Chương 8: The Way Home and the Roots

The dango in Koizumi Town was far better from Konoha's. The texture was noticeably rough, and the sweetness was far too cloying. Shuji reluctantly ordered a bowl of ramen to wash away the sticky aftertaste. The local ramen, however, was decent. While it lacked the legendary status of Konoha's Ichiraku, the abundance of local pastureland meant the broth was rich and the pork slices tender. The only real flaw was that the noodles lacked bite.

As Shuji gave his critique, Itachi chewed his dango in quiet silence, listening attentively. He had no need for ramen to balance the flavor, and while Shuji devoured his meal, Itachi remained focused on drafting their mission report. Shuji had taken the lead on the mission, so the payout was split sixty-fourty, sixty percent for Shuji, forty for Itachi. Because of this, Itachi had no complaints about handling the paperwork.

Even without the larger cut, his instincts as a shinobi would never let him shirk the responsibility. Shuji, on the other hand, was... different. Itachi lacked a word for someone who just wanted a normal, comfortable life, but he could clearly sense that this senpai was subtly different from typical shinobi.

"Senpai," Itachi said softly, looking up.

"Hmm?" Shuji lifted his face from the bowl, a drop of broth clinging to the corner of his mouth.

"To you, what is a shinobi?"

"A job," Shuji answered instantly. The dry response caught Itachi off guard. He had heard countless noble definitions of what it meant to be a shinobi, the protective blade of the village, the carrier of the Will of Fire, the foundation of peace... He had never heard someone put it so bluntly.

"I like good food, and I like enjoying life. Being a ninja is just how I earn a living." Shuji slurped another mouthful of noodles.

"What about you, Itachi?"

"Me?" Itachi hesitated. From the moment he was born, becoming a shinobi was an absolute certainty. He had walked a battlefield alongside his father at four, graduated from the Academy at seven, and as the prodigy of the Uchiha clan, he had never paused to ask himself why he had to be a ninja.

"Shinobi is just a profession. Strip that identity away, and who are you as a person? The Uchiha prodigy? The ninja the village places its hopes on?" Shuji set his chopsticks down, his gaze turning serious.

"What do you actually want? What do you look forward to?" Seeing Itachi fall into deep thought, Shuji softened his tone.

"There is no rush to find the answer. One day, you will reach your own conclusion. At the end of the day, a 'shinobi,' despite all the heavy meaning people stack onto it, is just one job among thousands."

"Sure you do not want a bowl of ramen?" Shuji asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

"No, thank you, Senpai." Itachi shook his head lightly, his dark hair swaying in the gentle breeze.

"It really is good," Shuji said, pointing his chopsticks toward his bowl.

"Dango alone is not going to fill you up."

"I am fine, really..." Itachi's voice remained steady, though a faint trace of hesitation flickered beneath it.

"Listen to me," Shuji explained.

"When you eat sweet things, you need something savory to balance it out. It is common sense."

"Senpai," Itachi finally looked up, with a rare stubbornness in his eyes.

"Sweet dango only requires a cup of green tea." It was the first time since the mission began that Itachi had directly disagreed with Shuji. Shuji felt a slight touch of regret, but a pleased smile crept onto his lips nonetheless. A faint smile appeared on Itachi's face as well. This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.... Officials from the Land of Rivers quickly confirmed that the bandits had been wiped out and broadcast the news.

With their task complete, Shuji and Itachi made their way back to Konoha. Submitting the standard mission report at the Hokage Residence was straightforward enough, but turning in the head of a Sunagakure rogue took a few extra steps. The final payout would be released once the Intelligence Division finished extracting information from the head. If they were lucky, the mission's extra pay might reach around one hundred and fifty thousand ryo; if the intel proved minor, it might only bump up to a hundred thousand.

As for Nobuya's item storage scroll, since the Land of Rivers contract did not mandate the recovery of stolen funds, the loot was theirs to keep. Shuji handed the unsealing process over to the village.

"Of course," Toki nodded, the Chunin handling registrations at the Hokage Residence.

"If the contents involve secrets from another village, Konoha will retain a portion for study or security, and you will be compensated accordingly. Taking that into account, we will waive the fee for the unsealing service."

"Thank you. How long will it take?"

"Come back in three days. By then, Intelligence should be finished searching the head as well." By the time all the administrative details were sorted, evening was setting in. Itachi said goodbye to Shuji. Enduring the harsh weather was part of the job while out in the field, but back in the village, even an eight-year-old prodigy had to be home in time for dinner. Shuji watched Itachi's small figure disappear around the street corner before turning toward the western outskirts of the village.

His destination was an old-style estate, built over fifty years ago. Located far from the village center, it had escaped the devastation of the Nine-Tails attack three years prior. Cherry blossom trees flanked the courtyard path. Their bloom was nearly over, and petals drifted lazily through the wind, resting briefly on Shuji's shoulder before sliding off.

"Grandma Touka, I am back." In the courtyard, an elderly woman sat upright in a deep brown kimono, her silver-white hair combed back with meticulous precision. Hearing Shuji's voice, she did not look up, giving only a slight nod.

"Is your body holding up?"

"Yes. I can control the power smoothly." Shuji raised his hand, and a warm, green glow began to swirl in his palm. A small green sprout uncurled and grew at a pace visible to the naked eye. Once, Shuji had been on the verge of death from severe injuries, beyond saving. When Konoha's medical ninja couldn't do much to save him, Grandma Touka had taken him from the hospital and injected the legendary cells of Hashirama into his failing body. The worst outcome was simply death.

With that single thought, the septuagenarian had performed the crude "surgery" inside this old estate. Calling it a surgery was generous, it was little more than injecting the cells, placing a powerful suppression seal over his body, and leaving the rest to fate. His body still remembered the sensation with agonizing clarity. the power was violent. Hashirama's cells acted like a mad beast, biting and consuming every inch of his body.

For a few terrifying moments, he had felt giant trees bursting into life inside him, roots clawing through his internal organs, branches rupturing his skin. Every inch of his body felt as if it were being repeatedly pierced by thousands of red-hot iron needles. His bones cracked sickeningly as they restructured, and his blood boiled within his veins. It was pure torture. Even now, just remembering it brought a dull pain from deep within his body.

"The Uchiha boy... they call him a prodigy. How is he?" Grandma Touka asked, her voice flat and unreadable.

"Just a kid," Shuji replied quietly, lowering his hand as the green glow and the sprout faded away together. At his response, the corner of Grandma Touka's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. She offered no further comment. Silence returned to the courtyard. She slowly rose to her feet, her movements carrying the quiet composure of age alongside an almost unnoticeable stiffness.

"If there are no issues..." Her gaze passed Shuji, settling on the falling blossoms in the yard. Her eyes looked distant and heavy, as if staring through the dust of decades.

"Live well from now on, Shuji." A soft breeze blew through, lifting a handful of withered petals. The old woman's voice became quiet, thick with a deep, lingering exhaustion and loneliness that had fermented over countless years.

"Our clan has already given far too much for Konoha." She paused, her eyes remaining fixed on the petals falling in silence. Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet every word carried a weight that cut through time.

"Giving up our lives, giving up our grudges... in the end, we could not even keep our ancestors' surname..." She seemed to be speaking not to Shuji, but to the quiet courtyard, to the names that had faded into the dust of history.

"Hashirama-sama... Tobirama-sama... for the sake of the village... what does our clan have left...?"