Several days later, when Shuji and Itachi met again in a quiet corridor of the Hokage Building, Itachi’s gaze lingered on Shuji’s face for a moment.
“You don’t look very well, senpai,” he said softly, his eyes settling on the faint bluish shadows beneath Shuji’s eyes.
“Yeah.
Training.” Shuji rubbed between his brows, barely suppressing a yawn.
“The money came through.
Come on—let’s go to Yakiniku Q.
We can split it while we eat.” Itachi had long since grown accustomed to Shuji’s ways.
Before leaving home, he had already told his mother where he was going.
The two merged into the bustling evening streets.
Gradually, the rich aroma of sizzling fat and grilled meat filled the air.
Shuji walked ahead, humming a tuneless melody under his breath, while Itachi followed quietly half a step behind.
There was something strangely relaxing about being around Shuji.
When Itachi was with him, there were none of the scrutinizing looks that treated him like some kind of “genius specimen,” nor the crushing weight of expectations constantly pressing down on his shoulders.
For once, he could almost feel like an ordinary boy.
Inside the yakiniku restaurant, the atmosphere was warm and lively.
Slices of pork belly had barely touched the iron grill before they began to sizzle cheerfully.
Fat dripped onto the coals below, sending up tiny sparks.
Shuji quickly snatched up a piece whose edges had browned to a perfect crisp.
Still glistening with bubbling fat, he coated it generously in dark sauce and immediately popped it into his mouth.
Scalding meat juices burst across his tongue, mingling with the salty richness of the sauce.
The exhaustion accumulated over days of relentless training seemed to be blasted away by the sheer, uncomplicated deliciousness of the food.
“Ahh…” Shuji exhaled in satisfaction, narrowing his eyes.
He picked up another perfectly grilled slice and casually placed it on Itachi’s plate.
“Eat more.
You’re still growing.” Itachi looked at the fragrant piece of meat.
“Are you developing a new technique, senpai?” “Something like that.
It’s not going very smoothly.” Shuji gave a vague answer and helped himself to another slice.
“What about you?
What have you been practicing these past few days?” “Taijutsu, ninjutsu, and ninja-tool throwing,” Itachi replied, picking up his chopsticks.
“I’ve been training with one of the senior members of the clan.” “Uchiha Shisui?” Itachi’s movement paused almost imperceptibly.
He raised his eyes toward Shuji.
“You know Shisui, senpai?” “Aside from you—the record holder who graduated from the Academy after only one year—he’s the Uchiha with the bigger reputation.” Shuji took an unhurried sip of barley tea.
“I’ve heard of him.
Never met him.” After several rounds of grilled meat, the emptiness in Shuji’s stomach had been replaced by a deep, satisfying fullness.
He wiped the corner of his mouth and finally turned to business.
“The payment has been confirmed.
After they opened that Sunagakure shinobi’s sealing scroll and inventoried everything inside, the total came to a little over ten million ryō…” That was enough money to commission more than a dozen high-level A-rank missions from the Five Great Shinobi Villages.
An ordinary chūnin might not accumulate that much money over the course of an entire career.
“Senpai.” Itachi set down his chopsticks, his dark eyes clear and attentive.
“Why did that Sunagakure shinobi betray his village?” Instead of answering directly, Shuji asked, “What is a village to you?” Itachi thought for a moment before giving an almost textbook response.
“A place where shinobi live, accept missions, and protect one another.” Shuji nodded.
His gaze drifted toward the window, where countless lights were beginning to illuminate the village outside.
For a moment, it seemed as though his eyes were looking through the dust of history itself.
“In the beginning, Konoha was nothing more than a settlement jointly established by the Senju and Uchiha after they finally set aside generations of bloodshed.” He lightly tapped the tabletop with the tip of his chopsticks.
“When the two strongest shinobi clans in the world shook hands and even began living side by side, the other shinobi clans within the Land of Fire effectively lost their freedom to choose.” “No single clan could hope to stand against the Senju and Uchiha alliance alone.
If they wanted to survive, joining Konoha became the only realistic option.” Itachi’s back unconsciously straightened.
At the Ninja Academy, he had heard countless glorious stories about the founding of the village.
Yet beneath Shuji’s calm narration, that idealized history was slowly being stripped of its shining outer layer, exposing the cold, practical foundation beneath it—survival enforced by power, and the careful balance between competing strengths.
“Once the vast majority of the shinobi clans in the Land of Fire gathered here,” Shuji continued, “this place naturally became the country’s sole—and strongest—military pillar.” “The regional lords, and even the daimyō’s government itself, could no longer manipulate shinobi clans into slaughtering one another as easily as they had during the Warring States Period, then sit back and profit from the aftermath.” A thick cut of meat released a bead of fat onto the charcoal beneath the grill.
Hiss!
A burst of white smoke rose between them.
“So in the beginning,” Shuji said, bringing his attention back to Itachi, “the village was more like a platform.” “A platform that allowed the shinobi clans to cooperate under relatively safe rules while still competing with one another within those same rules.” “At its core, early Konoha was simply a settlement where a dozen or so shinobi clans banded together for mutual survival.” “It wasn’t until later…” Shuji’s eyes sharpened.
“The Senju voluntarily dissolved their clan.
The village began taking in large numbers of orphans and wandering shinobi who had no clan to rely on.
Then the Second Hokage established ANBU…” He paused briefly, as though considering exactly how to phrase what came next.
“Only then did the village truly acquire a foundation of power that belonged to the village itself—one that no longer depended entirely on the shinobi clans.” “That force answered to the village, and the village alone.” Outside their private booth, the footsteps of a server carrying dishes approached and then faded away, leaving a brief silence behind.
“That change was crucial,” Shuji continued, his voice lowering.
“Shinobi clans were no longer the village’s only foundation.” “Once the basic pressure of survival eased, the personal desires and ambitions that shinobi had previously suppressed began to emerge.” He lifted his teacup and gazed into the amber-colored liquid.
“And some of those ambitions…” He paused.
“Were inevitably going to come into irreconcilable conflict with the village as a collective.” Smoke from the grill drifted lazily between them, partially obscuring their expressions.
“You said before that, to you, being a shinobi is simply a job,” Itachi said.
“Then how do you view rogue ninja?” Shuji’s expression barely changed.
“Under normal circumstances, I consider them enemies.” He picked up a beautifully browned piece of meat and dipped it into the sauce.
“Under the hidden-village system, shinobi are heavily restricted.
They can’t simply attack ordinary people whenever they feel like it.” “That means ordinary people can farm, open shops, raise families, and live their lives without constantly fearing that some shinobi will kill them on a whim.
Violence is kept within certain boundaries.
The economy has room to develop, people’s lives improve, and good things like this…” He gestured toward the sizzling grill and the table overflowing with food.
“…become more common.” “But rogue ninja are different.
Take that Sunagakure shinobi, for example.” Shuji’s tone shifted slightly.
“He abandoned his village because he wanted what he believed would be a better life.
On the surface, that might not seem particularly wrong.” A faint smile touched Shuji’s lips, but there was no warmth in it.
“And yet that man was only a cautious chūnin.
He still feared the power of the hidden villages enough to restrain himself and avoid becoming too reckless.” Shuji looked directly into Itachi’s eyes, speaking each word clearly.
“What happens when you encounter someone stronger—someone completely unrestrained, with no bottom line at all, who treats human lives as worthless?” He paused and took a sip of tea.
“I just want to sit down and enjoy a good meal in peace.” Shuji lowered the cup.
Its base touched the tabletop with a soft, crisp click.
“If someone insists on coming over and smashing the pot…” His voice remained calm.
“Then as long as it’s within my ability, I’ll stop them.” Itachi listened in silence, his small fingers unconsciously tracing the rim of the warm teacup, feeling the smooth ceramic beneath his fingertips.
After a moment, he spoke again, more cautiously this time.
“Senpai…
do you think the hidden-village system can preserve this kind of order forever?” Shuji looked out the window.
Night had settled over Konoha.
Warm lights illuminated the streets, outlining the silhouettes of villagers making their way home.
“No system is perfect, Itachi.” “What matters is whether it produces better results than what came before it.” He paused.
“As for the hidden-village system…
when it comes to ending the Warring States Period and reducing meaningless slaughter, it has clearly proven more effective than allowing independent shinobi clans to divide the land among themselves.” Shuji turned back toward the boy sitting across from him.
“The village gives shinobi somewhere they can call home.
It reduces the endless conflict and exhaustion caused by clans fighting one another generation after generation.” “But at the same time, it creates new restrictions…
and new conflicts.” “Every system contains contradictions that can never be completely eliminated.
The interests of individual shinobi will clash with the needs of the village as a whole.
Clan traditions will collide with the village’s unified will.” “Those problems can’t simply be avoided.
Every generation has to keep confronting them, adjusting the balance, and finding new ways to resolve them.” Itachi seemed to catch something hidden beneath Shuji’s words.
“Senpai…
then does that mean a powerful shinobi clan should never be allowed to exist within a village?” “Not exactly.” Shuji calmly explained his view.
“In fact, to a certain extent, the village needs shinobi clans.” “Especially clans that possess unique kekkei genkai.
A clan structure is one of the most effective ways to protect those valuable abilities and pass them safely from one generation to the next.” “You could even say that clans reduce the burden on the village when it comes to cultivating specialized shinobi and safeguarding secret techniques.” “To some degree, they also provide a buffer between individuals who possess exceptionally powerful bloodline abilities and the broader rules imposed by the village.” Shuji picked up a leaf of lettuce and wrapped it around a piece of grilled meat.
His tone remained calm, but the conviction behind it was unmistakable.
“However, a clan’s power must never become too great.
And it absolutely cannot place itself above the village.” He paused.
“Because if you look at what actually happened during the mountains of corpses and seas of blood left behind by the three Shinobi World Wars, many of the heroes who stepped forward to defend the village came from ordinary families with no prestigious kekkei genkai.” “It was because countless nameless people like them kept stepping forward, one after another, that the village survived those wars and still stands today.” Itachi said nothing more.
He lowered his eyes to the piece of grilled meat Shuji had placed on his plate earlier.
It had already cooled slightly.
Warm yellow light fell across its surface, catching a faint sheen of oil.
Inside the private booth, only the soft crackling of charcoal remained, accompanied by the distant laughter and conversation drifting from the neighboring table.