Will You Cook for Me Every Day After That?

Konoha Hospital, at the end of the second-floor hallway.

Tsunade sat behind her desk, a pen in her hand and a stack of medical reports spread out before her.

She had read the same line three times, but not a single word had registered in her brain.

She set down her pen and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

It was the fourth day since they had departed.

A C-rank reconnaissance mission, estimated to take five to seven days; based on the distance, they should be back today at the earliest.

She flipped a page of the medical report, then flipped it back.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway.

They were hurried and chaotic, thumping against the floorboards as if the person were racing to grab the last bowl of ramen.

Before Tsunade could even frown, the door was shoved open.

Bang—

The door panel hit the wall and bounced back.

Nawaki stood in the doorway, his face flushed, his eyes shining so brightly they were practically glowing. His mouth opened, ready to speak—

Thud.

A sharp flick to the forehead landed squarely on his brow.

Tsunade had already reached him before he even realized it.

"This is a hospital."

Nawaki clutched his forehead and crouched down, hissing in pain.

Tsunade reached out to close the door, then turned and leaned against the panel, arms crossed over her chest.

She looked at her younger brother crouching on the floor.

He was back, alive and kicking.

The tension that had been coiled in her heart for four days finally loosened a notch.

"Get up and talk."

Nawaki sprang up, rubbing his forehead, his excitement impossible to suppress.

"Sis! You won't believe—"

"Keep it down."

Nawaki lowered his voice to three times the normal volume.

"That wasn't a C-rank mission at all! The place was rigged with Chain Explosive Tags! And there was a Sunagakure ambush! Eight of them!"

Tsunade's expression didn't change, but the fingers crossed over her chest tightened by half an inch.

"Eight Sunagakure ninja, led by two jonin, surrounded us!"

Nawaki gestured wildly, dancing with excitement, "And then Master—Sis, you didn't see it, Master just stood there, and with one Chidori Sharp Spear, he pierced one of them! The rest couldn't even hold their formation. In five minutes, start to finish, he took them all out!"

He finished in one breath, gasped twice, and then leaned in close.

"But! At the critical moment—"

Nawaki patted his own chest and lifted his chin.

"A Sunagakure ninja tried to sneak up on Master from behind, the kunai was already at his neck—and I blocked it with a shuriken."

Tsunade looked at him.

"Did you hit your mark?"

Nawaki's bravado deflated an inch.

"...I was off by a little."

"How much?"

"I just grazed the hilt of the kunai, made it veer off by three inches."

"So you missed."

"But it was useful! Master even said it himself—'It was off, but it was useful'! His exact words!"

The corner of Tsunade's mouth curled up.

"Fine. I'll count that as useful."

Nawaki tilted his head back triumphantly.

Tsunade turned and walked back to her desk, sat down, and picked up her pen.

"Alright, go home and take a bath. You smell like dirt."

"Oh."

Nawaki walked to the door, pulled it open, then looked back.

"Sis."

"Yeah?"

"Master was right. That field of explosive tags... if I hadn't spotted them—"

He paused.

"If the team leader hadn't been Master—"

Tsunade's pen tip stopped on the paper, the ink bleeding into a small dot.

"I know," she said without looking up. "Go on home."

Nawaki glanced at her, decided not to say anything else, and left, closing the door behind him.

The office fell silent.

Tsunade set down her pen, leaned back in her chair, and stared up at the ceiling.

Chain Explosive Tags, Sunagakure ambush, eight people.

A four-man squad, three of them genin.

If the team leader had been the jonin originally assigned—

She closed her eyes.

The dream she had been having repeatedly over the past few days surfaced again.

The sound of explosions, legs that couldn't run, hands that couldn't reach.

So, it hadn't been for nothing.

Tsunade opened her eyes and looked down at the desk.

The ink dot from her pen had already dried.

She tore off the page, crumpled it into a ball, threw it in the trash, and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper.

Night fell.

Kitahara Kaede tossed his ninja tool pouch into the entryway.

The mission debriefing had taken over an hour; Hiruzen had remained silent for a long time after listening, eventually reclassifying the mission.

He was too tired to move, but he couldn't go without washing off the dirt and sweat.

He tugged off his shirt and headed toward the bathroom, his hand just touching the door—

A knock sounded.

Kitahara Kaede glanced toward the front door.

At this hour, with that kind of knock.

He looked down at himself.

His shirt was off, but his pants were still on—a slight improvement over last time.

He couldn't be bothered to fuss; he was decent enough to be seen.

He twisted the door open.

Tsunade stood outside.

She was carrying two bags of groceries, her hair loose, and she had changed into a clean, dark-colored short-sleeved shirt.

Her gaze landed on him—his bare upper body, the line of his shoulders, his chest, and the contours of his abs rising and falling with his breath.

This time, she didn't cover her face.

But her gaze lingered significantly longer than it had the last time.

"Not wearing clothes again."

"I said it last time, this is my house," Kitahara Kaede stepped aside.

Tsunade walked past him, kicked off her high-heeled sandals in the entryway, stepped onto the floor with bare feet, and headed straight for the kitchen.

"I'm cooking."

"What's the occasion?"

"No occasion," Tsunade didn't look back, already flipping through the cutting board, "Nawaki finished his first mission successfully, can't I celebrate?"

Back at his own home, Nawaki sneezed. Who's thinking about me?

Kitahara Kaede watched her nimbly tie on an apron.

Entering, taking off her shoes, cooking.

The sequence of movements was fluid and practiced, as if she were perfectly at home.

He turned to go take a shower.

The sound of water began to run.

Tsunade arranged the vegetables on the cutting board and started the oil in the pan.

She tossed the vegetables in, a hiss erupting as the cooking fumes rose.

She stirred the food in the pan, her ears pricked.

Separated by a wall, the sound of water splashed loudly.

One was cooking, the other was showering.

The spatula paused for a moment.

She stared at the tumbling vegetables in the pan for two seconds.

She turned the heat up a notch.

Half an hour later.

"Are you done yet? The food is getting cold!" Tsunade shouted toward the inside.

Kitahara Kaede emerged from the room, having changed into clean clothes, his hair still slightly damp.

The table was set with four dishes and a soup, with two sets of bowls and chopsticks laid out.

"Making such a feast?"

"I had nothing better to do."

Tsunade was already seated, pulling the stopper from a bottle of sake. She filled both cups and pushed one toward him.

"Nawaki told me."

Kitahara Kaede picked up his cup: "What did he say?"

"He said you took out eight Sunagakure ninja in five minutes. And that he saved your life at a critical moment."

"His shuriken missed."

"I know."

Tsunade took a sip of sake.

"But he came back alive."

Silence stretched for a few seconds.

Tsunade kept her head down, her finger tracing the rim of her cup.

"That explosive tag array... if you hadn't been there—"

"I was there."

"I know."

She looked up.

"That's why I came."

Kitahara Kaede saw the tension that had been coiled in her eyes for days finally dissipate in that moment.

"Eat," he said, raising his cup, "it won't taste good if it gets cold."

Tsunade rolled her eyes at him and shoved a mouthful of food into her mouth with her chopsticks.

Three cups of sake later, the conversation began to flow.

They talked about Nawaki—how he had polished his forehead protector three times before leaving, how he had almost forgotten his Military Ration Pill, and how he hadn't even noticed a scrape on his leg when he returned.

As she spoke, Tsunade began to laugh to herself.

After laughing, she downed another cup of sake, the rims of her eyes turning slightly red.

"Kaede."

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

Kitahara Kaede was about to say it wasn't necessary.

Tsunade reached out and pressed her hand against the back of his.

"Take this thank you."

Kitahara Kaede paused.

Tsunade let go, picked up her cup, and downed it in one gulp.

By the time the second bottle of sake hit the bottom, her speech had begun to slur.

Her face was flushed, and she rested her chin on her hand, tilting her head to look at him, her eyes hazy.

"Kaede."

"Yeah."

"Tell me the truth."

"Speak."

"Is my cooking good or not?"

Kitahara Kaede glanced at the plates on the table; most of the food had already been swept away.

"The dishes don't lie."

Tsunade huffed, clearly unsatisfied.

"I'm asking you."

"It's good."

The corners of Tsunade's mouth curled up, then she forced them back down.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then..."

Tsunade swirled her glass, the liquor tracing a half-circle against the glass wall.

She seemed to want to say something, but swallowed it back down.

Kitahara Kaede looked at her and suddenly smiled.

"Then will you cook for me every day from now on?"

His tone was as casual as if he were remarking that the weather would be nice tomorrow.

Tsunade's hand paused.

The wine in her glass nearly spilled out.

She jerked her head up.

From her earlobes down to her neck, a flush of red burned across her skin in an instant.

Kitahara Kaede held his own glass and took a slow sip.

His expression was relaxed, as if he hadn't been the one who just said that.

Tsunade glared at him.

He didn't look away, meeting her gaze with a hint of a smile in his eyes.

Tsunade's lips moved.

She wanted to say "keep dreaming," wanted to say "you're drunk," wanted to say "who would ever cook for you."

Her mouth moved faster than her brain.

"...Okay."

One word.

The sound was barely louder than a mosquito.

After saying it, she was the first to be stunned.

The air went quiet for two seconds.

Tsunade slammed her glass onto the table and stood up.

"I'm drunk, talking nonsense."

She braced herself against the table, her body swaying slightly.

Kitahara Kaede rose to steady her arm.

"You said it yourself."

"I didn't—"

"I heard it."

"Then there's something wrong with your ears."

Her mouth was so stubborn, yet her ears were so red.

Tsunade shook off his hand and took two steps, but her heel caught, and she tipped to the side.

Kitahara Kaede caught her by the waist with one arm.

Tsunade's face pressed into the hollow of his shoulder, the heat burning from her cheekbones all the way to her ears.

She went to push him away, but her hand rested against his chest without any strength.

"Let go."

"If I let go, you'll fall to the floor."

Tsunade didn't make a sound.

After a few seconds, she muttered something under her breath.

"...Bastard."

Kitahara Kaede didn't let go.

"You said 'okay'."

Tsunade buried her face deeper into his shoulder.

She didn't refute it this time, but her shoulders were trembling.

Kitahara Kaede could feel it.

The hand pressed against his chest tightened slightly.

He didn't speak again.

One hand held her waist firmly, while the other reached up to pat the back of her head gently.

Just like soothing a child.

Tsunade muffled a second "bastard" into his shoulder.

The sound was even softer than the first.