“Go on,” I said, nudging the three children forward. “It’s on me today. Eat till you burst. I’ll only charge you if you throw it up.”

They shuffled nervously in front of the restaurant, peeping through the blinds at the three customers occupying the seats on the right side of the shop. Luckily for them, the left three seats were completely free, and I heard them whisper fiercely about who should sit next to the scary tattooed man.

I formed three hand seals and focused on getting rid of my whiskers and turning my hair a dirty blonde. It was small enough of a change that Haruto and the others wouldn’t think it too strange if I called it training. I pushed open the back door and locked it behind me, hanging my coat on the rack immediately to my left.

“I’m back. Mr Teuchi? Ayame?”

“Kid?” Teuchi was the first to hear me arrive, looking up from three miso ramen bowls. “You don’t have a shift today. What do you want?”

I sighed. “Can’t I come here for the good company?”

“These days, you only stop by for food and work,” he replied with an amused glare. “Out with it. What do you need?”

“I can’t believe you, but fine. I’ve got three kids—my underclassmen—who I thought I’d treat. I don’t mind working extra hours to make up for the loss.”

“Course I’ll feed ‘em.” He frowned intensely at me. “And work for it? You already work here, don’t you? Call it an employee benefit. Now, you’d better sit your butt down on the other side of the counter. I’ll get your favourite whipped in a moment.”

“Thank you,” I began, folding my arms, “but no. Like I said, I brought ‘em here. Helping out is the least I can do.”

“Well, hold on now—”

“Besides,” I continued with a challenging glare. “I’d like to feed my own customers, thank you very much.”

Teuchi deflated at my final comment and gave me a resigned, grudging nod, popping his head through the open shutter and passing the three men their bowls.

“That was impressive.”

I finished typing my apron just in time to watch Ayame trail down the stairs, clad in a loose black t-shirt and baggy trousers. “What?”

“I didn’t manage to get Dad to give me my own space until I was fourteen,” she said. “Look at you doing it at ten.”

“Cut him some slack, Ayame. You’re his only child. It’s not like he had any previous experience to go off before you, right?”

She gave a half-nod in agreement and raised an eyebrow. “What have you done to yourself?”

“Oh, this? Watch.” I cut off the chakra flow to my face and grinned. “Transformation Jutsu. It lets me turn into basically anything I can imagine—sort of. Pretty neat, right?”

“No kidding. The things I could do with that…” She had a faraway look on her face for a few moments before snapping back to attention. “What were you doing using it here in the first place?”

I shrugged noncommittally. “Training.”

She gave me a dubious look but didn’t push any further.

“Do you want to help out with this?” I asked while forming the hand seals for the Transformation Jutsu. “You might as well if you’ve got nothing to do.”

“What, me?” she scoffed. “Hah, no way! It's my off day and you’re asking me to do more work?”

“Sure. Not like you were going to do anything with your day besides reading Icha Icha, right?”

My words had the desired effect and then some.

Ayame flushed a deep scarlet, her brown eyes darting about wildly in case her father had overheard me, and then she pounced. Her hands tangled around me and squeezed tightly and her voice came out in a strangled hiss.

“How did you find out? Were you in my room, you little shit?” She stopped and detached from me. “...Hold on. How do you know about Icha Icha in the first place?”

I stared at her blankly. “From your books. They were very… informative.”

“So you admit,” she said with a deep frown. “I’d punish you, but since both know Dad can’t ever find out about this, how about a deal.”

I subdued my rising grin into a smirk. “...I’m listening.”

“I need a way to buy your silence, so how about some pocket money every week?”

“Hmm… tempting, but I’ll have to pass. Mr Teuchi pays me well and I’ve got a lot of cash saved up.”

And probably some kind of inheritance from my parents.

…Maybe.

“So money’s out. Damn.” She chewed her lip. “What can I give you that you don’t already have?”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Easy. Just do whatever I say for the rest of the month.” I chuckled a little at her horrified expression. “Relax, I’m not evil. You’ll probably end up being my helper during my shifts or something. Think of it this way; Mr Teuchi complains that you’re lazy, right? Maybe it’s because you go off to read your dirty literature, but regardless, this is a way to get him on your side.”

Ayame stroked her chin pensively. “...You might be onto something.”

“So, do we have a deal?” I smirked, offering my hand.

She took it and pumped it once. “We do, you little creep—’cause you’d have to be one to even know what Icha Icha is—but we have a deal, indeed.”

She jogged up the stairs with a pep in her step, completely unaware that she’d signed away four weeks of her life to me. I snickered to myself at the thought of all the things I could have her do. Like my laundry, my shopping, and all the other irritating tasks I couldn’t be bothered to do myself.

It went beyond pettiness. Every second taken away from the regular day-to-day obligations was one I could spend on things I cared more about.

Alone in the kitchen once again, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work, preparing three miso bowls with every topping available. I even made sure to give the kids half a hard-boiled and soft-boiled egg so they got a taste of everything. Given how active they’d been today with school, football, and their spar with me, seconds would be a certainty.

After a glance at a clean ladle to make sure the transformation was still active, I walked out the back door, carefully balancing the piping hot bowls on a tray. While it wasn’t something I’d usually do, I felt the need to go above and beyond for those three’s first Ichiraku experience because it could be one of the things they remembered most fondly about their childhood.

I rounded the corner and popped my head through the blinds.

“Yo!”

Nori was the closest to me—sitting at the very end—and so reacted first, yelping loudly and setting off Ko. She turned with a string of curses aimed mostly at Nori, but also at whoever had set him off: me. Haruto was wedged between her and the “scary tattooed man” so he was limited in how he could react but he twisted his neck in my direction.

“Watch your profanity, Ko,” I said. “You’re in a revered establishment, after all.”

“Maybe don’t scare your customers to death and they won’t curse in your revered establishment, yeah?” She glared at me, an amused light in her eyes. “Are you going to argue with me? Isn’t the customer always right?”

“Me? Why, I would never and to prove it, here are your meals, gentlemen.” I gasped and let them grab their respective bowls, snickering at Ko’s mock outrage but I eventually gave her the final bowl.

“Woah,” said Nori through a mouthful of noodles. “These are good. Like really good! Did you make them yourself?”

“The broth, yes. The noodles, no. Mr Teuchi made those.”

Ko and Haruto slurped noisily beside him, the latter conquering his fear enough to ask, “Is Mr Teuchi the old man with the wrinkly eyes.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” I said. “He might charge you for this meal.”

“What?” Ko frowned. “Shut your hole, Haruto. I don’t have any money and the ramen is too good to give up. If you say something stupid, I’ll bite you.”

“Relax, will you?” the grey-eyed boy frowned back. “I was just asking.”

“Well don’t,” she replied, bringing their conversation to an end.

I returned to the kitchen, hearing them scarf the food down to the back entrance. Fastening my apron, I got started on the next set of orders as a new batch of customers replaced the gang of tattooed men. I could hear their animated conversation through the shutter and it was loud enough to overpower whatever my three underclassmen were arguing about.

“...I swear, man, Old Banri was spooked. Refused to take me into the Land of Rice Fields.”

I couldn’t hear part of it because the men started to talk over each other, so I focused on garnishing one’s order and taking the opportunity to get a closer listen.

“Really?” Another was saying. “That’s not how I heard it. Apparently, the Daimyo there let it happen.”

A pair of weathered hands plucked the bowl and, after a moment of scuffling, passed it down the long table.

“That’s just a rumour—I’ve heard it all at this point. From a vicious coup, an assassination, you name it,” the first man replied. “. And it’s not called the Land of Rice Fields anymore. One of my links in the place told me it’s called the Land of Sound. Ominous, huh? I wonder what happened up there.”

I took a half step back from the shutter. “...The Land of Sound?”

“Aye.” Teuchi's taller, broader body stopped me from retreating further. He looked down with a kind smile. “It’s certainly something. Countries don’t change titles often unless there's been a conflict of some kind. I’ve heard rumours that someone supplanted the Daimyo, but that’s all they are—rumours. We’re protected here in the Land of Fire. The peace will last a few years longer at the very least so there’s nothing to worry about.”

He patted my shoulder firmly before leaning over the counter with a booming laugh.

The world beneath me lurched. I felt my heart beat violently in the back of my throat, hitching my breath with every pulse and tremor. Teuchi was right on one thing: the peace would last for a few years longer, but everything would go to absolute fucking hell after that.

I swallowed hard, finding my throat painfully dry. How had I missed something so important?

I’d spent the last decade burning in hatred against a foe that wasn’t assured, living almost carelessly with children while something far worse than Obito bided its time next door. For all the twisted things he’d done, Obito could at least be called human. I could understand his motivations, even if I hated the bastard.

Orochimaru—the body-snatching, soul-plundering, abomination that he was—was worse. He was a much more immediate threat to my existence—one I’d practically forgotten until it was shoved right under my nose. As shameful as it was to admit it, I forgot all about Haruto, Ko, and Nori beyond the wall in front of me.

I forgot about my shift at Ichiraku’s.

I forgot about my spat with Shikamaru and the fracture in my friend group.

When my blood had stopped running cold, the first thing I did was bolt out of the back door, taking off and sprinting to the only place I could: my usual training spot.

“What have I been doing all this time?” I hissed.

No matter how many forms I went through, or how many times I slammed my bare knuckles into the tree’s thick bark, no answer came to mind.