The Journey Home and Roots

The Journey Home and Roots

Koizumi Town's dango was truly inferior to Konoha's. Its texture was somewhat rough, and it was overly cloying. Shuji helplessly ordered a bowl of ramen to wash the taste from his mouth.

The local ramen was fairly decent, though. While it was nowhere near as renowned as Konoha's Ichiraku, the high-quality ranches provided a rich broth and tender slices of meat. Its only flaw was that the noodles lacked chewiness.

As Shuji gave his critique, Itachi quietly listened while chewing on his dango. He did not need ramen to balance out the flavor. While Shuji ate with gusto, Itachi focused on writing the mission report.

During the mission, Shuji had been the primary executor, so they split the reward sixty-forty—Shuji took sixty percent, and Itachi forty. Thus, Itachi had no complaints about taking on the task of writing the report. Even without a share of the reward, his ninja discipline would not have allowed him to shirk it.

In comparison, Shuji seemed... different. Itachi had no concept of an "ordinary person," but he could clearly sense that this senior differed subtly from other ninja.

"Senior." Itachi looked up and called softly.

"Hmm?" Shuji lifted his face from his bowl, a little broth clinging to the corner of his mouth.

"What is a ninja to you?"

"A job." Shuji's answer was crisp and direct.

The answer made Itachi pause slightly. He had heard far too many lofty definitions of ninja—the village's blade of protection, inheritors of will, the foundation of peace... Yet he had never heard such a blunt answer.

"I like food, and I enjoy indulging myself. Being a ninja is just a way to make a living." Shuji slurped up another mouthful of noodles. "What about you, Itachi?"

"Me?" Itachi was momentarily speechless. From the moment he was born, becoming a ninja had been his predetermined fate. He had followed his father onto the battlefield at four, graduated from the Ninja Academy at seven, and as the Uchiha clan's genius, he had never considered why he needed to become a ninja.

"Ninja is only a profession. Set that identity aside—what are you as a person? The Uchiha genius? A ninja in whom the village places great expectations?" Shuji set down his chopsticks, his gaze turning serious. "What do you truly desire? What do you look forward to?"

Seeing Itachi sink into thought, Shuji's tone softened. "You don't need to find the answer right away. One day, you'll reach a conclusion that belongs to you. When all is said and done, a 'ninja,' burdened with so many heavy meanings, is merely one profession among countless others."

"Want a bowl of ramen?" Shuji suddenly asked, interrupting Itachi's thoughts.

"No, that's all right. Thank you, Senior." Itachi gently shook his head, his black hair stirring in the breeze.

"It really is delicious," Shuji said, pointing at his bowl with his chopsticks. "Dango alone won't fill you up."

"I really don't need any..." Itachi's voice remained steady, but there was a trace of barely perceptible wavering in it.

"Listen," Shuji explained earnestly, "when you eat sweets, you need something savory to go with them for the flavor to be complete. That's common sense."

"Senior." At last, Itachi raised his head, a rare stubbornness flashing in his eyes. "Sweet dango and a cup of clear tea are enough."

This was the first time since the mission began that Itachi had clearly opposed Shuji's opinion. Shuji felt a trace of regret, yet the corners of his mouth rose in a gratified smile. A faint smile also appeared on Itachi's face, like a crack quietly opening across a frozen lake.

The Land of Rivers officials quickly confirmed that the bandits had been eliminated and announced it far and wide. Shuji and Itachi then returned to Konoha.

Submitting the mission report at the Hokage Building was not complicated in itself, but the encounter with the Sunagakure rogue ninja and the submission of his head required a few more procedures. The mission reward would be distributed after the Intelligence Division finished extracting information from Shin'ya's head. If they were lucky, the extra gains from this mission might amount to around 150,000 ryo; if the intelligence was not valuable, it might only increase by 100,000 ryo.

As for Shin'ya's tool sealing scroll, since the Land of Rivers' commission did not include recovering stolen goods, they could naturally keep those valuables. Shuji entrusted the village with unsealing it.

"Of course." Torii, the Chunin responsible for registration at the Hokage Building, nodded. "If the items inside the scroll involve secrets from another village, Konoha will retain a portion as appropriate for safekeeping or research and provide corresponding compensation based on their value. Taking that into account, the village will not charge an additional fee for this unsealing service."

"Much appreciated. About how long will it take?"

"Come back in three days. By then, the Intelligence Division's search of the head should also be complete."

By the time they finished dealing with these trivial matters, dusk was near. Itachi said goodbye to Shuji. Roughing it was unavoidable while on missions, but after returning to the village, even Itachi, as an eight-year-old child, needed to go home for dinner on time.

Shuji watched Itachi's small figure disappear around the street corner before turning toward the village's West Suburbs. His destination was an old-style residence more than fifty years old. Because it was far from the village center, it had escaped the Nine-Tails Rebellion three years earlier.

Cherry trees lined both sides of the residence. Blossoms near the end of their season drifted down in the wind, resting briefly on his shoulders before quietly slipping away.

"Grandma Toka, I'm back."

In the courtyard sat an elderly woman in a dark brown kimono, her silver-white hair combed with meticulous care. Hearing Shuji's voice, she did not look up, merely giving a slight nod.

"Your body. No problems?"

"Yes. I've become proficient at controlling this power as well." Shuji raised his hand, and a soft emerald glow flowed across his palm. A tender sprout unfurled and grew at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Back then, Shuji had been severely wounded and on the brink of death, beyond saving. When Konoha's medical ninja were helpless, Grandma Toka took him from the hospital and injected the legendary Hashirama Cells into his body, which was on the verge of collapse.

At worst, he would only die.

With that thought in mind, the elderly woman, already past seventy, performed that crude "operation" on Shuji in this Old Residence. It could hardly even be called surgery—after injecting the cells, she laid down a powerful suppression formula and left the rest to fate.

This body still clearly remembered how it had felt then.

The violent power had been like a burst dam's flood, swallowing him whole in an instant.

The Hashirama Cells had been like ravenous beasts, madly biting and devouring every inch of flesh. The searing pain had sunk into his marrow and exploded at the ends of his nerves.

For several moments, he had felt enormous trees growing wildly inside him—their roots piercing through his organs, their branches tearing through his skin.

Every inch of skin had felt as though it were being pierced again and again by countless red-hot steel needles. His bones had made grating cracks as they reformed, while his blood boiled and churned through his veins.

It had been torment beyond the limits of language.

Merely recalling it brought waves of dull pain from deep within his body.

"That Uchiha, the one called a genius—what is he like?" Grandma Toka's voice was calm and unruffled.

"He's just a child." Shuji lowered his hand. The green glow and tender sprout vanished together as he answered evenly.

At that assessment, the corner of Grandma Toka's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, like a breeze brushing across water. It vanished in an instant, and she said nothing.

Only the faint sound of falling cherry blossoms remained in the courtyard.

She slowly rose to her feet, her movements carrying the composure accumulated through the years, along with a trace of barely noticeable sluggishness.

"Since there are no problems..." Her gaze passed over Shuji and settled on the cherry blossoms drifting through the courtyard. Her eyes were distant and heavy, as though they pierced through the dust of time. "Then live well from now on, Shuji."

A breeze swept through, carrying several withered petals into the air. The old woman's voice lowered, carrying a weariness and desolation buried deep in her heart and fermented over the years.

"Our clan has already given too much for Konoha."

She paused, her gaze still fixed on those silently falling petals. Her voice was as soft as a sigh, yet every word was clear, carrying the weight of years. "We gave up our lives, gave up our hatred, and in the end, we could not even keep our ancestors' surname..." It was as if she were not speaking to Shuji, but whispering to the courtyard and to those names lost in the dust of history. "Lord Hashirama, Lord Tobirama... For the village, what is left of our clan...?"

The whisper gradually became nearly inaudible muttering and dispersed into the deepening dusk of the courtyard, leaving behind a heavy, lingering melancholy. Like the cherry blossoms carpeting the ground, it silently spoke of past splendor and present decay.

(End of Chapter)