Gojo Satoru reached up and yanked the shuriken out of his head, blood trickling down through his cropped hair.
"It just looks scary. See? I'm perfectly fine, aren't I?"
Sasuke stared at the bleeding cuts, his face dark as thunder.
"Father and our eldest brother went too easy on you yesterday. That's why you still have the energy to joke around today."
"I'll be telling them every last detail of your heroic exploits."
"Huh?"
"Little Sasuke, nobody's going to like you if you act like that."
"Did aliens swap out my sweet little brother?"
"When did you get so ruthless?"
Gojo Satoru stretched lazily, spouting whatever nonsense came to mind.
"You idiot, behave yourself!" Sasuke shouted through gritted teeth.
He turned and dashed into the house, returning with the first-aid kit in the blink of an eye.
"Squat down." Sasuke held the kit, his little face rigid with anger.
Gojo Satoru obediently squatted without a word.
He didn't hesitate for even a second.
He was the older brother, after all.
A good older brother had to be that accommodating.
Gojo Satoru felt rather pleased with himself.
Sasuke fumbled as he sprinkled medicinal powder over the wounds. For a child barely three years old, it really was a difficult job.
"You stupid second brother, can't you feel how much you're bleeding?" Sasuke's hair practically stood on end. He was both helpless and furious.
"Haha, what kind of crazy talk is that?"
"Your second brother is way too awesome to bleed that easily!"
"I was just messing with you!"
"It's tomato juice. From those little tomatoes you love so much."
The white hair sticking up on Gojo Satoru's head bobbed as he stubbornly refused to admit anything.
As long as I refuse to own up, nobody can pin the truth on me.
"Ow! That hurts!" Gojo Satoru howled.
Sasuke gave the bandage a vicious tug and let out a cold little laugh.
"Tomato juice can feel pain too?"
"Is your skull full of tomato juice, second brother?"
"Huh? How could it be tomato juice?"
"I hate that stuff. It's sour and astringent, without the slightest bit of sweetness."
"Even if we're ranking things, it'd have to be on the level of Three-Color Dango, right?"
"How could tomatoes possibly measure up to this handsome face?"
"The sugar content has to be tripled. Not a speck less will do."
Gojo Satoru kept talking nonsense, occasionally scrunching his face up like the pleats of a steamed bun.
"Only the tomatoes you grow are sour and astringent."
Those words reminded Sasuke of something that had happened before.
Once, Father had brought home three tomato seedlings and given one to each of them. He said seedlings weren't so different from people: they needed proper care, and with enough water and good soil, they would grow with all their might and eventually bear clusters of sweet fruit.
Father hoped they would grow just like the little seedlings in their hands, free of illness and misfortune.
So all three brothers had tended their seedlings carefully.
Even their second brother had gone to water his every few days.
Yet somehow, although his seedling grew stronger than either of theirs, the fruit it bore was sour enough to set their teeth on edge.
It had forced him to use ninjutsu to secretly graft the fruit from his eldest brother's plant and his own onto his second brother's seedling.
They still turned out bitter.
The corners of Sasuke's mouth lifted, and he pressed the bandage knot firmly into place.
"Back to full health!" Gojo Satoru pushed against his knees and sprang upright again.
"Second brother, what are you planning to get up to now?"
Sasuke glared at the fellow who had started fidgeting again the moment he stood up.
"Practice with shuriken, of course."
Gojo Satoru's expression was unusually serious as he answered.
He really wasn't being careless about practicing with shuriken.
He needed to graduate from the academy and get out as soon as possible.
It wasn't just because he couldn't stand the academy's rules.
More importantly, he could count the time he had left on his fingers.
Itachi was already eight, and the night of the clan massacre was drawing closer and closer.
He couldn't waste all his days in a classroom.
He needed to free up time to make plans and put certain things in place.
The time he spent skipping class and fooling around wasn't really spent playing.
With a five-year-old's body, there were plenty of things he couldn't do, but it was perfect for gathering information.
Given the current situation, the only option was...
Gojo Satoru picked up the shuriken from the ground, the light in his eyes dimming.
He had never been joking when he said he was practicing with shuriken.
Whoosh!
The shuriken vanished cleanly from his palm.
Before you continue