Konoha Notes.

Chapter 8 The Way Home and the Roots

The dango in Koizumi-cho was far inferior to that in Konoha. The texture was slightly rough, and the sweetness was excessively sticky. Shuji reluctantly ordered a bowl of ramen to wash away the taste in his mouth.

The local ramen is decent. While not as famous as Konoha Ichiraku, it benefits from the high-quality pastures, resulting in a rich broth and tender meat slices. The only drawback is that the noodles aren't chewy enough.

As Shuuji offered his critique, Itachi listened quietly, munching on his dango. He didn't need the ramen to balance the flavors; while Shuuji ate heartily, Itachi was focused on writing his mission report.

During the mission, Shuji was the main executor, and their rewards were split 60/40—Shuji got 60% and Itachi got 40%. Therefore, Itachi took on the task of writing the report without complaint. Even without the split, given his ninja instincts, he wouldn't have shirked his responsibility.

In contrast, Shuuji seemed... different. Itachi didn't have the concept of "Hiruzen" in his mind, but he could clearly sense that this senior was subtly different from ordinary ninjas.

"Senpai," Itachi raised his head and called out softly.

"Hmm?" Shuji lifted his face from the bowl of noodles, a little soup on the corner of his mouth.

"What does a ninja mean to you?"

"Work," Shuji replied crisply.

This answer startled Itachi slightly. He had heard too many lofty definitions of ninjas—the guardian blade of the village, the inheritor of will, the cornerstone of peace… but he had never heard such a straightforward answer.

"I enjoy eating and having fun. Being a ninja is just a job to make a living," Shuuji said, slurping up another mouthful of noodles. "And you, Itachi?"

"Me?" Itachi was speechless for a moment. From the moment he was born, becoming a ninja was his predetermined destiny. He experienced the battlefield with his father at the age of four and graduated from the Ninja Academy at the age of seven. As a genius of the Uchiha clan, he had never thought about why he wanted to become a ninja.

"Being a ninja is just a profession. Stripped of that identity, what are you as a 'human'? A genius of the Uchiha clan? A ninja on whom the village places its hopes?" Shuji put down his chopsticks, his gaze turning serious. "What do you truly desire? What do you expect?"

Seeing Itachi deep in thought, Shuji's tone softened: "There's no need to rush to find the answer. One day, you will come to your own conclusion. In the end, the 'ninja,' who is given so much heavy meaning, is just one of countless professions."

"Would you like a bowl of ramen?" Shuuji suddenly asked, interrupting Itachi's thoughts.

"No, thank you, senior." Itachi shook his head gently, his black hair fluttering in the breeze.

"It's really delicious," Shuuji said, pointing to his bowl with his chopsticks. "Just eating dumplings won't fill you up."

"I guess I won't need to..." Itachi's voice remained steady, but a hint of wavering was revealed.

"Listen to me," Shuuji explained earnestly, "sweet treats need to be paired with salty flavors to truly taste good; that's common sense."

"Senpai," Itachi finally raised his head, a rare stubbornness flashing in his eyes, "a sweet dumpling with a cup of tea is enough."

This was the first time Itachi had explicitly opposed Shuuji's opinion since the start of this mission. Shuuji felt a slight regret, yet a relieved smile involuntarily appeared on his lips. A faint smile also appeared on Itachi's face, like a crack quietly appearing on a frozen lake.

Officials in the Land of Rivers quickly confirmed that the bandits had been wiped out and spread the news widely. Shuji and his companion then returned to Konoha.

Submitting the mission report at the Hokage Building wasn't complicated in itself, but encountering a rogue Sunagakure ninja and handing over his head took some extra steps. The mission reward will be distributed along with the report after the intelligence team completes the extraction of information from Shinya's head. If they're lucky, the extra reward for this mission might be around 150,000 ryo; if the intelligence isn't valuable, it might only increase to 100,000 ryo.

As for Shinya's sealing scroll, since the commission from the River Country did not include the recovery of stolen money, this item could naturally be kept. Shuji entrusted the village with handling the unsealing process.

"Of course." Chunin Torii, who was in charge of registration at the Hokage Building, nodded in agreement. "If the items in the scroll involve the secrets of other villages, the village will take a portion for safekeeping or research purposes and provide appropriate compensation accordingly. Considering this, the village will not charge any extra for this unsealing service."

"Thank you for your trouble. How long will it take?"

"Come back in three days. By then, the intelligence team should have finished searching for the head."

After finishing these chores, it was nearly dusk. Itachi then bid farewell to Shuji. While on missions, he endured hardships and slept outdoors, but back in the village, even an eight-year-old child like Itachi had to return home for meals on time.

Shuji watched Itachi's small figure disappear around the street corner before turning and heading towards the western outskirts of the village. His destination was an old-fashioned mansion, over fifty years old, which had escaped the Nine-Tails' attack three years prior because it was far from the village center.

The mansion was lined with cherry blossom trees, and the blossoms, nearing the end of their bloom, drifted down in the wind, briefly resting on his shoulder before quietly slipping away.

"Grandma Taohua, I'm back."

In the courtyard, an elderly woman dressed in a dark brown kimono sat upright, her silver hair meticulously combed. Hearing Shuji's voice, she did not raise her eyes, but merely nodded slightly.

"Are you alright physically?"

"Yes. I've mastered this power." Xiu Si raised his palm, a warm, emerald-green light flowing through it. A tender sprout stretched and grew at a visible speed.

Initially, Shuji, who was critically injured and on the verge of death, was beyond saving. When the medical ninjas of Konoha were helpless, it was Granny Momoka who took him away from the hospital and injected the legendary Hashirama cells into his body, which was on the verge of collapse.

The worst outcome is death.

With this thought in mind, the elderly man, well past seventy, performed a rudimentary "operation" on Shuji in this old house—it wasn't even an operation, but rather a powerful suppression technique after injecting cells, and then left it to fate.

The body still vividly remembers how it felt back then.

The violent power, like a burst dam, instantly engulfed him.

The interstitial cells, like greedy beasts, frantically tore and devoured every inch of flesh. The excruciating pain penetrated deep into the bone marrow, exploding at the nerve endings.

For a few moments, he felt as if a giant tree was growing wildly inside him—its roots piercing his internal organs and its branches piercing his skin.

Every inch of skin felt like it was being pierced repeatedly by thousands of red-hot steel needles; the bones made a teeth-grinding cracking sound as they were being reconstructed; and the blood boiled and churned in the veins.

That was a torment that transcended the limits of language.

Just recalling it brings a deep, dull pain to my body.

"That Uchiha, he's called a genius, what do you think?" Granny Momoka's voice was flat and emotionless.

"He's just a child." Shuji lowered his hand, the green light in his palm disappearing along with the tender sprout, and answered calmly.

Upon hearing this assessment, Granny Taohua's lips twitched almost imperceptibly, like a gentle breeze brushing across the water, fleeting and without uttering a word.

Only the faint sound of cherry blossoms falling remained in the courtyard.

She slowly stood up, her movements carrying the composure of years and a hint of barely perceptible hesitation.

"Since there are no problems..." Her gaze passed over Shuji and landed on the cherry blossoms falling in the courtyard. Her gaze was distant and heavy, as if piercing through the dust of time. "From now on, live well, Shuji."

A gentle breeze swept by, swirling a few fallen petals. The old man's voice deepened, carrying a weariness and desolation that had been buried deep within his heart for years:

"Our clan has already sacrificed too much for Konoha."

She paused, her gaze still fixed on the silently falling petals. Her voice was as soft as a sigh, yet each word was clear, carrying the weight of time: "Giving up life, giving up hatred, and in the end, not even the surname of our ancestors... can be preserved..." It was as if she wasn't speaking to Shuuji, but to this courtyard, to those names lost in the dust of history, whispering, "Lord Hashirama, Lord Tobirama... for the village, what is left of our clan...?"

The whispers gradually faded into a near-silent soliloquy, dissipating in the deepening twilight of the courtyard, leaving only a heavy, lingering sense of melancholy, like the cherry blossoms that carpeted the ground, silently recounting their former splendor and present decline.