Chapter 33: The Painting Of An Ostrich And A Baby (Patreon)

Naruto stood there at the edge of the hill, staring at the horizon like it was some kind of answer sheet and he just couldn’t figure out where the first question even started. The sun was bleeding out over the sky, lazy and heavy, sinking into the earth’s arms like it was too tired to fight gravity anymore. The colors were thick, almost syrupy, burning reds and deep golds melting into the clouds, and the wind was soft, pushing his messy red hair across his forehead. His sapphire eyes, sharp enough to see every shimmer in the air, didn’t move. They just stared straight ahead, quiet and thoughtful, the way a river gets when it's too deep to see the bottom.

So much had happened over the last few moons, weeks, whatever humans measured time with. It all felt like a heavy blur in his brain. Sometimes he wondered if he was supposed to be keeping track, like writing it all down in some invisible notebook that he kept misplacing. He used to think humans were selfish creatures. That was a fact as simple as breathing. They destroyed what they didn’t understand, broke what was beautiful, burned what was pure because they thought they owned it. It was true. But... there was more to it, wasn’t there? A part of him now, something lodged right under his ribs like a stubborn thorn, whispered that it wasn’t so simple. Humans were messy, yeah, but they had layers like old trees. Gnarled, complicated, full of mistakes but still standing.

And now that he was one of them—ugh, the thought made his jaw tighten—he could feel it all more clearly. The anger, the fear, the weird stubborn hope that refused to die even when everything else did. It was in his bones now. In his blood. He could feel it soaking into him like rain into dry dirt. It made him itch sometimes, made him restless in his own skin.

But there was something else too. Something crawling up his spine whenever he sat still too long. Power. A creeping, growing thing, curling around his muscles, whispering in the back of his skull. Every day, it got louder. Every day, it felt heavier in his hands. Like today, when he’d stretched out on the roof half-asleep, and the clouds had listened. They moved when he told them to. He hadn’t even tried that hard. Yesterday? Nothing. Today? Like flipping a switch.

It wasn’t normal. Not even for a Jinchūriki. He knew that much. No teacher had shown him how to do it. No scroll explained how to nudge the weather around like rearranging furniture. It just happened because he wanted it to.

He flexed his fingers slowly, watching the faint trails of energy shimmer between them, almost invisible if you weren’t looking closely. His heart thudded once, heavy and certain.

Why?

The question kept banging around inside his head like a trapped wasp. He couldn’t find the answer, no matter how he turned it around. What was he supposed to be? Was his destiny really just... being a Shinobi? Some weapon wrapped in flesh and dreams, thrown at enemies until he broke or they did? Was he supposed to pretend to be normal, to eat and laugh and live and die like any other fragile little human?

No. No, that didn’t feel right at all.

He stared harder at the sunset, as if maybe if he looked long enough, the truth would drip down out of the sky into his hands.

What if... what if he was sent here to destroy?

The idea slipped into his brain like cold water, chilling and electric. Maybe he wasn’t here to save humans. Maybe he was here to end them. To wipe away their cruelty, to burn down their lies, to cleanse the earth and give it back to the trees, the rivers, the wild untamed heart of nature. A great silence settled over him, heavier than anything else. The thought didn’t scare him. It didn’t excite him either. It just... was. Like gravity. Like breathing.

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the air move over his skin, listening to the small stirrings of the world around him. A fox snuffling in the underbrush. A bird calling to its mate. The far-off ripple of water over stones. The heartbeat of the earth itself, steady and patient. It welcomed him, always. Nature didn’t ask questions. It didn’t lie. It didn’t judge.

A sharp voice cracked the stillness like a thrown pebble hitting glass.

“Naruto! Dinner’s ready!”

He blinked, pulled back from wherever his mind had been drifting. Karin’s voice floated out of the small open window of their house, full of casual bossiness that only she could get away with. He turned his head slowly, feeling the stiffness in his neck from standing still so long.

“Coming. Dattebane,” he called back, his voice a little flat, a little mechanical, the words rolling off his tongue like he was still learning how to string them together properly.

He took his time walking back to the house. He wasn’t in a hurry. He never was. Everything moved so fast in this human world, always rushing, always grasping. He preferred to move like old trees did, slow and certain and unbothered.

Karin was waiting by the door, arms crossed, tapping her foot like she was ready to scold him. Her red hair was messy in a way that somehow made her look even younger than she was, and there was a bit of flour smudged on her cheek. She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to look fierce, but he could see the tiny twitch of a smile she was holding back.

“Took you long enough,” she huffed, stepping aside to let him in.

Naruto gave a small grunt in response, something halfway between a greeting and a complaint. He reached out and ruffled her hair roughly with one hand as he passed, making her squawk and swat at him.

“Hey! Quit it, you jerk!” she snapped, trying to fix her hair, but there was no real heat in her voice. It was just the way they were. Pack behavior. Familiar, comfortable.

He settled himself at the low table where dinner was already laid out. It wasn’t fancy—rice, some grilled fish, a few vegetables that had seen better days—but it smelled good. Honest food. Nourishing. Karin plopped down across from him, sticking her tongue out when she caught him staring at the food like he was suspicious of it.

“It’s not poisoned, idiot,” she said, shoveling rice into her mouth with zero elegance. “Eat before it gets cold.”

Naruto nodded solemnly and picked up his chopsticks. He wasn’t picky. Food was food. He ate mechanically, chewing each bite with the same blank expression he wore for most things. Karin kept glancing at him between mouthfuls, frowning slightly, like she was trying to figure something out but didn’t know how to ask.

Finally, she set her bowl down with a clatter.

“You’re acting weird,” she said bluntly. “Weirder than usual.”

Naruto paused, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. He blinked at her slowly.

“I am... thinking. Dattebane,” he said after a beat, as if that explained everything.

Karin made a face. “About what?”

He considered lying, brushing it off, but lying wasn’t something he was good at. He didn’t see the point most of the time. Humans lied like they breathed, but he found it exhausting.

“Purpose,” he said simply. “Existence.”

Karin stared at him like he’d just declared he wanted to marry a tree. Then she groaned and flopped back onto the floor dramatically.

“Ughhh, Naruto, can’t you think about normal stuff for once? Like, I dunno, ramen or training or—anything that doesn’t make my brain hurt?”

He tilted his head slightly, confused. “But... it is important. Dattebane.”

Karin sat up again, crossing her legs and propping her chin on her hand. She studied him with narrowed eyes, her expression shifting from annoyed to something softer, more curious.

“You’re weird,” she said finally. “But... I guess that’s not a bad thing. You’re still you.”

Naruto stared at her for a moment, then nodded, as if that settled it. He went back to eating, the conversation dropping into a comfortable silence.

Outside, the last light of the sun faded, and the stars began to creep out, one by one, shy little things peeking from behind the curtain of night. Naruto finished his meal and leaned back, feeling the weight of the day settle into his bones.

Karin yawned loudly, stretching her arms over her head until her joints cracked.

“Bedtime,” she announced, standing up and gathering the dishes with the clattering grace of someone who didn't really care if they broke.

Naruto watched her move around the kitchen for a moment, then slowly pushed himself to his feet as well. He wasn’t really tired, but he liked lying still, feeling the world breathe around him. He liked the quiet hum of life in the walls, the soft sigh of the wind through the cracks.

He followed Karin down the short hallway to their rooms, pausing at her door. She glanced back at him, one eyebrow raised.

“What?”

He reached out and ruffled her hair again, gentler this time.

“Good night. Dattebane,” he said, voice low and even.

Karin rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away. “Yeah, yeah. Good night, you big weirdo.”

She disappeared into her room, and Naruto made his way to his own. He lay down on his futon, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the house settle around him. His body was heavy, but his mind floated somewhere far above, drifting through stars and old memories and dreams he didn’t understand yet.

Tomorrow, maybe he’d move the wind. Or the rivers. Or the earth itself.

Tomorrow, maybe he’d figure out why he was here at all.

—ToT—

Naruto was painting. It had been a long time since he had picked up a brush and really sat down with it, and it felt weirdly heavy in his hand, like his fingers had to remember how to move properly. He was hunched over a big old piece of canvas he had found tucked away in the storage room, some leftover junk Tsunade had probably meant to throw away but forgot because, well, she was Tsunade. The colors were messy on the palette, a chaotic swirl of dark blues, angry grays, and muddy browns, but somehow it all made sense in his head. His hand moved slowly, methodically, dragging deep brushstrokes across the canvas like he wasn’t just painting but digging something out of his chest, something that had been sitting there forever, gathering dust.

He was painting a tsunami, a monstrous wave swallowing the horizon, curling high into the bruised sky like a giant claw about to crush everything below. It wasn’t just water— it was a wall of rage and sorrow and inevitability, and it roared across the landscape with merciless hunger. Down there, right in the center of it, was a tiny ostrich, running with its neck stretched forward, legs flailing in terror, desperately trying to outrun the impossible. And on the ostrich’s back, clinging tight, was a tiny baby, wrapped in tattered cloth, the face barely more than a dot on the canvas but somehow radiating pure, helpless hope.

Naruto’s mouth was pulled tight into a thin line as he worked. He barely blinked, only breathing when he absolutely had to, caught up in the memory as much as in the painting itself. He remembered it too well— that lifetime when he had been an ostrich, just a dumb, awkward bird. He had been minding his own business, pecking around for food, when the sky darkened and the sea itself decided to take revenge on the land. He had been fast, faster than almost anything else in that place, his long legs pumping with a strength born of pure survival instinct. And then there was the man— a crippled old shinobi with gray in his hair and scars on his face, dragging himself through the mud with two ruined legs.

Naruto remembered how the man had shoved the baby at him, crying, pleading, his voice raw with desperation. "Please... please, you’re fast... you’re our last hope... take him, run... save him..." The baby had been tiny, no heavier than a sack of feathers, and Naruto— even as an animal— had understood. Some part of him had understood. He had crouched, let the man tie the little bundle onto his back with trembling hands, and then he had run. He had run until the wave caught up to them, smashed into him with the force of a thousand mountains, and dragged them both under like they were nothing more than leaves.

And yet... the baby had lived. For a little while longer. Even after the wave, even in the swirling blackness, Naruto remembered feeling that tiny heartbeat pressed against his feathers, stubborn and bright, refusing to give up even when everything else had been lost. Ten minutes, maybe. Ten minutes more than any other soul on that doomed island.

A small voice broke his concentration.

"Whatcha drawing?" Karin’s voice chirped right by his ear, and Naruto didn’t even flinch. She was always sneaking up on him like that, all curious and nosy like a kitten poking around something dangerous. Her breath was warm on his cheek as she leaned over, her messy red hair brushing his shoulder.

She squinted at the painting, tilting her head like a confused puppy. "Oooh, is that a long-legged bird? What's it called?"

Naruto didn’t lift his eyes from the canvas. "An ostrich," he said, his voice quiet, flat like usual, but there was a strange softness threading through it if you listened hard enough.

Karin leaned in closer, squinting harder. "And is that a kid on its back? What is it, a comedy?" she asked, laughing a little, like the idea of a bird carrying a baby was the funniest thing she had seen all week.

Naruto’s hand stilled over the canvas. He looked at her sideways, his sapphire eyes glowing faintly under the dim light. "An ostrich was trying to escape the tsunami with a child on his back," he said, plain and simple, like he was telling her it was going to rain tomorrow.

Karin blinked at him, her mouth opening like she was about to crack another joke, but then she stopped. Her brows knitted together as the meaning sank in, slow but heavy. She stared at the painting again, really looked this time, and saw it differently. Saw the wild, terrified energy in the ostrich’s desperate run. Saw the monstrous wave bearing down with apocalyptic fury. Saw the tiny, fragile bundle clinging to the bird’s back like a last prayer.

She swallowed, her throat bobbing visibly. "That's... that's deep," she said finally, almost whispering. "Didn’t know you could think like that. I always thought you could only draw those weird paintings." She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder, pointing at the walls behind them where Naruto’s earlier works were hung like some grim little art gallery— grotesque images of ancient battles, monstrous sea creatures with too many teeth, towering centipedes with blank eyes, scenes of war where men were being torn apart like paper dolls.

Naruto blinked slowly, his brush hovering in mid-air. "I never think too hard," he said, and there was the tiniest flicker of something that might have been a smile, or maybe just a twitch, on his usually stoic face. But inside, the words he didn’t say curled up in his chest like a sleeping cat, warm and painful at the same time.

Because these were things he had experienced.

He didn’t have to make them up. He didn’t have to imagine what terror looked like, what despair felt like, what death smelled like when it seeped into the dirt and hung in the air like old smoke. He had lived them, over and over, in bodies that were not his own but still carried his soul, his memories stitched together like a patchwork quilt too tattered to ever be whole again.

Karin sat down beside him, cross-legged on the floor, resting her chin on her knees as she stared at the canvas. Her usual hyper energy dimmed down a notch, like even she could feel the heavy mood pressing in.

"Did the ostrich... you know... make it?" she asked after a long moment, her voice small.

Naruto shook his head once, slow and deliberate. "No," he said. "Water caught up."

Karin made a soft sound, almost like a sigh. "But the baby?"

"Little longer," Naruto said, dipping his brush into a swirl of dark blue and dragging it across the top of the wave in a long, sweeping motion. "Ten minutes."

Karin hugged her knees tighter, watching him. "That’s really sad, you know," she said after a bit. "But kinda beautiful too."

Naruto said nothing. He didn’t have to. The painting said it all.

The room grew quiet, the only sounds were the soft scratching of the brush against the canvas and the occasional creak of the old floorboards beneath them. Outside, the wind whispered against the windows, carrying the scent of rain and earth and the wild things that Naruto still felt more at home with than the bustling, confusing mess of human society.

For a long while, they just sat there, two strange souls thrown together by fate, sharing a silence that was heavy but not uncomfortable.

Karin reached out suddenly, her fingers brushing the side of his head, and ruffled his messy red hair like she was petting a particularly stubborn cat.

"You’re weird," she said affectionately, grinning.

Naruto blinked up at her, his expression unchanged, but there was a faint glimmer in his eyes that suggested maybe he didn’t mind being weird. Not if it meant moments like this.

"Dattebane," he muttered, like a reflex.

Karin laughed, bright and clear, and leaned against him, her shoulder bumping into his. Naruto let her stay there, not moving away, just continuing to paint, each stroke dragging a little more of the past into the present where maybe, just maybe, it could finally start to heal.

—ToT—

At the Akatsuki meeting hall, the air was heavy, thick like storm clouds pressing down on their heads. The Gedo Statue loomed in the center like some ancient, starving god, all jagged teeth and hollow eyes, its hands clawing upward as if desperate to snatch something out of the very air. Pein stood at the highest point, balanced on the crooked fingers of the statue like he was part of it, like he had grown out of its misery. His Rinnegan eyes were as blank and deep as still water, taking in everything without giving anything back.

Below him, the members of Akatsuki gathered in their ghostly projections, all flickering around the edges, their faces lit by the cold blue light of the summoning jutsu. Kakuzu was the first to speak, his voice a low, grim snarl, every word scraped out like it cost him something.

"I fought him," Kakuzu grunted, his many stitched-together faces twitching. "Naruto Uzumaki. I thought it would be easy. A brat, a kid. But..." he paused, hands curling into fists so tight the tendons strained. "He overwhelmed me. Like I was an insect under a boot. I didn’t even see it coming. One moment I thought I had him—" he scowled deeper, his stitched mouth twisting, "—and the next, I was on my knees, coughing blood."

The room went still, the kind of stillness that wasn’t just quiet but cold, like something unseen had exhaled and everyone had to hold their breath not to be swept away by it.

Konan, standing a little apart from the others, her paper-thin wings folded neatly against her back, tilted her head slightly, her blue hair catching the ghost-light. Her voice was soft, almost detached, like she was commenting on the weather.

"Itachi and Kisame encountered him too," she said, each word careful, deliberate. "They attempted to capture him during his travels. They failed."

At that, Kisame let out a bark of laughter, rough and unbothered, like he didn’t have the sense to be embarrassed about it. His shark-like grin split wide across his face, sharp and humorless.

"Poor Itachi," Kisame said, snickering. "He tried to trap the kid in one of his best Genjutsu. You know, the kind that makes grown men cry and soil themselves. But it backfired. Hard. Kid saw through it like it was a cheap parlor trick. Shattered it like it was nothing."

He slapped his thigh with a big, wet-sounding clap, shaking his head in disbelief.

"And damn, that boy is a monster," Kisame chuckled, still shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it even now. "The chakra coming off him... it's like standing next to a living typhoon. It's raw. Wild. You feel it in your bones. Samehada wouldn’t stop drooling over him. Had to drag the sword away, practically."

There was a ripple through the gathered members, unease crawling under their skins, each one too proud to admit they felt it but too smart to pretend they didn’t.

Pein watched them all, silent. Measuring. Judging.

His voice cut through the silence, not loud, but heavy. Weighted.

"Is there anyone," Pein asked, his Rinnegan eyes sweeping over them slowly, "who dares to try to fetch the Kyuubi Jinchuriki?"

The question hung in the air like a sword suspended by a single hair. For a few seconds, no one moved. Not even Hidan, who was usually the first to run his mouth about how he’d love to slaughter something for Jashin-sama, dared to open his mouth. He shifted uncomfortably, twirling his scythe with twitchy fingers but saying nothing.

Deidara, normally loud and brash, stared at the ground, his fists clenching and unclenching. Sasori remained as still as a corpse, his puppet body betraying nothing, but even he seemed to pull deeper into himself, retreating from the idea. Zetsu muttered something under his breath, but the words were too soft to catch, like a whisper through dead leaves.

The silence stretched out, long and awkward, growing heavier with every heartbeat. A few of them exchanged glances, brief, sharp, calculating. They knew. They had all heard the rumors. They had all seen the aftermath when others tried and failed. Naruto Uzumaki was not some wild animal they could trap. He wasn’t prey. He was something else. Something closer to a natural disaster.

Pein closed his eyes slowly, the movement deliberate, as if he was sealing away some heavy truth inside himself. When he opened them again, they shone even colder, even more detached.

"Very well," he said, his voice as flat and final as the slam of a coffin lid. "We shall first gather the other Tailed Beasts. Secure what we can while we can."

He let the words hang there for a moment, making sure they understood, every last one of them. Naruto Uzumaki was not to be pursued. Not yet. He was an anomaly. A variable too dangerous to engage without absolute certainty.

"We will think about Naruto Uzumaki later," Pein finished, his tone brooking no argument.

The meeting dissolved slowly, each member retreating into their own thoughts, their own fears. The Gedo Statue remained behind, a silent witness, its hollow mouth stretched in an eternal scream.

Pein stayed atop the statue a moment longer, his coat billowing around him in the unseen wind. His mind wasn’t calm. No. It churned quietly, dark and deep. Naruto Uzumaki. That boy wasn’t just strong. He was changing. Evolving.

Pein narrowed his Rinnegan eyes, staring off into the darkness beyond the hall.

There would come a time when they would have to face Naruto. There would come a time when they would have no choice. And when that day came... the world itself might shake.

For now, patience.

But inside Pein’s heart, a small, almost imperceptible flicker of doubt was born. And once born, doubts are hard to kill.

—ToT—

News was spreading like wildfire across the elemental nations, whispered on the lips of merchants, scribbled hastily in shinobi dispatches, murmured at campfires and behind closed doors in village halls. It was the kind of news that made even seasoned warriors pause and glance over their shoulders. The kind that made civilians pray to gods they barely remembered, just in case one of them was listening. Because the balance of power—whatever fragile thing it once was—was cracking.

The Sand had lost their Ichibi. The One-Tailed Beast was gone. Not sealed again, not returned to the desert winds, just... ripped away. And somehow, against all odds and whatever laws of chakra were supposed to govern this world, Gaara was still alive. Barely, but alive. His body was a ruin, his chakra like a broken dam leaking everywhere, but his heart beat. His eyes opened. And he spoke, hoarsely, about red clouds and shadows and voices like thunder. He kept saying the same name over and over again like a curse. Akatsuki.

And it wasn’t just the Sand. Rumors turned to reports and reports turned to confirmed disasters. The Nibi—gone. The Sanbi—gone. The Yonbi, the Rokubi, even the damn Nanabi—dragged from their hosts and vanished like smoke in a storm. Each village woke up to the same sick truth. The hosts were either dead or left in some half-alive, twisted state of trauma. Nobody could make sense of it. Nobody could stop it.

Even the Hachibi had been targeted. And if it wasn’t for the fact that Killer Bee was... well, Killer Bee, they'd have had him too. He escaped with half his cloak burned off and a laugh still in his throat, but his words were chilling. “They were ready for me. Strong. Cold. Like statues with chakra. Like gods dressed in rags.” He didn’t even finish the sentence before he passed out.

So who the hell was behind this?

Word finally broke through the chaos: a group calling themselves the Akatsuki. No banners, no alliances, no allegiances to any nation. Just a quiet, creeping terror that moved like a plague across the map, striking where it pleased and leaving only ashes and questions in its wake. And now, in the heart of Konoha, two of the highest powers sat in silence—Jiraiya and Tsunade—beneath the weight of it all.

Tsunade had her elbows propped on her desk, hands steepled beneath her chin, staring hard at the window like she expected the enemy to crash through it at any second. Her sake cup sat untouched. That alone was enough to tell Jiraiya how bad things really were.

“They’ve gone too far,” she muttered, voice low and brittle. “I mean, hunting tailed beasts was one thing—rumors. Wild theories. Now it's a pattern. This is a damn genocide.”

Jiraiya nodded slowly, arms crossed, his forehead creased in thought. “They’re not amateurs. And they’re not afraid of war. They’re organized, coordinated... surgical. Each hit has been clean, fast. No trace. No survivors except for Gaara. That’s not coincidence.”

“And they already came for Naruto once,” Tsunade added, voice sharper now. “Itachi Uchiha and Kisame Hoshigaki. That was years ago. He was still rough around the edges back then. But he beat them. Scared them off like dogs.”

Jiraiya’s lips twitched, a hint of pride in his voice. “He’s not the same brat you used to yell at during your paperwork hours. He’s something else now.”

“Yeah,” Tsunade muttered, finally reaching for her cup but stopping halfway. “But so are they. What if the next one isn’t Kisame? What if it’s someone worse? Stronger? What if they send six of them this time instead of two?”

The question hung in the air, dense and ugly. Because they both knew the truth—they didn’t know how strong the Akatsuki really were. No one did. And that was the part that made your skin itch and your dreams sour.

Just then, there was a knock at the office door—two sharp raps, and then the click of it opening before anyone had the chance to answer. A black-and-white mask peered in, the familiar cloak of the ANBU brushing the edge of the threshold.

“Hokage-sama,” the masked ninja said, stepping inside. “A messenger has arrived.”

“From where?” Tsunade asked, standing now, her entire posture changing from tired elder to commanding leader.

The ANBU hesitated for a split second. “From the Land of Iron.”

Jiraiya raised an eyebrow. “Samurai? That’s... unusual.”

Tsunade’s frown deepened. “The Land of Iron’s been neutral for decades. They don’t meddle with ninja affairs unless something big is going down. Send them in. I want to hear what Mifune has to say.”

The ANBU bowed and disappeared in a whirl of movement.

Tsunade turned to Jiraiya, her voice low. “This better not be another piece of the same storm.”

Jiraiya’s expression was unreadable, but his silence said everything.

—ToT—

Naruto stood outside Ichiraku’s, peeking past the wooden flaps like a kid wondering if his favorite toy was still on the shelf. His hand was already in his pocket, fingers wrapped tight around the few extra coins he had scored this week. There was a slight bounce in his step too, like he was trying not to look excited, but failing miserably. The truth was—he’d been thinking about miso ramen since morning. Actually, scratch that. He’d been dreaming about it since yesterday. Long noodles. Rich broth. Extra meat. Naruto kind of got teary-eyed just imagining it.

But as soon as he pushed the flap aside and stepped in, the world dropped on his head.

The place was packed.

And not like the usual dinner rush either. It was shoulder-to-shoulder chaos. Shinobi of all ranks stuffed in like sardines, talking, laughing, slurping. Some even stood near the door with half-finished bowls, letting the steam fog up the windows. Naruto blinked at the crowd, dumbfounded. His dream of sitting quietly and inhaling twelve bowls just turned into a logistical nightmare.

Ayame caught sight of him from behind the counter, her arms working in a blur with the ladle and steaming pots. Her hair was tied back, sleeves rolled up, and her forehead glistened with the kind of sweat that came from battling ramen orders like a war zone. She didn’t even say hi.

“Naruto!” she called, voice cutting through the noise like a kunai, “You’re late! Apron. Now.”

“Huh?” Naruto blinked.

She didn’t give him time to process. The next thing he knew, Ayame had thrown a flour-dusted apron into his arms and shoved three steaming bowls into his hands. “Table three! Move fast before the broth turns to jelly!”

Naruto blinked again. He looked down at the ramen. Then back up at Ayame. Then over at the packed tables. “Wait. I’m not… a waiter. I’m hungry. I came to eat. Dattebane.”

Ayame didn’t even flinch. She was already pouring broth into another bowl. “And you’ll eat after you earn it! Don’t just stand there! That’s tantanmen with extra spice! If it gets cold, that Chūnin’s gonna flip the table!”

Naruto’s hands moved before his brain caught up, stiffly navigating through the maze of elbows and backs. He carefully placed the bowls down, trying not to make eye contact. His expression remained flat, unmoved by the chaos. The shinobi at the table looked up and one of them grinned.

“Hey! The hero’s serving us ramen now?”

Naruto just nodded. “Your food. Don’t spill it.”

“Yessir!” they laughed, already diving in like wild animals.

When he got back to the counter, Ayame had another tray ready. Naruto gave her a look. Not angry. Not tired. Just... blank. “How long do I do this?”

“Until the line gets shorter,” she said sweetly. “Or I die. Whichever comes first.”

Naruto didn’t argue. He took the next tray.

And honestly, it wasn’t that bad. Once he figured out the walking pattern and stopped bumping into shoulders every five steps, it became almost mechanical. Grab bowl. Deliver. Return. Repeat. He didn’t even bother with greetings. Just a stiff nod, a “here,” or “don’t touch the hot part.” He had no idea how to interact with customers. Didn’t even really want to. But he was following orders, and that was enough.

Still, between trips, he couldn’t help noticing something strange. People didn’t look at him the same way they used to.

They didn’t stare like he was diseased. They didn’t whisper behind their hands. No mocking. No glares. If anything... they were trying to joke with him. Laugh. Some even said “thank you.” It was weird. Really weird.

One genin with bandaged arms grinned up at him after getting his ramen. “Hey, you really saved our butts during the invasion. My mom says she owes you her house.”

Naruto blinked. “I don’t know your mom.”

“Still. Thanks, man.”

Naruto stood there awkwardly, unsure what to say. He just gave a slow nod and shuffled away, ears a little red.

Back behind the counter, Ayame chuckled. “You know, you’re kinda cute when you’re confused.”

Naruto didn’t respond. He was already trying to stack more empty bowls. Then finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the crowd started thinning. Chairs scraped. Bells jingled. Conversation drifted out with the wind.

Ayame handed him a bowl. Miso ramen. Steaming. Perfect. “Payment,” she said with a wink.

Naruto took the bowl, slid into a stool, and began to eat like someone had just told him it might be his last meal on Earth. No words. No sound. Just chopsticks and slurp.

Ayame leaned on the counter, arms folded. “Y’know, it’s kinda funny. Back in the day, people wouldn’t even sit next to you. Now look at this place.”

Naruto didn’t look up. “Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s something else. Doesn’t matter. Ramen tastes the same.”

“That’s a very Naruto way of saying you’re welcome.”

“I don’t think about it too much.” He paused, mouth full. “Dattebane.”

Ayame smiled and went back to the pots. Naruto ate slowly, like he had all the time in the world. Because honestly, in moments like these—quiet, simple, full of warmth—he kind of did.

—ToT—

Naruto stepped out of Ichiraku’s with his belly warm and full, lips still tasting of miso and memory. The sun had dipped below the rooftops and the sky had melted into hues of amber and mauve, all soft and warm like the feeling of lying under a blanket fresh outta the sun. The street was quieter now, folks wandering home or closing shops, the clatter and chaos of the day simmering down into a hum.

He turned down a narrow alley near the back of the shopping district, somewhere he usually cut through to get back home. It wasn’t exactly the cleanest route—dirt, crates, busted pipes, and the lingering scent of wet cardboard. But Naruto didn’t mind. These kinds of places were always where the real stuff happened. The quiet stuff.

He heard it before he saw them. A small mewl. Then a rustle behind a pile of discarded wooden boxes. Naruto slowed down, eyes narrowing just a little. He crouched low, his messy red hair catching the light like streaks of fire through a wind-blown mess. Then he saw them.

A family of stray animals—three cats and a dog. The dog was scrappy, ribs showing, fur matted and muddy, eyes too old for its age. Two of the cats looked young, probably siblings, with mismatched eyes and twitching tails. The third cat was older, and blind in one eye, perched protectively over the younger ones like some half-busted guardian.

Naruto blinked. "Huh."

He slowly reached into his pocket, pulled out the leftover dumplings Ayame had forced on him as thanks—"You're too skinny, eat something proper later!" she’d said, shoving the wrapped bundle into his hands. He peeled the wrapping open, the scent wafting up, and gently laid the food down a few feet from the pile.

“C’mere,” he said softly, stiff as usual, but his voice careful. He didn’t speak to them like people. He spoke like he was remembering a language older than words. “It’s okay. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

The dog limped forward first, slowly, nose twitching. Then one of the kittens followed, curious but cautious. Naruto sat on his heels, hands on his knees, unmoving. He just waited. Didn’t rush. Didn’t push.

One by one, they came closer. The dog sniffed the food and looked up at him, eyes wet and weary. Naruto reached out a hand and let it rest near the ground. The dog pressed its muzzle against his fingers. Warm. Trembling. But trusting.

Naruto blinked again. He didn’t smile. He just nodded. “Yeah. You’re okay now.”

The cats surrounded him next, brushing against his legs, tails flicking. One even climbed into his lap like it belonged there, curled into a spiral and started purring as if it had found something it didn’t know it needed. Naruto just sat there, letting them press into him, letting their warmth seep into his skin like fire through frost.

Then he noticed people watching.

A couple on the street had stopped. A merchant shutting his shop door paused mid-turn. A kid pointed from across the road, tugging at his mother’s sleeve. More gathered. Whispering. Some smiling.

“Is that Uzumaki?”

“Yeah. Look at that... the animals love him.”

“They’re not even scared of him.”

“Maybe he’s not as scary as they say...”

Naruto didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at them. His glowing sapphire eyes stared ahead, blank but distant, like he wasn’t really here at all.

A cat climbed his arm and perched on his shoulder like it had declared him king of the strays. The dog had curled up beside him, head resting on Naruto’s foot. The kittens had burrowed into his lap.

It looked peaceful. It looked poetic.

And suddenly, everyone wanted to see it.

Naruto didn’t understand.

Years ago—no, not even that long ago—he’d done the same thing. Not in some alley. Not under the sunset. Just behind an old lady’s yard. There’d been a puppy. Small. Cold. Dead from the cold and maybe something worse. He’d found it curled by a fence. No one claimed it. No one noticed. So he’d dug a hole behind the yard, in the dirt where the ground was softer from a recent rain, and buried the puppy there. Just wanted to give it a little peace.

The old woman who lived there came out screaming. Not even five minutes after he’d finished. She kicked him. Not even yelling words—just screaming. Her son had come out, yanked the puppy’s body from the earth with disgust, and threw it in the trash can like rotten meat. Naruto hadn’t cried. He hadn’t fought back. He just walked away.

That same old woman was in the crowd today. Smiling at him. Nodding. Whispering something to someone else, like she was proud of him.

Naruto reached up and scratched behind the ears of the cat on his shoulder. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even blink for a moment.

What was it about humans? Why did they flip like that? Why did they pretend not to see him when he was alone and tired and dirty and doing what he thought was good? Why now? Why only after he became something they feared or respected? What did it matter if he helped animals when he was just a kid with dirty clothes and nobody’s name?

Why were they so cruel when it was easiest to be kind?

“I don’t get it,” he muttered under his breath, fingers curling slightly in the dog’s fur. “You all act like this is new. It’s not. Dattebane.”

The animals didn’t answer. They just leaned in closer.

Maybe that’s why he liked them better. Animals didn’t fake things. If they liked you, they came near. If they didn’t, they bit you and ran. No in-between. No pretending. No smiling while kicking your ribs.

He finally stood up, slowly, careful not to shake the cat off his shoulder or wake the kittens. The dog followed, limping alongside him, tail wagging slightly.

Naruto didn’t look back at the people. He just walked ahead, into the fading dusk, the shadows stretching long like lazy animals across the street. One of the kittens peeked up at him from his arm and mewed quietly.

“You guys get it,” he said flatly, voice almost robotic. “Humans don’t.”

He turned the corner, disappeared from view, just a boy with beasts in tow. But the feeling he left behind—quiet, strange, a little sad—lingered in the alley long after he was gone