The Last Spring

Spring came quickly to the Hidden Leaf Village.

Just the week before, tiny flower buds could still be seen on the cherry branches, wrapped tightly like little clenched fists. This week, walking down the same road, the blossoms had already fully opened, and a curtain of pink and white flowers covered the sky above the entire street.

When the wind blew, petals fell.

They covered the ground, landing on pedestrians' shoulders, hair, and shoes. Some reached out to catch them, some lowered their heads and hurried past, while others stopped to take out their cameras and snap pictures.

Shuo Ye walked to school with cherry blossoms overhead and petals beneath his feet.

He thought of his previous life.

At this time in his previous life—if measured by Earth's calendar—he should have been in the university library preparing for midterms. There had also been a cherry tree outside the library, blooming full every spring. Its petals would drift through the reading room windows on the third floor and settle atop open textbooks and notebooks.

What had he been memorizing back then?

Modern world history. The chapter on the Meiji Restoration. He still remembered that flowchart—the Black Ship Arrival, Revere the Emperor, Expel the Barbarians, Restoration of Imperial Rule, Abolition of Domains and Establishment of Prefectures. One line followed another, each link tightly connected.

His life now was also a line. A line leading toward the clan's destruction.

When he reached the school gates, a cherry blossom landed on his shoulder. He raised a hand and brushed it away.

During the lunch break, Naruto lay sprawled over his desk, using crayons to draw ramen bowls in the blank space of his notebook.

The drawing was very abstract. A crooked semicircle filled with countless wavy lines for noodles, with a large patch colored red beside it—probably chashu.

"What are you drawing?" Shuo Ye sat down beside him.

"Ramen." Naruto did not look up. "Want to go eat some tonight?"

"Who eats ramen at night?"

"I eat it every night."

Shuo Ye did not answer. He remembered something—what Naruto ate every night was not ramen, but instant rice balls from convenience stores and expired discount bento boxes. Ichiraku Ramen was a once-a-week luxury for him.

"Let's go after school," Shuo Ye said. "My treat."

Naruto stopped drawing.

He turned to look at Shuo Ye, his blue eyes filled with direct, completely unguarded surprise.

"You're treating?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"You handed in my taijutsu training report yesterday. I haven't thanked you yet."

Naruto opened his mouth, then abruptly turned away again.

"I-I wasn't specifically helping you hand it in! I just happened to pass by Iruka-sensei's office!"

"Yeah," Shuo Ye said. "Just happened to."

The tips of Naruto's ears turned red.

After afternoon classes ended, the two of them headed toward the village center together.

Ichiraku Ramen stood on the Hidden Leaf Village's main street, about a fifteen-minute walk from the ninja academy. The shop was small, with the two characters for "Ichiraku" written on its orange curtain, swaying back and forth in the wind.

When Shuo Ye pulled open the door, the iron bell rang.

"Welcome!" Uncle Ichiraku's voice came from the kitchen. "Oh—it's Naruto and... the Uchiha Clan kid?"

"His name is Shuo Ye." Naruto had already climbed onto a stool in front of the counter. "Two bowls of ramen! Extra-large! Double chashu!"

"You said I was treating." Shuo Ye sat beside him. "So you order such a huge portion?"

"You said you were treating!"

Uncle Ichiraku chuckled in the kitchen.

Shuo Ye looked at Naruto's profile. Naruto sat on the stool with both legs dangling in the air, unable to reach the floor, swinging back and forth. His orange clothes looked especially bright under the counter lights, like a tiny flame that would not be blown out.

The ramen arrived.

Two bowls. Naruto's was piled high with thick slices of chashu, draped over the rim and nearly burying the noodles. Shuo Ye's was a standard serving, with three slices of chashu neatly arranged over the noodles.

Naruto pressed his palms together. "Thanks for the meal," he said, then immediately picked up a huge bundle of noodles and slurped them into his mouth.

Shuo Ye picked up his chopsticks and lifted the three slices of chashu from his own bowl.

He put all three slices into Naruto's bowl.

Three pink slices of chashu suddenly appeared atop the noodles. Naruto looked down at them, his chopsticks frozen in midair.

"...Are you sick?"

"Shut up," Shuo Ye said. "Eat."

"A normal person wouldn't give away all his chashu."

"I don't eat chashu."

"You ate four slices of chashu in your school lunch last month."

"I don't feel like eating it today."

Naruto stared at him for five seconds.

Then he lowered his head and pushed those three slices of chashu onto the noodles, pressing them down with his chopsticks so they sat steadily on the surface of the broth.

He did not say thank you.

But Shuo Ye saw Naruto close his eyes slightly when he took his first bite of noodles.

It was the faint closing of his eyes that came with relaxation, after confirming that everything in front of him was real.

Uncle Ichiraku stir-fried side dishes in the kitchen, the wok and spatula clanging together. The small bulbs hanging above the counter shone down on the two bowls of ramen. A thin layer of oil floated on the broth, reflecting the light like two tiny moons.

"Shuo Ye."

"Yeah?"

"Treat me to ramen every day from now on."

"In your dreams."

"Cheapskate!"

"Didn't you just say thank you?"

"I didn't! You heard wrong!"

Shuo Ye lowered his head and took a sip of broth.

The soup was hot, rich with miso, and perfectly seasoned.

He thought that this must be the last calm before the storm.

It was not as though there were no signs of the coming storm. The atmosphere in the clan grew heavier by the day, his father returned later each night, and his mother had begun storing emergency medicine in the living room drawers—she thought Shuo Ye had not noticed, but he had.

Everything was moving in that direction.

But at this moment, he sat before the counter at Ichiraku Ramen, with Naruto beside him, his mouth stuffed full of noodles and cheeks puffed out like a hamster's. The lights were warm, the soup was hot, and cherry blossoms still fell beyond the window.

He wished this moment could last a little longer.

Just a little longer.

By the time they left the ramen shop, the sky was nearly dark.

Naruto let out a satisfied burp, clutching his stomach as he walked ahead.

"Let's come again tomorrow," Naruto said, looking back.

"Your treat."

"Your treat!"

"Your treat."

"You two brats—" Uncle Ichiraku's voice called from inside the shop. "Come tomorrow, and I'll give you a discount."

Naruto smiled.

It was the first time Shuo Ye had seen Naruto smile.

Not the goofy grin he wore while causing trouble in class, nor the careless expression he put on after getting caught in a prank. It was a real smile. The corners of his mouth curved up, his eyes bent into crescent moons, and his whole face lit up.

Shuo Ye stood where he was, watching Naruto's retreating figure disappear into the darkness.

The orange clothes gradually became a small, blurry patch of light in the twilight.

He lowered his head and looked at the cherry blossom petals on the ground.

They had been trampled into dark brown stains, pressed against the earth like some kind of mark.

The storm was coming.

And he could not change anything.

At least, not yet.

Shuo Ye walked home, his steps slower than usual.

The cherry blossoms were still falling. The streetlights had already come on, their orange glow shining on the petals and making them look as though they had been covered in a thin layer of gold leaf.

He slipped his hands into his pockets and touched the small dark-blue cloth pouch.

Bellflower seeds.

He had watered them for three days straight, yet there was still no movement in the soil of the flowerpot. Uncle Ichiraku had said at the shop that bellflower seeds took two to three weeks to sprout. If the temperature and sunlight were sufficient, perhaps they would be faster.

He hoped they would sprout soon.

Not because he was eager to see the flowers bloom. It was because if they bloomed before the coup, at least it would prove that—some things could not be completely washed away by blood.

When he reached the entrance to the Uchiha Clan District, he paused.

Two ANBU members stood in the open space beneath the stone torii. They wore standard ANBU gear, their masks concealing their faces, their bodies standing perfectly straight, utterly out of place against the surrounding scenery.

There had not been ANBU here before.

They had appeared half a month ago.

They were not here to monitor the Uchiha Clan's movements—that description was inaccurate. They were here to "maintain order," at least according to the documents. But in reality, every person entering or leaving the Uchiha Clan District was examined by those two pairs of eyes hidden behind masks.

Shuo Ye walked past them.

One of the ANBU members tilted his head slightly. It was a very subtle movement, but Shuo Ye felt it—the other person was watching him through the eyeholes of that mask.

He did not look back and continued onward.

There were half as many streetlights inside the clan district as outside. A batch of bulbs had been reported for repairs last month, and the village said procurement would take time. They had still not been replaced.

As the darkness increased, so did the darkness in people's hearts.

When he got home, the living room lights were on.

Sasuke was sprawled over the low table doing homework, his pencil scratching softly over the paper. The tip of his tongue poked out slightly as he bit his lower lip, his whole body curled up like a kitten unwilling to relax.

"You're back," Ayano said, peeking out from the kitchen. "Dinner will be ready soon."

"Yeah."

Shuo Ye walked over to Sasuke and glanced down at his workbook.

It was kanji practice. Sasuke's characters were large, every stroke written with force, and indentations from the pencil tip could be seen on the page.

"You wrote this character wrong," Shuo Ye said, pointing at one of them.

"What did I write wrong?!"

"The third stroke in the character for 'spring' is a left-falling stroke. You wrote a right-falling one."

Sasuke lowered his head to look, then covered his workbook.

"Go away! I can fix it myself!"

"Let me check it when you're done."

"No!"

Sasuke vigorously erased the character for "spring," scattering eraser crumbs all over the table. He wrote it again, changing the third stroke to a left-falling one, but he pressed too hard and poked a hole in the paper.

"...Forget it," Shuo Ye said. "That's fine."

"You just said I wrote it wrong!"

"I said forget it."

Sasuke looked up at him.

Then, suddenly, he reached out and tugged on Shuo Ye's sleeve.

"Brother, where did you go today?"

"School. Then Ichiraku Ramen."

"By yourself?"

"With Naruto."

Sasuke pursed his lips.

"That blond-haired guy? He was making a racket in class again."

"You're not much better."

"I am too!"

Sasuke lowered his head and continued his homework, but muttered something under his breath that could not be heard clearly.

Shuo Ye sat beside him, watching the top of Sasuke's head.

His black hair was soft, just like their father's. Everyone in the Uchiha Clan had black hair, with only a very few exceptions—like Itachi, whose hair looked slightly brown under certain light.

Shuo Ye suddenly thought of something.

What would Sasuke see on the night of the clan massacre?

He would see the bodies of clan members all across the street. He would run to the Naka River and see his parents'—

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Don't think about it.

"Brother, why did you close your eyes?"

"Dust got in them."

"You're clearly indoors."

"Artificial dust."

"You're lying."

Ayano came out of the kitchen carrying dishes. Seeing the two brothers bickering, she smiled.

That smile was still gentle, as thin as paper.

But Shuo Ye noticed this time—there was a faint, nearly invisible trace at the corner of her eye. Not a wrinkle. A mark left by tears.

Mother had cried today.

While he was at school.

Shuo Ye lowered his head and picked up his chopsticks.

The scent of miso soup drifted over, just as it always did.

But today, the soup tasted a little salty.