Andrew Slayn

CHAPTER 10: MOTHERLY CONCERNS

Added 2025-06-01 10:08:29 +0000 UTC

Author Note:

Hey guys, as you can see I am posting on my rest weekend, its because I will be on vecation from 2.6.25-15.6.25 so I would normaly miss my posting shedule, so I thought you guys have been so super supportive and liked my storys, that I post the content of the next two weeks today. ^^ \o/

The Pat (r) eon user will gett their share as well.

Special shout out to those users:

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CHAPTER 10: MOTHERLY CONCERNS

Yugao Uzuki leaned against the roof's edge, her ANBU mask pushed to the side of her head as she watched Andrew stumble through the pre-dawn streets toward the Higurashi weapon shop. The boy's exhaustion was evident even from her distant perch—his normally fluid movements had become jerky and uncoordinated, his steps occasionally faltering as he forced his body forward through sheer willpower.

"Stubborn, foolish child," she muttered, fingers tightening on the roof's edge. She'd been observing him for weeks now as he pushed himself beyond reasonable limits, and her professional detachment was eroding with each passing day.

Andrew paused at a corner, bracing himself against a wall as a wave of dizziness visibly washed over him. Yugao's muscles tensed, readying to intervene if he collapsed in the street, but after a moment he straightened and continued his determined march toward the weapon shop.

"You're killing yourself," she whispered, knowing he couldn't hear her. "And for what?"

She knew the answer, of course. Naruto. Everything the boy did was ultimately to protect the jinchūriki—the village pariah whom Andrew had claimed as brother. The dedication would be admirable if it weren't so self-destructive.

Following at a distance, Yugao watched Andrew enter the Higurashi shop, where the blacksmith's bulky silhouette greeted him. She couldn't hear their conversation through the closed door, but she could imagine the exchange—Mr. Higurashi expressing concern, Andrew insisting he was fine.

Always fine. Never admitting weakness or need.

For an hour, everything seemed to proceed normally. Yugao had almost convinced herself that perhaps today would be different—that Andrew would manage to get through his morning duties before retreating somewhere to rest. But then she saw the boy sway dramatically as he reached for something, and in the next moment, he was falling.

Yugao moved without conscious thought, her body flickering across rooftops with ANBU speed. By the time she reached the shop window, Andrew was already on the ground, his shoulder smoking slightly where it had grazed the forge. Mr. Higurashi was kneeling beside him, face tight with concern as he examined the unconscious boy.

She forced herself to remain in position, watching as the blacksmith carefully lifted Andrew's limp form and carried him toward the door. The boy's face was frighteningly pale beneath the dirt and sweat, dark circles like bruises beneath his closed eyes.

Only years of ANBU training kept Yugao from revealing herself as Mr. Higurashi emerged from the shop with Andrew in his arms, bellowing for someone to fetch his wife. Instead, she shadowed them to the Higurashi residence, where Mrs. Higurashi's medical expertise would likely serve the boy better than the village hospital.

Once she was certain Andrew was receiving proper care, Yugao retreated to make her report to the Hokage. Her voice remained steady as she recounted the morning's events, but something in her eyes must have betrayed her, because the Hokage's expression softened as she concluded.

"You've done well, Yugao," he said gently. "Perhaps this incident will finally teach young Slayn the importance of self-care."

"With respect, Hokage-sama, I doubt it," Yugao replied, frustration creeping into her tone. "He's shown a complete disregard for his own wellbeing since that night last year."

The Hokage raised an eyebrow. "Which night?"

Yugao hesitated. "His tenth birthday, sir. Something changed in him overnight. His focus, his training regimen, his determination—all of it intensified as if he'd suddenly found a purpose he hadn't had before."

Hiruzen studied her carefully, clearly noting her choice of words but choosing not to press further. "Continue your surveillance, but at a distance for now. Let him heal without feeling watched. That will be all."

Dismissed, Yugao bowed and exited the Hokage's office, her mind still filled with images of Andrew's collapse. Her shift was over, and for once, she knew exactly where she needed to go.

The sake bottle made a satisfying thunk as Yugao set it down harder than necessary on the worn wooden table. Across from her, Anko Mitarashi raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, her mouth quirking into a smirk.

"Bad day?" Anko asked, swirling the clear liquid in her own cup.

Yugao scowled and poured herself another drink. "Have you ever watched someone steadily destroy themselves while you're ordered not to interfere?"

"Sounds like Tuesday to me," Anko replied flippantly, but her eyes sharpened with interest. "This about a mission?"

"No—yes—sort of." Yugao knocked back her sake, welcoming the burn. The small bar was nearly empty at this hour, most shinobi either on duty or still asleep. Perfect for conversations that shouldn't be overheard. "It's about a kid."

"A kid?" Anko's brow furrowed. "Since when do you care about some random brat?"

"He's not random," Yugao muttered. "He's... special."

"Special how?"

Yugao hesitated, weighing professional discretion against her need to vent her frustrations. Finally, she settled for a partial truth. "He's an orphan with unusual abilities. I've been assigned to observe him."

"Sounds boring," Anko declared, reaching for the bottle. "Unless he's shooting fire out of his eyeballs or something. Is he shooting fire out of his eyeballs?"

Despite herself, Yugao's lips twitched. "No. But he is doing things that should be impossible for someone his age."

"Like what?"

"Like mastering water-walking in days. Like developing original jutsu before even graduating the Academy. Like teaching himself fuinjutsu by breaking into the restricted archives."

Anko snorted in disbelief. "Yeah, right. And I'm the Fire Daimyo's favorite dancer."

"I'm serious," Yugao insisted. "I've watched him modify security seals to access jonin-level scrolls. He creates these techniques that use silver chakra—"

"Silver chakra?" Anko interrupted, her skepticism evident. "Now I know you're drunk."

"I've seen it with my own eyes," Yugao said, leaning forward. "It glows like moonlight, especially at night. And he channels it through these kicks that can cut through training posts from meters away."

Anko sipped her drink, studying Yugao over the rim of her cup. "So you've been assigned to watch some super-genius kid. What's got you drinking in the middle of the day?"

Yugao's expression darkened. "He collapsed this morning. Worked himself to the point of chakra exhaustion, fell against a forge, and burned himself badly."

"Ah," Anko said, understanding dawning. "And you had to just watch it happen."

"Exactly." Yugao stared into her empty cup. "For weeks I've watched him push himself—training all day, raiding the archives all night, barely eating, barely sleeping. I knew it was coming. I could see it in the way he moved, the shadows under his eyes growing darker every day."

"Why does he do it?" Anko asked, her usual mocking tone softening slightly. "What's he trying to prove?"

"That's just it—he's not trying to prove anything. He's preparing." Yugao looked up, meeting Anko's eyes. "It's like he knows something's coming. Something bad. And he's determined to be ready for it, even if it kills him."

"Sounds like a ninja with trauma," Anko observed. "Wouldn't be the first."

"He's eleven," Yugao said flatly.

"Trauma doesn't check ID," Anko replied with the dark humor of someone who knew firsthand.

Yugao fell silent, turning her cup between her fingers. After a moment, she spoke again, her voice quieter. "I just don't understand how someone so brilliant can be so stupid. He's teaching his friend—Uzumaki—water-walking and basic fuinjutsu. He's developing techniques that jonin would envy. But he can't grasp the simple concept that if he dies from exhaustion, he won't be able to protect anyone."

"Sounds like you've gotten attached," Anko noted, her tone carefully neutral.

"I haven't—" Yugao began to deny, then stopped herself. "Maybe I have," she admitted. "He reminds me of Hayate sometimes—that same intense focus, that same drive to perfect a technique no matter how many hours it takes."

"Plus the self-destructive streak," Anko added unhelpfully.

Yugao glared at her. "He's not self-destructive. He's just... driven."

"Right off a cliff, from what you're telling me."

"It's more complicated than that." Yugao poured herself another drink, wondering why she'd thought talking to Anko would help. "He's not trying to hurt himself. He genuinely believes he needs to master all these skills to protect the people he cares about."

"And nobody's told him he can't protect anyone if he's dead?" Anko asked, twirling a dango stick between her fingers.

"Everyone's told him. His friends, his teachers. The Higurashi woman laid into him after he collapsed." Yugao ran a hand through her violet hair in frustration. "He listens politely, agrees, then goes right back to pushing himself as soon as no one's watching."

Anko studied her friend, uncharacteristic perception in her gaze. "You know, you're talking about him like he's your kid."

Yugao stiffened. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Anko leaned back, a knowing smirk on her face. "I've never seen you this worked up about any assignment. And you've described his eating and sleeping habits like you've been counting every bite and monitoring his bedtime."

"It's my job to observe him," Yugao protested, but she could feel warmth creeping into her cheeks.

"Sure, and I just eat dango because it's part of a balanced diet." Anko's smirk widened. "Admit it, Yugao. You've gone full mother hen on this kid."

Yugao opened her mouth to deny it, then closed it again. What was the point? Anko had always been able to see through her.

"Fine," she conceded with a sigh. "Maybe I am concerned about him. In a... personal way."

"Personal way?" Anko echoed, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

"Not like that, you snake," Yugao snapped, throwing a napkin at her friend. "He's a child."

"A child you've apparently adopted in your head," Anko pointed out, dodging the napkin easily.

Had she? Yugao wondered. When had her professional interest in Andrew Slayn evolved into this protective instinct that had her wanting to shake sense into the boy one moment and wrap him in a blanket the next?

"Sometimes," she said slowly, "when I watch him train Naruto... he has this expression. Pride mixed with... I don't know, a sort of desperate hope. Like he's trying to prepare his brother for a war only he can see coming." She looked down at her hands. "And then other times, I see him sitting alone on the roof at night, looking up at the moon with such loneliness that it..."

"Breaks your heart?" Anko supplied, surprisingly gentle.

"Something like that," Yugao admitted. "He shouldn't have to carry whatever burden he's shouldering alone. He's just a boy."

"A boy who can apparently break into secure archives and create original jutsu," Anko reminded her, skepticism returning. "I still don't buy half of what you're saying about this kid. Next you'll tell me he talks to animals."

Yugao's silence spoke volumes.

"No way," Anko said, leaning forward. "Seriously?"

"Not talking, exactly," Yugao clarified. "But animals are drawn to him. Foxes, birds, even deer approach him without fear. I've seen rabbits eat from his hand while he's meditating."

"Now I know you're messing with me," Anko declared, draining her cup. "Nobody's that special."

Yugao shrugged. "Believe what you want. I've seen what I've seen."

They drank in silence for a moment before Anko spoke again. "So what are you going to do about your little prodigy? Keep watching him work himself to death?"

"The Hokage ordered me to maintain distance while he recovers," Yugao replied. "But after that... I don't know." She traced the rim of her cup with one finger. "I've left him things before—medicine when Naruto was sick, a blanket once when he fell asleep training in the rain."

"Anonymous gifts? Very maternal," Anko teased.

Yugao ignored the jab. "Maybe it's time I did more than leave gifts. Maybe it's time someone actually taught him properly, instead of letting him piece things together from stolen scrolls."

"And you think the Hokage would approve this... intervention?"

"I think I could phrase a request that he would consider," Yugao said carefully. "After all, a talent like Andrew's shouldn't be wasted. Proper guidance could channel his abilities more efficiently."

"Uh-huh," Anko said, clearly unconvinced by Yugao's professional framing. "And this has nothing to do with you wanting to mother the hell out of this kid."

"It has nothing to do with that," Yugao insisted, though the protest sounded weak even to her own ears.

"Sure, sure," Anko said, signaling for another bottle. "Just remember, if you're going to adopt every troubled prodigy in Konoha, you're going to need a bigger apartment."

Yugao rolled her eyes, but found herself smiling slightly. Leave it to Anko to cut through her pretenses with brutal efficiency.

The truth was, she had grown attached to Andrew—and to Naruto by extension. Watching them forge their brotherhood from shared loneliness, seeing them support each other despite the village's treatment of Naruto, observing Andrew's relentless efforts to prepare them both for challenges he seemed to anticipate... it had awakened something in her that she hadn't realized was there.

"I'm not adopting anyone," she said finally. "I just want to make sure he doesn't kill himself before he reaches his potential."

"Keep telling yourself that," Anko replied, pouring fresh drinks for them both. "Meanwhile, tell me more about this silver chakra business. I still think you're seeing things."

As Yugao launched into a more detailed description of Andrew's unique abilities, she found herself wondering what the boy would say if he knew one of Konoha's elite ANBU was sitting in a bar, defending his prodigious talents to a skeptical special jonin. The thought made her smile into her cup.

Whether Andrew liked it or not, whether the Hokage approved or not, Yugao had made a decision. She would find a way to guide this remarkable, foolish, driven boy before he burned himself out completely. Not just because it was her duty as his assigned observer, but because somewhere along the way, his wellbeing had become personally important to her.

And Uzuki Yugao protected what was important to her.

Later that afternoon, somewhat steadier but still troubled, Yugao perched on a rooftop across from the Higurashi residence. She remained in her ANBU gear, cat mask firmly in place, maintaining her distance as the Hokage had instructed.

Through an upper window, she could see shadows moving—Mrs. Higurashi checking on her patient, Naruto gesturing animatedly as he presumably regaled his bedridden friend with stories. The scene should have reassured her, knowing Andrew was receiving proper care, that his physical wounds would heal with time.

Yet something in her wanted to be closer—to see with her own eyes that he was truly alright. The impulse disturbed her professional sensibilities.

"Getting soft, Yugao," she murmured to herself, forcing her body to remain still when it wanted to move closer.

The door to the Higurashi home opened, and Tenten emerged with several scrolls tucked under her arm. The girl paused on the threshold, looking back inside to say something Yugao couldn't hear, then closed the door behind her.

For a brief moment, Yugao considered following standard intelligence protocol—approaching the girl as a civilian or fellow shinobi, casually inquiring about the "accident" she'd "heard about" at the weapon shop. She could gather information directly, perhaps even manufacture a reason to see Andrew in person.

She dismissed the thought almost immediately. Such actions would cross a line she wasn't yet ready to breach. Her assignment was to observe, not engage. And engaging would mean acknowledging things she wasn't prepared to face—like why exactly this particular assignment had become so personal.

Instead, she watched silently as Tenten hurried down the street, presumably to retrieve more supplies or materials for Andrew's recovery. When the girl disappeared around a corner, Yugao remained, her gaze returning to the window where Andrew rested.

What was it about this boy that had gotten under her skin? Was it his unwavering dedication to Naruto? The quiet determination with which he faced each day? Or perhaps it was the way he seemed to carry a burden far beyond his years—a burden he refused to share with anyone, even those closest to him.

Whatever the reason, Yugao knew she needed to maintain professional distance. Getting emotionally invested in an assignment was dangerous—something ANBU were trained to avoid. Yet here she was, monitoring a twelve-year-old Academy student as if his well-being somehow mattered more than any other mission.

As dusk fell over Konoha, Yugao finally prepared to leave. Her shift was over, and another ANBU would soon arrive to continue surveillance. Before departing, she turned her gaze one last time toward the window, where a lamp had just been lit in Andrew's room.

"Get well, kid," she whispered behind her mask. "And maybe learn to ease up a little."

The thought of Anko's teasing about her maternal instincts made her grimace. The special jonin wasn't entirely wrong—Yugao had grown more attached to this assignment than was strictly professional. But acknowledging that didn't mean she had to act on it. She could continue her observations from afar, maintaining the distance that both her duty and ANBU protocol demanded.

As she leapt away into the gathering darkness, Yugao cast one final glance over her shoulder at the warm light spilling from the Higurashi home. She may not be able to reveal herself to Andrew, may never speak to him directly, but she could still watch over him—a silent guardian ensuring that the remarkable, foolish, determined boy didn't destroy himself before reaching his full potential.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

Author Note:

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