The sun was already high in the sky, nearing noon. Shuimu—who had barely slept the night before—was still catching up on rest. Physical fatigue could be managed, but mental exhaustion demanded something gentler: psychological peace.
Shuimu lay fast asleep when a knock roused him abruptly. Annoyed, he groggily pulled himself up, eyes half-lidded with fatigue, and opened the door.
"Who is it?" he asked, his tone sharp with impatience.
"It's me—Tsubaki," came a soft, familiar voice.
Recognizing her, Mizuki stepped aside to let Chie Tsubaki in. "Why are you here? Isn't it work time?"
"It's noon already, and I took the afternoon off," she replied, worry clouding her expression. "Mizuki... I heard you manipulated Iruka's students—Naruto Uzumaki, specifically—and even attacked Iruka. Is that true?"
"That news spread fast..." Mizuki muttered, glancing sideways.
"So it's true? Mizuki, were you arrested? Are you hurt?"
"Don't worry. I'm fine," he said casually, though deep down, he still worried about the consequences of his recent failure. Tsubaki's concern only complicated things.
"You're not planning to leave Konoha, are you?"
"Of course not. Don't overthink it—it's all in the past now." Mizuki forced a reassuring smile, gently brushing her hair back.
(He looks fine, Tsubaki thought, but that sleeveless flak vest feels so outdated. And that half-ponytail on such a narrow face—it doesn't help his look.)
"Is it really over?" she asked quietly.
"Would I lie to you?" he said with a smile. That much was true—he hadn't lied outright. But he certainly hadn't told her everything. Not about Orochimaru.
"I'll freshen up. Wait here," he said, heading to the washroom.
When Mizuki returned, he found the room tidied and Tsubaki waiting patiently.
"I'm starving. Let's grab a bite."
"Going out? That's wasteful. I'll cook something for you."
"There's nothing in the house. Come on, let's get ramen. I've been craving Ichiraku."
Mizuki had admired Ichiraku Ramen from afar for years. A humble ramen shop that had somehow become a mainstay of Konoha's culture—from Naruto's first day as a genin to the final moments of the Fourth Shinobi War. Mizuki had passed by countless times, but never stepped in. Today, curiosity—and nostalgia—got the better of him.
Besides, Mizuki wanted to get a look at the legendary duo: Teuchi, the ramen chef with unmatched presence, and Ayame, his daughter—neither of whom were shinobi, yet had stronger visibility in Konoha than he ever did. A twisted mix of historical curiosity and minor celebrity worship was brewing in him.
Truthfully, Mizuki had avoided Tsubaki after his release. Of all people, she could read him too well. But now, if he played it cool, the suspicion might fade with time.
At Ichiraku Ramen, Mizuki sat silently, head bowed over a bowl of pork bone ramen.
(Delicious. It actually lives up to the legend.)
Across the counter, Teuchi smiled warmly. "You're new, huh? Don't think I've seen you here before. First time at Ichiraku?"
"Uh... yeah."
"You dissatisfied with my cooking? I'll have you know my ramen recipe is a family treasure, passed down for generations! My daughter Ayame here's already inherited most of it. We don't pass it to just anyone—not sons-in-law, not even my own son! It's the pride of the Land of Fire!"
(Generations? You're not some Six Paths Ramen Sage, are you?) Mizuki twitched at the exaggeration.
"If what you're saying is true, then this 'secret' is going extinct with you. A shame," Mizuki quipped, pointing at Ayame with his chopsticks. She was cheerfully tending to customers.
"You don't believe me, huh?" Teuchi said, undeterred. "Well, let me tell you—"
Another monologue began. Mizuki's head spun.
"Uncle, your ramen really is excellent," he interrupted before another story began.
Teuchi beamed. "Knew you had taste! You're a good-looking guy too. Big fan of ramen. Say... want to marry my daughter? Ayame's single, smart, knows the secret recipe. You look like a keeper."
(Are you serious? Right in front of my fiancée?!) Mizuki internally screamed. He glanced at Tsubaki, who looked mortified.
"Uncle, check please!" Mizuki blurted, grabbing Tsubaki's hand and bolting.
Behind them, Teuchi and Ayame called out cheerfully, "Come back anytime!"
(Yeah right... that was a studio-switch kind of scene.)
Outside the ramen shop, Tsubaki asked gently, "Do you have anything planned? Iruka's at Konoha Hospital. Want to visit?"
"Sure," Mizuki answered, relieved to escape Teuchi's matchmaking madness.
"Tsubaki," he said, as they walked, "do you think I should change my hairstyle? The middle part... feels like a 'traitor's cut.' Not a great image."
She stiffened. "Do you think Ayame is prettier than me? Want to be her live-in husband now? You don't like me anymore?"
"What? No! Of course not!" Mizuki panicked. (God... even in another life, I'm still cursed with the single-dog aura.)
"Let's just... go see Iruka."
At Konoha Hospital, in a modest ward, Iruka stood by the window, basking in the spring sunlight. The warmth made him drowsy. He stretched, ready for a nap, when he heard a knock.
"Come in," he called, not bothering to turn.
The door opened. Tsubaki entered, carrying a bouquet of carnations.
"Xiao Chun? You were just here this morning—"
"I'm sorry, Iruka. Mizuki's actions… they affected more than just me."
Mizuki stepped in.
"It's you," Iruka said, surprised. "Are you alright?"
"Do I look like something happened to me?"
"That's not what I meant. I'm still confused. People say you manipulated Naruto and attacked me... but why? Just to take me down?"
Tsubaki stepped forward, guilt plain on her face. "I'm sorry, Iruka."
Mizuki gently held her back. "You look fine. That's all that matters." She didn't need to hear more.
"Where's that Nine-Tails kid? Didn't come visit you? Not feeling guilty for knocking you out?"
"You think Naruto did this to me?" Iruka snapped. "He just left. He's officially registering as a genin. Might be at the photo studio by now."
"Oh, is that so?" Mizuki glanced around the ward absently.
(This world's medical tech is weird... they can transplant Sharingan and clone Zetsus, but can't cure the common cold.)
"The ramen girl's family is looking for a son-in-law," Mizuki offered, smirking.
"Stop dodging the question," Iruka scowled. "You still haven't answered me. Why did you do all this?"
"Hey, Iruka, serious question: how's my hairstyle? Doesn't it feel a bit... off?"
"What does that have to do with anything? You jerk!"
Mizuki sighed. "Since you insist… I'll answer with great sincerity."
"To preserve the shinobi world, to uphold peace and true justice—nah, I'm kidding. None of that."
Iruka stared, speechless. Tsubaki looked away, unable to watch.
"You don't get it, Iruka. You've known me for years, yet you still don't know me."
"Then explain it! Why this way? Why involve Naruto? You could've told me!"
"Words are unreliable. Actions bring results. You'd never believe Naruto could beat you, right? But he did. Think about that."
"I get it now," Iruka said slowly. "But why put Naruto in danger? There had to be a better way."
"I wish you a quick recovery, Iruka. Come on, Tsubaki."
He turned to leave. Only the Sealed Book incident had spread. The other matter was still hidden. Good.
"But Mizuki—" she began, conflicted. She placed the flowers in a vase and followed him.
"Are we still friends, Mizuki?" Iruka called out.
Mizuki didn't answer. Tsubaki bowed in apology and followed him out.
"You've changed, Mizuki."
"For the better or worse?"
"I don't know. But... it's not the same anxious you."
"Sorry for worrying you, Tsubaki."
"It's okay... as long as you're still here."
She leaned into his arm. Mizuki looked down at her.
(Huh. I'm really the one doing the couple thing now?)
"I guess I don't have the skill for a proper 'Talk-no-Jutsu.' I just don't have the charisma. To survive in this world, power and influence are everything."
Villains in this world were saints with grand visions—Nagato, Madara, Obito. The competition for "savior" was fierce. Even Hashirama, the God of Shinobi, died trying.
(And Naruto? The true Child of Prophecy. Sasuke? He hijacked the plot and turned this into Legend of the Rinnegan.)
"No. If I want to live in this world, I need to build something real. Influence. Power. Something to call mine."
The road ahead would be dangerous—but Mizuki had made his choice.