Chapter 31: The Journey (Patreon)

The caravan rolled to a slow halt at the edge of a modest little farm nestled against the dry countryside like a stubborn weed in a crack of stone. A crooked wooden fence lined the perimeter, half-eaten by termites and time, while the main house stood squat and weathered, the white paint peeling in places like sunburnt skin. There were a few chickens pecking around in the yard, and a single cow that looked like it hadn't had a decent nap in weeks.

Before anyone could say anything, Hikaru leapt off the caravan like a bullet, kicking up a little cloud of dust in his wake. He bolted toward the house, not caring about his royal clothes or if the guards followed. Sasuke raised an eyebrow and muttered, “What’s the matter with him?”

Naruto, who hadn’t moved from his spot leaning against the side of the caravan, eyes half-lidded as usual and his robes fluttering just a little in the breeze, didn’t even bother turning his head. He had sensed it long before the house even appeared on the horizon. The way Hikaru's mood had shifted, the way his chakra pulsed just slightly different—sharper, more anxious—was enough. He knew.

“He’s going to his mother,” Naruto murmured, so casual you’d think he was commenting on the weather.

Sasuke glanced over. “You sure?”

Naruto just blinked, slow and deliberate, and said nothing more.

From the front porch of the house, a woman stepped out. She was tall, lean like a willow, and her features mirrored Hikaru’s a little too perfectly for it to be coincidence. Same sharp nose. Same eyes that looked like they always saw more than they let on. Her face softened the moment Hikaru threw himself into her arms.

“Mom!” Hikaru cried, and the way his voice cracked made Sakura freeze in place for a second.

She hugged him tightly, rocking him side to side as if trying to squeeze out all the hurt. Her hands went to his hair, stroking it down, whispering something no one else could hear. It wasn’t loud or dramatic or any kind of royal reunion. It was just… soft. Private.

Then, with less grace than a flying brick, Michiru stumbled down from the caravan, waving both arms with way too much excitement for someone who had clearly not been invited. “Sweetheart—!” he called out with an over-the-top grin, clearly expecting some heartfelt welcome.

The woman’s face turned from tender to ice in a split second. She narrowed her eyes, turned her head away with a short, sharp “Hmph!” and walked inside without even acknowledging him. Hikaru followed her in like a loyal puppy, not sparing a glance at his father.

There was silence.

Sakura blinked. “What… was that?”

Naruto, who had now dropped into a squat beside the cow and was absentmindedly scratching behind its ear like an old friend, spoke again without looking up. “He is not fit as a mate.”

Sakura’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me!?”

Kakashi coughed, his shoulders shaking. “Pffft—”

Before she could respond properly, Sakura smacked Naruto upside the head. Not hard. Just enough to make his hair flop forward into his eyes. Naruto barely reacted, just adjusted his grip on his staff and resumed petting the cow, which let out a groan of satisfaction.

Sasuke sighed, muttering something about morons under his breath.

Regardless of the awkward royal family drama playing out in front of them, the caravan parked outside the fence, and the guards busied themselves setting up a perimeter. The rest of Team Seven, curiosity winning over dignity, followed the royals into the house.

Inside, the air was warm and thick with the smell of something baking—maybe cornbread or sweet rolls—and the low murmur of an emotional reunion. The farmhouse was small, with handmade furniture and a creaky floor that had definitely seen better days. The windows were open to let in the breeze, and everything about the place felt like it had been frozen in time. Old, lived-in, and a little lonely.

Naruto paused just inside the doorway, taking in the home. The photos on the wall. The flowers arranged with careful precision. The pillows that didn’t match the couch but clearly meant something. This was a place where love had lived, even if not always peacefully.

Michiru stood awkwardly near the kitchen entrance, shifting from foot to foot as the woman—Hikaru’s mother, evidently—went about preparing tea without looking at him. She moved like someone who had long since stopped expecting help and learned to do everything herself.

“You look well,” Michiru tried.

She didn’t respond.

“You’ve done a great job with Hikaru,” he added.

Still no response.

Naruto leaned against the wall, yawning quietly. “Cringe.”

Sakura elbowed him again. “Stop saying that out loud.”

“She’s not talking to him,” Naruto said, as if that justified it. “Cringe.”

“Shut up,” Sasuke added, already bored.

Kakashi was the only one who didn’t seem uncomfortable. He was browsing a bookshelf like this was just another lazy afternoon. “Marital tension aside, we should confirm our route for the next leg of the journey,” he said, flipping through a local travel almanac. “There’s still some political unrest further east. We’ll have to go around the coast.”

Hikaru sat stiffly at the edge of the couch, his arms crossed. He looked uncomfortable in his own home, which struck Sakura as painfully sad.

Naruto wandered past him, brushing against his shoulder on the way to the kitchen. The saboteur of tension. The breaker of awkward silences.

Hikaru flinched. “What?”

“Your mom makes better tea than the palace cooks,” Naruto said.

“You haven’t tasted it.”

Naruto didn’t even look back. “I don’t need to.”

The woman finally glanced at him then, her gaze curious. “You can smell it?”

Naruto looked at her now, nodding once. “Tea leaves and cinnamon bark. Low boil. Gentle stir. You’ve done this a thousand times.”

She tilted her head. “You’ve got an odd way about you.”

“So I’ve been told. Dattebane.”

Sasuke, standing awkwardly in a corner near a potted plant, rolled his eyes. “You don’t even say that right.”

“It’s my catchphrase. I do what I want with it,” Naruto said, sliding into a seat at the table without asking permission.

Hikaru’s mom, after a pause, chuckled faintly. It was the first sound of amusement she’d made since they arrived.

“See? He’s charming,” Sakura said to the room like she was presenting a case.

“Eh,” Sasuke said.

“Cringe,” Naruto replied, pointing at Sasuke with his pinky finger.

Michiru sighed, rubbing his temples. “This trip is going to be the end of me.”

The woman turned to him sharply. “You should’ve thought of that before trying to rule a kingdom like it was your own toybox.”

Kakashi closed the book with a soft thud. “Well. There’s the tension.”

They spent the next hour there, eating fresh bread, drinking herbal tea, and letting Hikaru soak in the rare warmth of his mother’s presence. For all his spoiled brattiness, there was a vulnerability to him in this house. Something human. Something quiet.

Naruto didn’t say much after that. He just sat on the porch steps as the sun began to set, watching the chickens waddle past and the sky burn orange above the horizon. He looked like a statue—perfectly still except for the occasional blink.

Sakura joined him, wrapping her arms around her knees.

“You like it here?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Naruto said softly.

“Why?”

“It’s honest.”

She didn’t ask what that meant. She didn’t need to.

—ToT—

The evening air was thick with salt and the low creak of wooden planks shifting with every wave. The ship, a big old merchant vessel retrofitted to carry both pampered nobles and circus animals, cut through the waters like a fat man belly-sliding through a puddle. It wasn’t fast, it wasn’t graceful, but it was floating, and that’s all that mattered.

Well… that and the fact Naruto was missing again.

Except he wasn’t missing, exactly. He was just… somewhere odd, as usual. Kakashi had last seen him dragging his stuff and hopping into the massive cage that had been set up for the sabre-toothed tiger, now chained securely below deck. Everyone was too nervous to question it at this point. The tiger wasn’t just not killing Naruto—no, it was cuddling him like a giant, prehistoric cat pillow. The two of them were curled up together in a pile of warm fur and steady breathing. Naruto was half-buried in its mane, snoring softly, his robes rumpled and his face completely at peace.

“Should we… wake him?” Sakura had asked earlier, peering into the dim hold.

“No,” Kakashi replied instantly, not even looking up from his book. “I want to live.”

So, Team 7 let him sleep, while upstairs the ship buzzed with the sound of wind, waves, and noble complaints.

They’d left the little farmhouse behind that morning, with Hikaru’s mother’s cold shoulder lingering like a storm cloud over Michiru’s head. The prince had tried everything to win her over—sweet words, apologies, even trying to help with the dishes. But nothing worked. She had stood firm in her resentment, like the mountain she refused to leave. And honestly? Sakura respected the hell out of her. That woman didn’t need jewels or titles. She needed peace. And she knew damn well she wasn’t getting it from some royal buffoon who took their kid and disappeared across oceans.

So Michiru had walked back to the caravan with his head down and his son trailing behind, both of them quieter than usual. And from there, they had traveled to the nearest port town and boarded this huge ship heading for the Land of the Moon.

It was supposed to be a peaceful sail. It was not.

Michiru, as it turned out, was seasick. Horribly. Tragically. Embarrassingly. The man was laid out on a deck chair under an umbrella with cold towels stacked on his face, moaning like he was being cursed by a sea witch. Hikaru was doing his best to pretend he didn’t exist. Kakashi and Sakura were trying not to gag every time the prince heaved over the railing. Sasuke was brooding at the bow, letting the ocean mist splash his face in dramatic slow motion like he was filming an edgy commercial. And Naruto? Still passed out on his tiger pillow.

As night fell, the mood didn’t get any better. Dinner was prepared—grilled fish, seaweed rice, steamed dumplings. It smelled good, looked decent, and the servants worked hard to make it pleasant.

But Michiru… oh Michiru.

He slammed his chopsticks down and scowled. “This is too small. I want a bigger fish. A big, royal fish! This is peasant food!”

The crew froze. The servants stared. Sakura twitched.

“Oh no,” she muttered, massaging her temple.

“We’re on a ship,” Sasuke said dryly. “What do you want us to do? Harpoon a whale?”

Michiru flailed his hand dramatically. “Something! Anything! I can’t eat this pathetic little fish. It’s barely the size of my foot!”

“That’s generous,” Sakura mumbled.

Kakashi flipped a page in his book, eyes narrowing just a little. He was watching the horizon now.

Then, like some divine comedy had been timed perfectly, Naruto appeared from below deck.

Still sleepy, still barefoot, hair messy and sticking up all over the place. He rubbed his eyes, dragging his staff behind him, and let out a yawn that sounded like it had traveled through a thousand naps. He looked at the dinner table, the tension, the angry prince, and blinked slowly.

Then he turned his eyes toward the ocean, quiet and endless under the moonlight. “How big of a fish do you want?”

Michiru huffed, not even realizing who he was talking to. “The biggest!”

Naruto cocked his head, one eye half-shut. “Biggest?”

“Yes! Something massive! Something worth my royal appetite!”

The sea quieted.

Kakashi closed his book. “Naruto…”

Sakura stiffened. “Wait. Wait wait wait—what’s he doing?”

Sasuke immediately grabbed onto the railing, sensing something was about to go very wrong.

Naruto didn’t respond. He just walked to the edge of the ship, dragging his staff with a hollow thump-thump-thump. His gaze was focused, dreamy, like he was looking at something no one else could see.

The ocean began to ripple.

It started soft—like a subtle change in the rhythm of the waves. But within seconds, those ripples became pulses, then tremors. The boat rocked harder. Wind picked up. The crew shouted, scrambling to tie down anything not nailed in place.

And then…

The water exploded.

A fin—no, a wall of muscle and scale and shadow—rose from the depths like a god had slapped the sea from below. A monstrous, prehistoric fish with a mouth bigger than the boat leapt up into the air. Its body shimmered under the moonlight, fins slicing the sky, teeth glinting like swords. The thing roared—not a noise it should've made, but somehow it did—and the sound split the air like thunder. It soared over the ship in a massive arc, casting a shadow so wide that the moon itself disappeared for a heartbeat.

People screamed. Servants ducked. A couple of the guards fainted. Hikaru clung to the mast pole like a wet cat. Michiru fell backwards into his chair and screamed so high-pitched it broke something in Sakura’s soul.

The creature landed back into the sea with a titanic splash that nearly flipped the entire vessel. Waves crashed over the sides. Animals freaked out. Ropes snapped. A stack of cargo tumbled off into the water. Total chaos.

As the ship finally steadied and everyone was left panting, soaked, and wide-eyed with trauma, Naruto turned around casually, his hands folded behind his head.

He looked at Michiru, who was now curled up in a fetal position under the table.

“Do you want me to cook it for you, dattebane?”

Silence.

No one moved.

Michiru stared blankly ahead, his pupils tiny pinpoints of pure fear.

Naruto tilted his head. “No? I could steam it. Or roast it. Curry? Tempura? I can make sashimi if you want it raw—”

“No more fish!” Michiru shrieked, grabbing the hem of a servant’s robe like a lifeline. “I’ll eat the rice! I’ll eat the seaweed! I’ll eat the spoon! Just don’t—don’t summon anything else!”

Naruto blinked. “You’re the one who said biggest.”

Kakashi coughed into his glove. “Technically accurate.”

Sasuke stared out at the sea, shaking his head. “He’s insane.”

Sakura sat down, exhausted. “He’s not insane. He’s just… Naruto.”

Naruto, for his part, didn’t seem to notice or care. He yawned, stretched, and started wandering back to the tiger cage below deck like this had all been a weird dream. The crew stood there for a long while, dripping wet and still shaking, before someone finally moved to clean up dinner.

That night, no one asked for seconds.

—ToT—

They reached the kingdom just a little past noon, when the sun hung directly overhead like a lazy eye watching from above, and the heat simmered on the marble roads. The caravan rolled in with a loud, joyful ruckus—trumpets blowing, wheels rattling, animals calling out, servants chatting. There was an energy in the air, almost like a victory parade returning home. Banners fluttered, guards at the lead waved their flags, and even the performers from the circus were smiling, tossing juggling pins and waving to no one in particular. Michiru, back in full prince mode, sat upright, chest puffed, grinning like a man who’d finally returned to his rightful place. Hikaru sat beside him, silent, not exactly sulking but definitely still weirded out by how Naruto had curled up and slept in a tiger cage for most of the voyage like it was just a normal Tuesday.

The gates of the outer city stood wide open for them, which should’ve been a good sign, but…

The streets were dead silent.

No cheering crowds. No friendly waves. No confetti. No petals raining from balconies like before. No smiling citizens rushing to greet their prince or peek at the giant animals with kids on their shoulders. Just... empty. Eerily empty.

Sakura frowned and leaned toward the side of the wagon, her brows furrowed. “Where is everyone? This place was packed when we first came through.”

“I don’t like this,” Sasuke muttered from behind her, eyes darting across the rooftops like he expected a kunai to fly out any second.

Naruto didn’t say anything right away. He was walking ahead of the caravan, barefoot as usual, his robes fluttering in the breeze. His eyes were half-lidded like he was still halfway in a nap, but his ears twitched slightly and he sniffed the air with barely noticeable effort. His steps slowed.

“There’s people,” he said quietly, glancing toward one of the tightly shuttered windows of a two-story house. “They’re in there. Watching. Breathing.” He paused, and his voice dropped into a sleepy murmur, but one that chilled the spine. “They’re scared.”

Kakashi stepped forward beside him, eye narrowing beneath his headband. “Everyone stay alert,” he said, voice calm but sharp like a knife’s edge. “This isn’t a normal welcome. Something’s off.”

“I knew something was weird!” Sakura hissed under her breath. “That fish thing was a bad omen!”

“That wasn’t a bad omen,” Naruto mumbled, still staring at the windows. “That was just dinner.”

Michiru, oblivious to the tension, stood up in the caravan with arms wide like he was preparing to take a bow. “People of the Moon Kingdom! Your prince has returned!”

Nothing. Not a single curtain moved.

The silence was almost insulting.

“Huh,” Michiru scratched his head, then waved at the circus behind him. “Alright, everyone! Take a break here, set up the tents and rest! We’ll go ahead to the palace. I’m sure they’re just waiting for us there!”

The circus folks, looking around nervously, obeyed, though a few glanced up at the windows like they expected ghosts to pop out. The big animals, tired from the travel, were already lying down in the shade. Hikaru remained silent as he slid off the cart and walked beside his father and Team 7.

The palace came into view in the distance, its tall gates looming larger than life. The white stone walls shimmered in the sunlight, and the massive double doors creaked open before they even reached it. Inside, the courtyard was spotless—too spotless.

Naruto, surprisingly, didn’t yawn. Not once. That alone was enough to make Sakura stiffen. He was awake. Fully. Which was never good news for enemies.

The gates clanged shut behind them with a loud thud.

And then soldiers poured out.

They didn’t march like a welcome committee. They swarmed—like hornets out of a kicked nest. Dozens of armed men stormed from the sides, flanking the main path, lining up in perfect formation with weapons in hand. Swords. Spears. Crossbows. Their faces were masked with tension, not celebration.

Michiru laughed nervously. “Wow! What a grand surprise! You guys really went all out!”

On the high balcony above the palace entrance, a figure emerged.

“Shabadaba!” Michiru called, waving up at the familiar face of the royal advisor. “You remembered! I knew you’d give me a proper homecoming!”

The man on the balcony—a tall, thin figure with oily hair and a snake-like smile—grinned wide.

And then an arrow flew.

Fast. Sharp. Lethal.

Everyone gasped. But before it could even graze the prince’s silk robe, a flicker of movement sliced the air. Sasuke stood in front of Michiru, one arm extended, two-tomoe Sharingan spinning furiously in his eyes. The arrow trembled between his fingers, caught an inch from Michiru’s face.

“Wha—what the hell?!” Michiru stammered, eyes wide, jaw dropping.

“Sasuke just saved your life,” Sakura said through gritted teeth, pulling a kunai into her hand.

“Was that… was that a mistake?!” Michiru yelled up. “Was that supposed to be fireworks or something?!”

Shabadaba’s smile grew cruel. “Oh no, Michiru. That was no mistake. I meant to kill you.”

Gasps again—this time from the servants, the guards, even some of the soldiers lining the courtyard.

“See, I’ve already taken over,” Shabadaba continued, spreading his arms. “The kingdom is mine. Your father is no longer fit to rule. And you? You’re just a sad little hiccup I forgot to remove.”

Sakura's grip on her kunai tightened. “You’re kidding me…”

Michiru’s face turned pale. “My father…?”

The door behind Shabadaba opened—and out came the old king. But it wasn’t the strong, regal man Naruto had seen once before. This man looked like a shadow of himself—his body frail, hunched, his eyes tired, his clothes simple and wrinkled. He was being held up by two guards and looked like he hadn’t eaten properly in days.

“Dad!” Michiru called out, stumbling forward.

“Son…” the king whispered, his voice so faint it barely reached them.

Shabadaba rolled his eyes. “He’s done. I’m just waiting for him to croak. Until then, I’ll deal with you the old-fashioned way.”

He raised a hand.

The soldiers moved.

“Kill them.”

Blades unsheathed. Crossbows raised. It all happened at once.

Naruto took one step forward and calmly touched the ground with his fingers.

The earth shook. Rocks and tiles cracked under his palm. Then—without warning—the courtyard erupted. Jagged stones launched upward in a semi-circle, creating a rising wall of spikes and earth that sent the front line of soldiers flying backward. They screamed, crashing into the ground. But Naruto didn’t go further. He had lifted his head slightly, sensing something.

The old king was coughing.

“Please!” the king cried from the balcony. “They are only following orders! They do not know! Do not hurt them!”

Naruto blinked slowly and let his hand drop.

“Fine.”

Kakashi acted fast. With a flash of hand seals, a massive net launched from his side pouch—thicker and stronger than any regular capture tool. It flew upward, tangled around the balcony railing, and with a sudden pull and tug, the old king was swept off the ledge and caught mid-air, his descent softened by a quick flip of chakra-enhanced wire Kakashi had wrapped around it.

The moment the king hit the ground safely, though, another presence surged.

A blur of motion—fast, precise, deadly—appeared near the side of the palace.

A man. Sharp armor. Cold eyes.

Ishidate.

A hired shinobi, not from the kingdom’s ranks. A professional.

“Enemy ninja incoming!” Kakashi barked.

Naruto looked over, locking eyes with the man before he even moved. His gaze was soft, quiet—like a leaf drifting in still water.

Ishidate froze mid-stride.

His breath caught in his throat.

He couldn’t move.

It wasn’t genjutsu. It wasn’t even killing intent. It was... presence. Naruto’s mere existence pressed on him like a mountain of ancient pressure.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Naruto murmured, barely audible, but the man still heard him.

Ishidate stumbled back, trembling. His blade dropped.

“Run,” Naruto said, turning away.

And they did.

With the old king hoisted up by Kakashi, and Shabadaba roaring in rage above them, Team 7 gathered quickly. Michiru grabbed Hikaru, Sakura covered their rear, and they bolted from the courtyard. The guards, stunned by Naruto’s earlier display, didn’t follow right away. Some dropped their weapons. Some turned around.

Naruto walked behind them, casually waving his staff like they weren’t escaping a coup d’état.

And above, from the high balcony, Shabadaba screamed into the wind.