The setting sun cast a warm orange-red glow over Sunagakure's earthen-yellow buildings. After finishing his daily bout of relentless, grueling training, Shira didn't go straight home. Instead, he turned toward a somewhat noisy little street in the center of the village.
The air was filled with the mingled aromas of food and the vendors' somewhat weary calls. This was where his parents ran their snack shop.
The shop was small, with a simple sign hanging outside that read "Shira's Home." It was dinnertime, and customers sat in twos and threes inside, most of them familiar neighbors or passing Genin.
"I'm back." Shira lifted the curtain over the entrance and walked in.
The interior was cramped, with room for only four or five low tables. His mother was busy serving a steaming stew to a table of customers, while his father deftly kneaded dough behind the counter, preparing to make a common staple in Sunagakure-flatbread.
"Oh, Shira." His mother turned and saw him, a warm smile immediately appearing on her face. Though weary, it was utterly genuine. "Finished training? You must be hungry. Go wash your hands. There are some freshly baked flatbreads over there."
His father also looked up and smiled at him, beads of sweat covering his forehead. "How did it go today?"
"Hehe, not bad," Shira answered briefly. He put down his worn backpack, which held his simple training equipment, and went straight to the water jar in the backyard. Scooping out some water, he carefully washed the sweat and sand from his arms and face.
After washing his hands, he didn't go straight to eat. Instead, he went over to his father. "Dad, let me knead the dough. You take a break."
His father paused and looked at his son's arms, which were already showing firm lines of muscle despite his young age. "You've been training all day," he said hesitantly. "You must be tired."
"It's fine. Kneading dough exercises my arms, too." Shira took the dough without waiting for an answer. He was far stronger than an ordinary child now, so kneading was easier and more efficient for him than it was for his father.
His father watched his son's focused, forceful movements, a hint of gratification and a barely perceptible ache of sympathy flashing in his eyes. He wiped away his sweat and turned to tend the fire.
As Shira kneaded, he observed the shop. There weren't many customers, but his parents were rushed off their feet.
The shop mainly sold traditional foods from the Land of Wind: various stews, flatbreads, dried meat, and noodle dishes. They tasted good, but lacked anything distinctive.
In his previous life, he had been a young man living alone. Though he wasn't much of a chef, he had learned to make a few simple but delicious home-cooked dishes.
Looking at the shop's limited ingredients-mostly root vegetables and beans that could be stored in the desert, along with a little meat and flour-an idea began to form in his mind.
When there were a few fewer customers, Shira went over to his mother, who was wiping down a table, and spoke in a low voice. "Mom, a few days ago at Lady Chiyo's, I saw some spices brought in by merchants from outside. They smelled really good. I traded some of my savings for a little. Tomorrow, I want to see if I can make a different kind of filling for the flatbreads. Can I?"
He told a small lie, attributing the spices to Chiyo and the outside merchants. It was the most reasonable explanation.
His mother looked at him in surprise. "Spices? You know how to use those?"
"I just wanted to try." Shira scratched his head and gave a slightly embarrassed smile befitting his age. "It should taste good."
His mother looked at her son's shining eyes and couldn't bear to refuse. She smiled and nodded. "All right. We only have a few kinds of fillings anyway, and the neighbors are probably getting tired of them. If you want to try, go ahead. I'll get whatever you need ready for you."
The next day, after finishing his training, Shira made a point of arriving at the shop early.
Drawing on his memories, he experimented with the ingredients on hand. There was no oven, so he used the existing baking stove.
He didn't have many seasonings, so he cleverly used the tiny amount of spices resembling cumin and chili powder that he had obtained through Chiyo, along with a local dried sour fruit.
He tried mixing softened beans with chopped dried meat and adding spices to make a savory filling. He also mixed mashed sweet potato with dried sour fruit, attempting to make a sweet pie.
The process didn't go smoothly. He couldn't control the heat properly, the proportions of the fillings were off, and he burned several batches. His parents watched him bustling about in the kitchen, at times rather clumsily, and merely smiled indulgently without stopping him.
At last, after repeated failures and adjustments, a batch of flatbreads filled with spices, minced meat, and diced vegetables came out of the stove.
The crusts were golden and crisp, and a rich, tempting aroma, unlike the monotonous smell of their usual flatbreads, filled the little shop.
"What's that smell? It smells wonderful!" A regular who had just come in sniffed the air and asked.
His mother watched in surprise as Shira brought out the oddly shaped but fragrant pies. Without thinking, she handed one to the customer. "My boy was just messing around. Would you like to try one?"
The customer took a skeptical bite, and his eyes immediately lit up. "Wow, this is delicious! I've never tasted anything like it. It's spicy and so fragrant! Are you going to sell these, ma'am?"
His parents both stared, then looked at Shira in surprise.
Shira was a little surprised himself. He hadn't expected such immediate praise on his first attempt. He said modestly, "There are still a lot of things I need to improve..."
That evening, after the shop closed, the family sat together and ate Shira's improved "otherworldly" pies.
His father chewed carefully and nodded. "The taste really is different. It's very appetizing. The spices go well together."
His mother looked at Shira with sympathy. "It's just too much work for you. Training is so tiring, and you still come to the shop to help and think up things like this."
Shira shook his head. "It's no trouble. I'm happy I can help the family." He meant it. Having had no family in his previous life and having died suddenly in an accident, he cherished this family's warmth all the more.
Being able to do something for this poor but loving family and seeing the delighted smiles on his parents' faces gave him a greater sense of accomplishment than completing a high-intensity training session.
Besides, he had a vague feeling that this might be a small way forward. It could not only improve the family's business, but perhaps also subtly change a few things through food.
From then on, novel "limited special" pies and snacks occasionally appeared at Shira's Home. Though they might not have looked as neat as the traditional foods, their distinctive flavors soon attracted a number of little food lovers and curious ninja, adding a touch of vitality to the ordinary little shop.
And Shira, between bouts of grueling Taijutsu training, found another way to give back to the world and family that had accepted him.
Amid the haze and bustle of everyday life, he seemed to have found another connection between himself and this world.