After paying his visit to Itachi, the next person Shuji needed to see was Mitarashi Anko.
She lived in a shinobi apartment near the center of the village.
These apartments were inexpensive housing provided by Konoha for its shinobi: one room, a small kitchen, and a bathroom—just enough space for a single person.
Anko had no parents.
Or rather, after so many years of war, she was hardly unusual.
Aside from shinobi born into established clans, many ninja of their generation had lost both parents and been sent to the village orphanage.
Once they reached the age to attend the Ninja Academy, they moved out of the orphanage and into apartments provided by the village.
While they remained Academy students, Konoha charged them no rent.
Someone from the Administration Department would visit every month to deliver living expenses and check on their well-being.
Over the past three years, however, the shinobi apartments had become packed to capacity.
Knock!
Knock!
The sound echoed through the somewhat empty corridor.
Quite a while passed before sluggish footsteps approached from inside, followed by a muffled voice thick with sleep.
“Coming…
Who is it…?” The door opened a crack.
The girl behind it looked almost nothing like the lively figure in the photograph attached to her mission file.
Fourteen-year-old Mitarashi Anko looked thin and worn down, as though someone had drained the vitality out of her.
Her distinctive purple hair stuck out in every direction.
She wore a loose black mesh shirt and a pair of faded athletic shorts.
The moment the door opened, a stale wave of air rolled into the hallway—a sour mixture of spoiled sweets, uncollected garbage, and the stuffiness of a room that had remained sealed for far too long.
Anko squinted against the corridor light and looked at the person standing outside.
That clean-cut face seemed vaguely familiar.
More than anything, the slightly distant shape of his eyes and brows immediately pulled memories from her days at the Ninja Academy to the surface.
“Shu…
Shuji?” Anko called uncertainly, frowning in obvious confusion.
“What are you doing here?” The honor student she remembered had always worn a cold expression, as though some enormous responsibility rested permanently on his shoulders.
The person before her was different.
His eyes were calm, his presence relaxed.
The change was difficult to ignore.
“The village should have sent you a notice,” Shuji said, calmly studying his former classmate, who looked as though all her energy had been hollowed out.
“You’ve been transferred to my squad.” Anko scratched her disheveled hair and tried to remember.
Her expression still carried the dazed exhaustion of someone who had only recently emerged from a long investigation.
“Ah…
yeah.
I think there was something like that.” She stepped aside, her movements careless and listless.
“Come in.
But…
don’t expect much.
It’s kind of a mess.” Apparently, she couldn’t even be bothered to hide it anymore.
Shuji nodded and stepped inside.
His eyes quickly swept across the small apartment.
There wasn’t the slightest trace of what anyone might call a stereotypical girl’s room.
Several empty instant-noodle cups were scattered across the tatami.
Beside them sat a half-eaten skewer of dango that had already dried into something hard and shriveled.
Snack wrappers had been tossed carelessly into a corner, while several empty soda cans lay on their sides beside the low table.
It wasn’t filthy enough to be called a garbage dump, but it was obvious that Anko hadn’t seriously taken care of the place in quite some time.
The entire apartment carried the atmosphere of someone who had simply stopped caring.
Shuji’s gaze settled on a broom leaning against the wall.
He said nothing.
Instead, he walked over, rolled up his sleeves, picked up the broom and dustpan, and began quietly sweeping the floor.
His movements were practiced and natural, as though he were doing the most ordinary household chore in the world.
Anko stared at him, dumbfounded.
Then she saw the broom approaching her half-eaten dango.
“Hey!
Don’t touch that!
I-I haven’t finished it yet!
Hey!
Even for you, isn’t this a little rude?!” “Go boil some water.” Shuji didn’t even look up.
His tone was matter-of-fact.
“When you have a guest, offering a cup of hot water is basic courtesy.
Do you have tea?
If not, plain water is fine.” Without pausing, he casually tossed several empty soda cans into the trash bin in the corner with perfect accuracy.
“You…” Anko choked on whatever she had been about to say.
She watched him clean her apartment with such complete naturalness that a powerful sense of absurdity washed over her.
The Shuji she remembered had always stood straight-backed and sharp-eyed—the very image of an elite student.
How had that person turned into someone who looked perfectly at home doing housework?
And why was he acting as though this were completely normal?
Her mouth opened, but in the end, no argument came out.
“Fine, fine.
I get it…” she muttered in resignation before trudging into the kitchen to boil water.
The sound of a kettle being placed on the stove came from the kitchen.
Shuji worked efficiently.
It didn’t take long for him to clear the garbage from the floor and gather the scattered dishes into one place.
Then he walked to the window.
With a sharp swish, he pulled open the curtains and pushed the window wide.
A warm breeze carrying the scent of sunlight swept into the apartment, driving away the stagnant air.
Sunlight instantly flooded half the room.
By the time Anko returned carrying two steaming cups, the apartment already looked considerably fresher and the air was finally circulating.
She placed one cup on the low table in front of Shuji, then sat cross-legged opposite him with the other in her hands.
Looking around the transformed little room, her expression became complicated.
Part of her felt awkward at being taken care of.
Another part still couldn’t understand how much the person in front of her had changed.
“Here.” Shuji placed a paper bag on the table and pushed it toward her.
The open top revealed several skewers of glossy three-colored dango coated in fresh sugar glaze.
A tempting sweetness drifted from the bag.
Anko’s eyes lit up instantly, like a candle suddenly catching flame.
But the brightness faded almost as quickly.
She looked at Shuji with a mixture of wariness and complicated emotion.
“What’s this?
Trying to bribe me?” She hesitated, then finally voiced what had been bothering her.
“You’re really different from how you used to be.” “I bought them on the way here.” Shuji picked up a skewer and casually took a bite.
A satisfied expression appeared on his face as he slowly savored it.
“Mm.
Soft, chewy, and sweet.” He gestured toward the bag.
“Try one.
They’re a lot better than that dried-up thing you were saving.” His tone was completely casual, as though he were merely sharing an ordinary opinion about food.
Anko stared at the undisguised enjoyment on Shuji’s face, then at the enticing dango.
Her stomach betrayed her with an audible growl.
She hesitated for several seconds.
In the end, the temptation of sweets—and her curiosity about this strangely different Shuji—won.
She reached out, picked up a skewer, and cautiously took a small bite.
The warm, springy rice dumpling and its light, sweet glaze melted together in her mouth.
It had been far too long since she’d tasted something this good.
Anko’s eyes narrowed involuntarily as a satisfied sigh escaped her.
“…It is pretty good,” she admitted around another bite.
Even while eating, she couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Shuji.
The boy calmly eating dango across from her, with a little dust still clinging to his clothes from cleaning the room, seemed both familiar and strangely foreign.
“Have you been living on this stuff lately?” Shuji asked, gesturing with his chin toward the instant-noodle cups and snack wrappers.
There was no accusation in his voice.
It sounded more like he was simply confirming the state of her life.
“What else am I supposed to eat?” Anko replied around a mouthful of dango, her tone carrying the recklessness of someone who had stopped caring.
“I don’t have any missions worth doing.
Eating out isn’t cheap, and I can’t be bothered to leave the apartment…” She left the rest unsaid.
She didn’t particularly want to go outside and face the looks people gave her—pitying, curious, suspicious, or wary.
“The border conflict has temporarily died down, and there are plenty of backlogged trade-route missions,” Shuji said after swallowing his food.
“Clearing out wandering shinobi, escorting merchant caravans, border patrols…
There are C-rank and D-rank missions everywhere.
The village hasn’t assigned you anything?” Anko’s hand stopped.
Her eyes flickered as she lowered her gaze toward the glossy bamboo skewer in her fingers.
“They did.
They gave me things like finding lost pets and clearing weeds.” Her voice grew quieter.
“I didn’t want them.” A pause.
“They’re boring.” “Are they boring,” Shuji asked, his gaze dropping to the hand gripping the skewer tightly enough for her knuckles to whiten, “or can you simply not bring yourself to care about anything right now?” Anko’s head snapped up.
A flash of anger crossed her eyes at having been seen through so easily, but beneath it lay something much deeper—exhaustion and confusion.
“Does it matter?” Her voice was rough.
“Whether I care or not…
it’s all the same anyway.” She turned her face toward the sunlight pouring through the open window.
“Back when I was following him, I always felt like I had a goal.
Get stronger.
Learn stronger jutsu.
Keep moving forward.” A bitter, self-mocking smile tugged at her lips.
“Now…” She exhaled.
“It feels like someone pulled the bones out of me.
I can’t bring myself to care about anything.” Her fingers tightened around the skewer.
“Orochimaru-sensei…
why did he…” The rest of the sentence died in her throat.
She swallowed it by force, leaving behind only a heavy breath filled with hatred, hurt, and unwillingness to accept what had happened.
Shuji listened quietly.
He didn’t interrupt.
He didn’t offer hollow comfort or try to explain her feelings away.
Instead, he simply picked up another skewer of dango and ate it slowly, giving her time to sort through the emotions she had buried.
For a while, the only sounds in the apartment were Anko’s slightly uneven breathing and the occasional birdsong drifting through the open window.
Strangely, Shuji’s refusal to rush into comforting her made her feel less pressured.
Only after her emotions had settled somewhat did he finally speak.
“Anger and hatred are normal.” His tone was as calm as if he were discussing the weather.
“But you still have to live.” He glanced around the apartment.
“If you lock yourself in here and rot away while living on instant noodles and day-old dango, what exactly are you accomplishing besides making yourself worse?” He set down the empty skewer and looked directly at her.
His next words were blunt.
“The missions the village gave you might be boring, but the pay is enough to buy fresh, hot meals and all the dango you want.” “And while you’re working, at least your mind is occupied and your body is moving.” “That’s better than sitting here and slowly wearing yourself down.” Anko stared at him.
If someone else had said those things, she probably would have dismissed them as empty preaching from someone who had no idea what she was going through.
But coming from the strangely practical—almost mundane—Shuji sitting in front of her, the same person who had just cleaned her apartment and brought her fresh dango, the words carried an unexpected weight.
There was no false sympathy.
No condescending lecture.
Only one simple truth.
Life still had to go on.
“You really do talk differently now,” Anko muttered, her tone complicated.
But the lifelessness in her eyes seemed to have loosened slightly.
She lowered her gaze toward the half-eaten dango in her hand.
The fresh sugar glaze gleamed temptingly beneath the sunlight.
Yeah.
Fresh dango really did taste much better than dried-out leftovers.
Anko suddenly shoved the rest into her mouth and chewed fiercely, as though she were trying to grind some nameless emotion to pieces and swallow it along with the food.
“But you’re right.” She swallowed, wiped a smear of sugar from the corner of her mouth, and raised her head.
Exhaustion and pain still lingered in her eyes, but now there was also the faintest spark—small and fragile, yet stubbornly alive.
“I need to start moving again.” Her lips twisted slightly.
“Rotting in here really is pointless.” She looked at Shuji with a mixture of curiosity and resigned acceptance.
“So, Captain, when’s our next mission?
C-rank?
B-rank?” Shuji looked at her, the corner of his mouth lifting almost imperceptibly.
“You won’t be sitting around for long.
We’ll wait for the official assignment.” He rose and glanced around the apartment.
It was cleaner now, but still sparse and neglected.
“For the next few days, clean this place properly.” He gestured toward the open window and the newly swept floor.
“At the very least, when I come back, I’d like it to still look like this.” He paused.
“And have hot tea ready.” “Hey!
That’s a lot of demands!
Fine, I get it!” Anko shouted in irritation.
But as she watched Shuji walk toward the door, there was strangely little genuine resistance behind her complaints.
Shuji opened the door and was about to leave when Anko suddenly called after him.
“Hey, Shuji!” He looked back.
Anko turned her eyes away.
“…Thanks.” Her voice had dropped considerably.
After a brief pause, she added awkwardly, “For the dango…
and the cleaning.” Shuji nodded.
He said nothing else and quietly closed the door behind him.
The instant the door shut, Anko found herself alone in the suddenly silent apartment.
The sweet scent of fresh dango seemed to linger in the air, mingling with the warmth of sunlight.
She looked down at her empty hands, then slowly surveyed the clean floor, the tidied room, and the wide-open window.
Sunlight streamed inside without obstruction, casting bright, warm patches across the floor.
Anko drew a deep breath.
The breeze from outside carried the fresh scent of grass and trees.
Then she slowly released the breath, long and steady, as though exhaling the stale heaviness that had been trapped inside her chest for far too long.
She stood.
Walking to the corner, Anko picked up the broom Shuji had used earlier.
This time, she tightened her grip around the handle and began cleaning the remaining garbage herself.