Steam rose from our bowls like morning mist over a hot spring, carrying that mouthwatering scent of pork broth and fresh noodles. I took my first bite - the noodles were perfectly cooked, firm enough to have a slight springiness when you bit down but soft enough to slurp up without effort. The rich, savory broth coated my tongue with layers of flavor that somehow made you want to eat more even when you were full.
Beside me, Kushina was making sounds that were definitely not appropriate for public consumption. She'd already polished off her first bowl in what had to be world record time and was eagerly diving into bowl number two.
"Slow down," I advised, carefully picking up a slice of chashu with my chopsticks. "You're going to choke."
"Nuu neshh ta eww mee!" she replied through a mouthful of noodles, probably telling me not to tell her what to do.
I watched her slurp another bite with the grace of a hungry tiger. "You know, where I come from, there are rules about eating in public."
She swallowed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Where you come from? You mean the orphanage, dattebane?"
I froze for a split second, my chopsticks halfway to my mouth. 'Smooth.'
"Yeah," I said casually, taking another bite. "The caretakers were always harping on about proper table manners."
"That's so weird." She slurped more noodles. "Where I lived, nobody cared how you ate. Just don't steal food and you're good."
"Different places, different rules I guess."
"What about your parents?" she asked suddenly, reaching for her tea. "Do you remember them at all?"
I set down my chopsticks, a flash of white hair and a broad back walking away filling my mind for a moment. My mouth turned down in what might have been a pout before I caught myself.
"Not really," I lied, picking my chopsticks back up and poking at my food.
We ate in silence for a moment. The lunch crowd was starting to thin out, leaving just the two of us and an old man at the far end of the counter nursing a sake.
Speaking of family... I wondered if that pervy guy was still dropping anonymous 'donations' to Minato. Every few months, Minato would excitedly show me some rare scroll or shinobi guide that he claimed had 'borrowed' from someone. Was it because the guy knew we were friends? Or just because Minato was, well, Minato – a genius who actually deserved that kind of investment?
As I reached for my water, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Someone was watching us. I didn't turn my head, just shifted my eyes casually while pretending to focus on my meal. There – a figure at a nearby tea stall, seemingly occupied with his dango but positioned at just the right angle to observe us without being obvious. Too still to be a civilian, too aware to be coincidental.
'ANBU?' I wondered, slowly returning to my noodles. It would make sense if they were watching Kushina. Then again, had she even become a jinchuriki yet? The Nine-Tails had to be sealed somewhere, and Kushina was from Uzushio... but I couldn't remember exactly when that transfer would have happened.
'Or maybe they're watching me again?' Well, I knew I was being a bit, just slightly bit conspicuous with my hustles sometimes. Though just a bit. I smirked into my ramen. Ha! As if they'd bother. When your dad's idea of "stealth" is giggling loudly while hiding in bushes outside women's baths, you inherit a certain immunity to scrutiny.
"Hey," Kushina poked my arm with her chopstick. "You got all quiet again. What're you thinking about?"
"Just appreciating the ramen," I said, which wasn't entirely a lie. "And wondering how you're going to fit six bowls in that tiny stomach of yours."
She puffed up indignantly. "I'm a growing kunoichi! I need proper nutrition, dattebane!"
"Right. Proper nutrition." I watched her attack bowl three with the enthusiasm of a starving wolf. "Because nothing says 'balanced diet' like six servings of pure carbs."
"At least I'm not secretly sipping sake in my tea at lunch like someone I know."
"That was one time. And it wasn't sake, it was aged rice wine. Completely different."
"Sure it was."
We fell into our usual banter. The ramen was excellent - the pork practically melted on my tongue, the noodles had that perfect bite, and the broth was rich without being heavy. I found myself relaxing further, enjoying the simple pleasure of a good meal with good company.
"You know what the best part about ramen is?" she asked, startling me out of my thoughts.
"The fact that it's not you cooking it?"
She stuck her tongue out at me. "No, dattebane! It's that no matter how bad your day was, ramen always makes it better. It's like... edible happiness."
I had to smile at that. "Edible happiness, huh?"
"Yep!" She slurped up the last of her broth with gusto. "Speaking of which, when's our next cooking lesson? I want to learn those dumplings!"
"Saturday work for you?" I asked, reaching for my wallet as Teuchi approached with our bill.
"Perfect! And this time I promise not to burn anything."
"You said that last time."
"This time I mean it!"
I paid for our meal, trying not to wince at the total. Eight bowls of ramen wasn't cheap, but watching Kushina's happiness as she patted her full stomach... worth it.
"Thanks for lunch," she said as we stepped back into the afternoon sun. "You're pretty great when you're not being all mysterious and lazy, dattebane!"
"Yeah," I said. "I guess I am."
…
We'd barely made it a block from Ichiraku when I caught a glimpse of someone familiar – the same guy from the tea stall, now pretending to browse a nearby fruit vendor's wares. It wasn't accidental. His eyes flicked to Kushina a little too often, his positioning too perfect for maintaining a line of sight.
'Interesting,' I thought, casually adjusting our path through the afternoon crowd.
"What's with the face?" Kushina asked, catching my quick frown.
"Just wondering if I should've gone for a third bowl," I said with an easy smile. "My two bowls look pretty sad next to your seven."
She tossed her red hair over her shoulder. "Not everyone can handle ramen like a professional, dattebane!"
We turned down a side street crowded with afternoon shoppers. Perfect cover for anyone tailing us – and perfect cover for me to confirm my suspicions. I glanced around, seemingly taking in the market stalls, while actually tracking our shadow. There he was again, browsing a clothes display but positioned just right to keep us in view.
'Not bad,' I thought. 'But not great either.'
A real ANBU would be invisible. This guy was trying too hard to look casual, standing with that artificial looseness that screams "I'm definitely not a ninja right now!" to anyone who knows what to look for.
But that raised the question – where were the actual ANBU? If Kushina was important enough to warrant surveillance from foreign operatives, surely she'd have a village protection detail? Unless they were so good I couldn't spot them, which was possible but unlikely. Or maybe they thought she was safe inside the village?
'Either way, this is getting interesting.'
"Something wrong?" Kushina asked, catching my wandering attention.
"Just thinking about what ingredients we need for Saturday's cooking lesson," I lied smoothly. "How do you feel about dango as a backup plan?"
"Dango?" Her eyes lit up. "I love dango! But I thought we were doing dumplings?"
"We are. But knowing your track record with open flames, it's good to have a Plan B."
She punched my arm, not lightly. "Jerk! I told you I won't burn anything this time!"
"Uh-huh."
We bantered our way down another street, but my mind was racing. Our tail was definitely fixated on Kushina, barely giving me a second glance. Slightly dark complexion, facial structure that didn't match typical Fire Country features. His clothes were local, but something about the way he wore them felt off – like someone who'd studied our fashion but hadn't grown up with it.
But that raised even more questions. He'd somehow managed to get into the village undetected. That was concerning. Konoha's security wasn't exactly Swiss cheese, especially during "peacetime". Foreign operatives didn't just waltz in for afternoon tea. So either he had inside help, or our security had more holes than I thought.
Either way, I was curious now.
"Earth to Shinji!" Kushina waved her hand in front of my face. "You're spacing out again. What's with you today?"
I needed to buy some time to check out our tail. "Sorry. Just remembered I promised to pick up something for Minato. Mind if we make a quick detour?"
"Sure! What does he need?"
"Just some kunai from the weapons shop," I said, steering us toward a cramped row of stores. "You know how he is with his throwing practice. Hey, you know what? The shop gets pretty crowded this time of day. Why don't you wait here, and I'll be quick?"
She frowned. "I don't mind crowds."
"Yeah, but the owner's an old grump who hates kids," I improvised. "Last time he saw me with you, he gave me the stink-eye for weeks."
"Fine," she huffed, plopping down on a nearby bench. "But hurry up! And get something good!"
"Always do," I tossed over my shoulder, slipping into the crowded street.
Instead of heading for the weapons shop, I ducked into a narrow alley, formed a quick hand sign, and transformed into a nondescript civilian – middle-aged, slightly paunchy, completely forgettable. Then I circled back to get a better look at our stalker.
When I'd left Kushina, he'd shifted positions naturally, taking up a post at a street vendor's stall with a clear line of sight to her bench. Nothing obvious, just another shopper taking his time with his purchases.
But there were tells. The way he balanced his weight, the slight bulge at his ankle, and his eyes - they never left Kushina for more than a few seconds.
I sidled closer, pretending to examine some wind chimes at the next stall over.
"Fine craftsmanship," I commented to the vendor in a voice pitched nothing like my own.
"Best in the village," the man agreed automatically.
The question was, what to do about it? I could alert village security, but I was genuinely curious how a foreign operative had managed to slip into Konoha undetected. It made me wonder what other security gaps might exist – information that could be useful someday.
Instead of raising an immediate alarm, I decided to observe a bit longer while maintaining my cover. I purchased a wind chime – might as well commit to the role – and made my way back to the weapons shop. After dropping the transformation in another secluded alley, I grabbed a few kunai (Minato would appreciate them anyway) and headed back to Kushina.
"Finally!" she exclaimed when I reappeared. "What took you so long?"
"Old man wouldn't stop talking my ear off," I said, tucking the kunai away. "And then I saw these wind chimes and thought of you."
I pulled out the chimes, and her eyes widened.
"For me? Really?" She took them, the little bells tinkling softly as she moved them. "They're beautiful! But... why?"
I shrugged. "Just seemed like something you'd like. Noisy, colorful, impossible to ignore – reminds me of someone."
She blushed, punching my arm again but much more gently this time. "Jerk," she said, but she was smiling.
As we started walking again, I kept up the conversation while maintaining a subtle awareness of our surroundings. The Kumo-nin was still there, hanging back but definitely following.
"So, Saturday for dumplings?" I asked. "My place again?"
"Definitely! I'll be there at noon sharp," she said, then added with a mischievous grin, "unless you want to make it a proper date and pick me up?"
"A date?"
She burst out laughing at my expression. "You should see your face! I'm kidding, dattebane!"
"Right. Of course. Because if it were a date, I'd have to wear my fancy shoes, and they pinch something awful."
She was still giggling when we reached the intersection where our paths would split.
"This is me," she said, gesturing down the street toward the Senju residential district. "Thanks for lunch... and for these." She lifted the wind chimes, making them sing again.
"Don't mention it. See you Saturday?"
"It's a date!" she called over her shoulder, then caught herself and added, "I mean, not a date-date!"
"I'll try not to get too heartbroken," I called back, watching her vanish into the crowd, a flash of red among the muted colors of the village.
Our tail hesitated for a moment, then followed after her.
Instead of heading home, I slipped into another alley and transformed again, this time into a scruffy middle-aged man with a scar across my nose. I emerged and began trailing our mystery watcher from a safe distance. I kept just close enough to maintain visual contact without arousing suspicion.
He was good at evading detection – taking random turns, doubling back occasionally, mixing with crowds. But I was better. I shadowed him as he shadowed Kushina, staying just out of his awareness threshold.
When Kushina finally reached the Senju district, our mystery man didn't follow her in – too well guarded, I guessed. Instead, he hung back, making a note in a small book before turning toward the commercial district.
His pace quickened now, purposeful rather than casual. I had to be more careful as the crowds thinned out. Three blocks later, he ducked into a small teahouse. I waited thirty seconds, then followed.
The interior was dim and smoky, perfect for clandestine meetings. I ordered a cup of green tea and settled into a corner booth, positioning myself to watch the reflection of our Kumo friend in a decorative mirror.
He sat at a table with another man – this one older, with the bearing of someone experienced and dangerous. They spoke in hushed tones, heads bent close together. The older man nodded slowly as my target spoke, then passed something under the table – a scroll, maybe? Too small for me to identify at this distance.
Well, well. So there were at least two of them in the village. That upgraded this from "interesting" to "potentially very bad."
I sipped my tea, watching as they finished their business. The older man left first, moving with the confident grace of a seasoned shinobi. Our original tail followed five minutes later.
I left enough coin for my barely-touched tea and slipped out after him. Two foreign operatives, potentially more, with an interest in Uzumaki Kushina. This wasn't good.
…
The Kumo operatives were heading out of the village – interesting. I kept my distance, sticking to shadows and transforming again when necessary. They moved with purpose, taking back alleys and side streets until they reached the edge of town.
Once they hit the treeline, they abandoned all pretense of stealth and picked up the pace. I slipped between trees, staying just close enough to keep them in sight. The forest grew denser as we moved away from Konoha, sunlight filtering through the canopy in shifting patterns.
They traveled for almost five minutes before stopping in a small clearing. The older ninja pulled out a scroll, confirming my earlier observation. As they huddled together, I crept closer, straining to hear their conversation.
And that's when I felt it – the subtle shift in air pressure behind me, the faint rustle of clothing that wasn't caused by wind.
'Shit.'
I ducked just as a kunai whizzed through the space where my head had been. Three more figures dropped from the trees, surrounding me. Along with the two I'd been following, that made five ninja total. The oldest among them – a man with a jagged scar running from his temple to jaw – stepped forward. His chakra presence alone told me he was jonin-level, dangerous.
"Seems we caught ourselves a rat," he said, voice like gravel.
I straightened up slowly, running calculations in my head. Five against one, with at least one jonin. Not great odds.
"Just out for a walk," I said with a casual shrug. "Beautiful day for forest bathing, don't you think?"
"A comedian," one of the others snorted. "Let's see how funny you are when we're done with you."
The jonin studied me, eyes narrowed. "Kill him. We can't risk him reporting back."
They moved as one, closing in from all sides. The closest one – mid-twenties, overconfident smirk, right-hand dominant based on the calluses – lunged at me with a short blade. Mistake.
I stepped aside, catching his extended wrist as he lunged past. One quick twist and his bones crunched under my grip. Before he could even scream, my knee slammed into his gut, forcing all the air from his lungs in a choked gasp.
As he doubled over, I struck. My hand shot out, fingers stiff, hitting the soft spot where his neck met shoulder. The blow pinched his carotid artery and jugular together. His eyes bulged wide.
But I wasn't done. As his comrades rushed in, I spun the dying man around, using him as a shield. My free hand slipped a kunai from my pouch and finished the job by raking the blade across his throat, opening it from ear to ear.
Hot blood sprayed in an arc, catching two of the attackers across their faces. They stumbled back, wiping at their eyes. I released my human shield, letting the body crumple to the forest floor where it landed with a dull thud, blood pooling in the dirt and leaves.
The clearing went silent for a heartbeat. Even the birds had stopped singing.
I flicked the fresh blood from my kunai with a twist of my wrist, watching it spatter across the ground. The metallic scent filled my nostrils—familiar, almost comforting.
"Who's next?" I twirled the kunai between my fingers and gave the four remaining ninja my most feral grin.
...
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