So Many Deep, Deep Routines

"Rock Lee, I'll take you home."

Houka said with a smile.

Hearing this, Rock Lee looked embarrassed. "Lord Houka, you..."

"Call me Uncle," Houka interrupted.

"Uncle Houka, do you know where my home is?" Rock Lee had been an orphan from a very young age. Although his parents had left him a house and some inheritance, he could not keep living off it forever. After a few years, his home had been stripped bare.

As for the village subsidy, it was only enough to cover his everyday food and drink.

"Of course I know." Houka patted his chest. He had long since had two Anbu investigate such a trivial matter.

"Sigh, I haven't visited you these past few years. You don't blame me, do you?" Houka sighed mournfully.

"Of course not." Rock Lee clenched his fists. "Uncle Houka, I absolutely never thought that!"

"Good, good. Rock Lee really is a good kid." Houka unleashed his ultimate technique: Head-patting.

Rock Lee stood there, grinning foolishly without stopping.

On the way back, Houka wagered nearly forty years of life experience from both his past and present lives, along with his own dignity, and somehow became the kind of "good uncle and nephew" who could talk about anything with six-year-old Rock Lee.

"Uncle Houka, we're here."

Rock Lee invited Houka inside. The embarrassment had vanished from his face, though he was still somewhat flustered, pouring Houka water one moment and offering him the little snacks he had the next. He was exceedingly hospitable.

"Rock Lee, come, sit down. Uncle has something to tell you," Houka said solemnly.

Rock Lee scampered over and sat in front of Houka, staring at him earnestly with his thick brows and big eyes.

Houka could barely take it. Those eyebrows, those eyes—they gave off the exact same impression