Tsunade has her feet propped up on a mountain of paperwork, a sake flask dangling from her fingers. Jiraiya lounges against the windowsill, toad scroll tucked under his arm.

The door is half-open. Leaf shinobi come and go in the corridor beyond, their footsteps a steady rhythm of everyday business.

A knock. Sharp. Formal.

Her eyes go wide.

The sake flask clatters onto the desk.

Her lips curve into a grin he hasn't seen in years.