' missions. They were all high-stakes, constant skirmishes. You learned quick or you didn't last long. We had to be ruthless, and there wasn't a lot of time for sentiment. One day, we'd be chasing down enemy squads. The next, we'd be cleaning up after an ambush. It was always something—always someone."

He took a long gulp of his drink, his fingers tightening around the glass. "There was one mission... we were supposed to clear out a small village near the border. It wasn't a big operation, just a small tactical strike. But one of the guys on my squad, Chika, she... she didn't make it. She got pinned down, kunai in the back of the skull with brain matter stuck to it. She was always slow in training and it costed her. By the time I reached her, she was already... well, you get the picture." He looked at Iruka, but his eyes weren't really seeing him. They were far off, lost in the past. "I couldn't do a damn thing for her. Not even give her a proper send-off. Just... left her there. Alone. To make sure the mission didn't fail."

Iruka winced, not sure how to respond. He knew that Kotetsu was tough, had seen things that most shinobi his age shouldn't have seen. But hearing this, hearing the way Kotetsu talked about it... the detachment he said it with.

"I... I'm sorry, Kotetsu." Iruka's voice was barely above a whisper. "That sounds... horrible. I mean, I can't even imagine."

Kotetsu gave a small, hollow laugh. "You don't need to. It's not the kind of thing anyone should have to picture, trust me." He paused, tapping his fingers on the table, his eyes clouded with something else now. "War does that. You lose people, and you keep moving. There's no time to mourn. You lose your humanity, piece by piece. The job comes first. Your emotions come last. Thats part of the reason why me and Izumo guard the gate instead. Easy pay and it keeps us off the battlefield, even in war."

Iruka stared wide eye for a moment as this subtle admittance, this brutal honesty, it was something he didn't expect. He knew these were words that a sober person would never utter but yet Kotetsu casually said it. I'm sure most would call him a coward or traitor, but he was honest, brutally honest.

But after hearing the monsters sent on the battlefield could he blame him. The Hozuki clan that could be immune to all your attacks, Iruka couldn't even begin to question how'd he tackle defeating one. Deadly Ice members that pinned you with ice, no thanks. But worse of all. The Hoshigaki clan, a clan of sharks. They were rumors for being blood thirsty, but this proved it as they were true cannibals who used those Shark teeth on the enemy.

No Iruka couldn't blame him, as he infact had a similar idea in mind after seeing his own fair share of horror storys. This all but confirmed what path he'd rather go down as a shinobi.

Iruka took a slow sip from his glass, his hands shaking slightly as he set it down. "I don't know what that's like. I wasn't sent to war. I... I was just a kid when it happened. Barely made it into genin when the war ended. But I've had my own losses."

Kotetsu's eyes flicked over to Iruka, a silent invitation to continue. He wasn't going to judge. He knew the pain of losing someone well enough. If Iruka wanted to share, he would listen.

Iruka let out a breath, his fingers curling around his glass. "I was still a Genin when the war was at its worst. And I... I missed the cut. I wasn't strong enough to be sent on those missions. Hell, I wasn't even sent on B-ranks until later. I got stuck doing C-rank missions with a few other guys, just helping out civilians. But those C-rank missions, they were a little more dangerous than people think." His voice faltered slightly as he continued, his eyes glinting with the hint of a memory.

"One mission... we were supposed to deliver supplies to a small village on the outskirts of the Land of Fire. Easy enough, right? But we got ambushed on the way there—bandits, or so we thought. Turned out, it was an infiltration. They'd been hired by someone with a grudge against the village. And we were caught in the middle." Iruka paused, his voice going quiet for a moment, then continued, though his tone was heavy. "We lost two of the squad that day—Jiro and Rei. They... they were just doing their job, same as me. But they didn't make it."

Kotetsu saw the way Iruka's hands were trembling slightly now, the way his jaw tightened as he spoke. Iruka had only been 11 or 12 at the time, still a kid, really. Losing two squadmates like that on his first mission outside the village? So this was the reason why Iruka was so tough on Naruto and the rookies, and why he didn't want them to participate in the Chunin exams right out the academy. It was this event. It was something that would haunt him, even if he didn't show it on the surface.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm not supposed to be here," Iruka continued, his voice small. "Like, if I'd been stronger, maybe I could've saved them. Maybe I could've done more."

Kotetsu leaned forward, his eyes softening. "Iruka, don't go blaming yourself. You can't save everyone. That's the truth we all have to learn. You do your best, but sometimes... sometimes the mission takes precedence. It doesn't make it right, but that's how it works out there."

Iruka's eyes flickered with doubt. "But I was there, Kotetsu. I saw them fall. I should've—"

"Don't." Kotetsu cut him off gently, his voice steady but firm. "You can't save everyone, and you can't change what's already happened. What matters is what you do with the loss. You honor their memory, and you keep moving forward."

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of their shared silence settling over the table like a blanket. They had both lost something—whether it was a friend, a part of themselves, or just their innocence. But they were still here. Still fighting. Still living.

Iruka finally broke the silence with a soft sigh. "Thanks, Kotetsu. I needed to hear that."

Kotetsu raised his glass, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Anytime."