Chương 77: The Sweet Allure of Homecoming

The Hidden Leaf was bathed in the amber glow of dusk. In the Uzuki courtyard, the lamps were already burning bright as Sakura Uzuki and Hiroko Higashino prepared the evening feast. Their rhythmic chatter was punctuated by frequent, lighthearted laughter; the air between them was thick with a relief that only mothers of shinobi could truly understand. Though their husbands remained stationed on the Northern Front, the war with the Mist was won. Most importantly, their children were coming home.

The spread was lavish. Beyond the standard domestic fare, they had hauled out a specialized table for yakiniku, flanked by platters of marbled meat sliced with surgical precision. It was late August. Team Gekko had finally concluded their watch on the coast and had crossed the village threshold that afternoon. Given the distance from the Eastern Front, a shinobi's pace—even a leisurely one—allowed for a comfortable one-day journey home.

The original plan had been to dine at a local barbecue house, but with the massive influx of returning troops, the village's economy had surged overnight. Every reputable establishment was booked solid for weeks. Ultimately, the families agreed that a private garden party would offer a far more intimate atmosphere. Unlike the Higashinos, who lived in a modern apartment block, the Uzukis occupied a traditional estate complete with a central courtyard. Directly adjacent lived Yugao's uncle, Yoshimura Uzuki.

Yoshimura, a registered Chunin, was currently serving in the North. His wife had fallen on the Stone Front a month before the Battle of Kannabi Bridge, leaving behind their six-year-old son, Shige. Since then, Sakura had taken the boy under her wing. In the world of the shinobi, such tragedies were the tax of existence, and the Uzuki clan had paid their dues. The Higashinos had simply been exceptionally lucky in this campaign.

Small, boutique lineages like the Uzukis and the Gekkos were the backbone of the village—often indistinguishable from "civilians" in scale when compared to the gargantuan Uchiha or Hyuga clans. Had the Higashinos not suffered successive losses in the previous two Great Wars, they likely would have mirrored the Uzukis in size. For the common shinobi family, building a legacy was an uphill battle; a single skirmish could erase generations of effort.

Such was the "fate" of a ninja—a bitter pill that one either swallowed or choked upon. Around seven-thirty, the four members of the squad arrived. They had returned to the village earlier that day, but protocol demanded they first report to the Hokage Rock for debriefing.

"Mom!" The moment she stepped through the gate, Yugao Uzuki shed her persona as a cold-eyed kunai-wielder and threw herself into her mother's arms. At home, she wasn't a soldier; she was a young girl seeking warmth. It was a jarring dichotomy, but a necessary one. In this profession, those who failed to compartmentalize their lives often found their sanity fraying at the edges.

"Welcome home, my brave girl," Sakura murmured, stroking her daughter's hair. The shinobi world was a study in contradiction. Unlike the historical mercenaries of Zhen's previous life, these ninjas were bred on a diet of emotional suppression and absolute obedience—task-oriented machines fueled by the fusion of physical and spiritual energy. Yet, that spiritual energy was inextricably linked to emotion.

The deeper the feeling, the stronger the spirit, leading to either miraculous breakthroughs or obsessive descents into madness. To counteract the latter, the village emphasized "bonds"—the tethers of family and friendship. It led to the quintessential shinobi dilemma: if the mission and your comrade both fall into the river, whom do you save first? Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

"Mom, I'm back," Dongye Zhen said, offering a calm smile. Hiroko's eyes grew misty as she looked at her son.

"You've grown, Zhen. You look more like your old self... only more handsome." Sakura chuckled.

"He looks exactly like you, Hiroko! He's got your features through and through."

"That's for the best," Hiroko teased.

"It'll make finding a girlfriend easier. Although," she added, her tone shifting to playful gossip, "it might not be that much of a struggle. Our Zhen is a local hero now. There's a nurse at the hospital named Mai who's been asking after you quite a bit once she realized we shared a surname." Zhen raised an eyebrow.

"A nurse? I don't recall meeting a Mai at the clinic."

"She's a recent transfer. I heard her entire squad was wiped out on the Eastern Front. She returned to the village to retrain as a medical specialist."

"I see." Yugao's cheeks puffed out instantly.

"Hmph. She's years older than you, yet she's still snooping around? How shameless!"

"Oh? Is our little Yugao jealous?" The two mothers exchanged a look before erupting into a synchronized fit of "auntie-style" laughter. The atmosphere in the courtyard brightened, washing away the lingering shadows of the war. Not everyone was laughing, however.

"Hey! Are you really the Dongye Zhen from the stories?" A small figure stood before Zhen, looking up with a defiant scowl. It was Shige Uzuki, Yugao's cousin.

"The one who built a wall a hundred meters high and beat the Mist bad guys? You don't look all that tough to me." Zhen looked down at the boy and smirked.

"That's me. But the rumors are wrong—the wall wasn't a hundred meters. It was at least thirty thousand."

"Liar!" Shige huffed, crossing his arms.

"I knew the stories were fake. You're just a big talker. If I had been on the battlefield, I'd be the hero, not you!"

"Is that so? I look forward to seeing you surpass me then. Work hard," Zhen replied easily. He didn't bother arguing; he knew that hot-blooded brats like this only learned the truth once they stepped onto a real explosive tag.

"Shige, show some respect to our guest," Yugao barked, punctuating the command with a sharp knuckle-sandwich to her brother's crown. The boy immediately collapsed into a defensive crouch, clutching his head.

"Ow! Okay, okay! Stop hitting me, Sis! You're gonna make me stupid!" Well, Zhen thought, no need for explosive tags when big sister's fists do the job just as well. As the evening wound down, the warmth of the feast and the company of loved ones acted as a balm for Zhen's weary spirit. The grim, utilitarian edge he had sharpened on the battlefield began to soften. Happiness was a restorative force; it was the absence of it that drove men to tear the world down. The village felt different now.

As he walked home with Hiroko, the somber atmosphere of a village at war had been replaced by a chorus of joy. Laughter spilled from open windows, crowded izakayas, and bustling diners. The returning shinobi were celebrating their survival, their scars serving as medals and their experiences as currency for tavern tales. Heaven only knew what grotesque shape his own reputation would take after a few rounds of sake had done their work on the storytellers.

"Now," Hiroko sighed contentedly, "we just wait for the Northern Front to close. Once that's over, the war will truly be behind us, and I can finally stop worrying about you two every single day."

"It'll be over soon, Mom," Zhen reassured her. According to the original timeline, the conflict was set to wind down this year—at least for a while.

"Zhen, I wouldn't be surprised if the three of you are promoted to Chunin soon," Hiroko remarked.

"It's a much faster track than in my day. Though, of course, Kakashi Hatake still holds the record, so you won't stand out too much."

"We'll see. Our record and mission count are certainly sufficient, but it depends on the village's administrative whims." Zhen wasn't concerned with the record. No one was touching the "White-Haired Prodigy"—Kakashi had made Chunin at six. He was an outlier among outliers. In truth, promotion was simple once the power was there. While the Eastern Command didn't have the authority to grant ranks directly, their recommendations carried immense weight.

Their performance was meticulously documented; theoretically, they could bypass the Chunin Exams entirely through a field promotion. It was the jump to Jonin that required true scrutiny. Kakashi had reached that peak at twelve, a feat that was likely as much a political compensation for his father's suicide as it was a testament to his skill. For Zhen, the rank held little allure. He was a shinobi to experience the life, not to climb a ladder.

If anything, there was something far more terrifying about the title of "Genin"—in this world, the lowliest rank often belonged to the most world-shaking monsters. Losing that label almost felt like a waste. As for "Chunin"? That was just another face in the crowd.