Konoha, Uchiha Residence.
The morning sunlight seemed to have just been carefully adjusted with a premium filter by some hardworking god on the early shift. With just the right warmth and brightness, it spilled lazily through the half-open window onto the tatami, gilding even the tiny dust motes drifting through the air.
From the kitchen drifted the faint aroma of... well, something that could generously be called "food." Although it carried a trace of a heart-stopping burnt smell, to a certain silver-haired man with natural curls who had just finished an interstellar "vacation on the company dime" and incidentally experienced "Saiyan Bloodline initiation: starving until your stomach sticks to your spine," it was practically music to his ears.
Whoosh-
With a ripple in space so faint it was almost imperceptible, Shinichi appeared like a ghost in the middle of his bedroom.
His eternally unchanged, loose loungewear looked a little more "weather-beaten" than usual, with extra creases to prove it. After all that prolonged "high-speed travel," his natural silver curls had also abandoned all hope, stubbornly asserting their existence in a style that could only be called postmodern art.
"Tch, this damned Saiyan Bloodline. Its side effects are way too obvious." Shinichi clutched his stomach, which had already begun growling in protest, and muttered under his breath.
He was hungry. Very hungry. Hungry enough that he felt he could swallow an entire Tailed Beast-and one on the Nine-Tails' level, at that.
Following that "lethal" aroma, he staggered to the kitchen doorway and immediately spotted a lovely figure in an apron, frantically trying to salvage something from a frying pan that had already begun billowing black smoke.
"Yo, Tsunade, my darling wife. Are you developing some new strategic-grade smoke bomb? That thing's so powerful I could smell its... hmm, suffocating fragrance from