By noon, I had reached the limits of my fragile civilian body.
After spending the entire morning running around the park with Naruto, my legs felt as though someone had filled them with wet cement. Every step was heavy, my breathing was uneven, and my soul had already begun writing a resignation letter to my body.
Naruto, however, looked completely fine.
No.
He looked better than fine.
He looked as though the morning had only served as a warm-up.
From the swings to the sandbox, from the sandbox to the little pond with the one-legged frog statue, he had dragged me through every possible activity in the park. Every time I thought we were finally finished, he would turn around with sparkling eyes and shout for me to hurry up.
This child had no mercy.
None at all.
"Big Sister, you're too slow!" Naruto complained, jogging backward in front of me with the smug confidence of youth. "We only ran for a little while! How are you already panting?"
I leaned against a park bench and stared at him with dead-fish eyes.
"…You call that a little while?"
Naruto nodded seriously.
"Yeah!"
Cruel.
Too cruel.
"It's because you always sit at home writing," he declared, pointing at me like a tiny prosecutor presenting evidence in court. "That's why you're so weak! Uncle Teuchi said people need to eat more and move more!"
I clutched my chest.
The accusation pierced straight through me.
"I have nothing in common with a high-energy monster like you."
Naruto didn't get angry.
Instead, he laughed even louder.
That laugh was definitely mockery.
This brat was mocking me.
Even though no other children came to play with Naruto that morning, he never once showed the lonely expression he had worn the last time he watched Shikamaru and the others leave.
Today, he had someone beside him.
That alone seemed to be enough.
He occupied the swings like a conquering hero, pumping his legs until he soared high into the air. Every time he rose, he waved at me with both hands, grinning so brightly that the sunlight seemed dull by comparison.
I scolded him several times to hold on properly.
He agreed every time.
Then immediately forgot.
By the time noon finally arrived, my stomach was empty, my feet were aching, and my dignity had been thoroughly defeated by a five-year-old child.
Naruto grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the commercial street.
The moment we started walking, his entire mood changed.
He became serious.
Very serious.
As though he was about to introduce me to one of the sacred treasures of the world.
"Big Sister, listen carefully," Naruto said, lifting one finger. "Ichiraku Ramen is amazing."
"I can tell from your face."
"No, no, you don't understand yet."
He shook his head solemnly.
"The chashu melts in your mouth."
"Oh?"
"The broth is simmered for a whole day."
"That does sound good."
"And Uncle Teuchi remembers what flavor every customer likes!"
His voice grew more passionate with every sentence.
By the time he finished explaining the greatness of Ichiraku Ramen, he had made himself hungry. His pace quickened until he was almost dragging me into a jog.
"Naruto."
"Almost there!"
"Naruto, my legs."
"Ramen will heal them!"
That was not how medicine worked.
Soon, we arrived in front of a small shop with a warm curtain hanging over the entrance.
Ichiraku Ramen.
The legendary ramen shop.
For Naruto, this place was not merely a restaurant.
It was shelter.
It was comfort.
It was one of the very few places in Konoha where he could sit down, be treated normally, and eat a hot meal without being driven away by cold eyes.
I followed him inside.
The shop was smaller than I expected.
A polished wooden counter stretched across the front, worn smooth by years of use. Steam rose from a large pot in the kitchen, blurring the edges of the handwritten menu hanging on the wall. The rich aroma of pork-bone broth filled the air, warm and inviting, wrapping around us the moment we stepped through the curtain.
Behind the counter stood a middle-aged man wearing a white headscarf.
He had been wiping the counter, but when he heard the curtain rustle, he looked up.
His gaze landed on Naruto.
No fear.
No disgust.
No awkward hesitation.
Only the same warm recognition he would give any regular customer.
"Yo, Naruto!" Teuchi greeted with a smile. "Long time no see! The usual?"
Naruto's face lit up instantly.
"Uncle! There are two of us today!"
He climbed onto the high stool with practiced ease, then patted the seat beside him for me.
With a proud expression, he announced, "This is my big sister! It's her first time at Ichiraku Ramen!"
Teuchi's gaze shifted to me.
He gave a small nod, still wiping the counter with steady movements.
"Ah, Naruto's big sister. This kid has talked about you for a long time."
I sat down beside Naruto, smiling.
"Really? What has he been saying about me?"
Teuchi's expression remained perfectly calm.
"He said your fried eggs are delicious."
Naruto nodded proudly.
"He said when you're rushing a deadline, you shut yourself away like you're training in the mountains."
"…That sounds exaggerated."
"He also told me about the hat you bought him."
Naruto's ears turned slightly red, but he still looked happy.
Then Teuchi continued casually, "Oh, and he said the hamburger steak you made last time looked like charcoal, but because you worked hard, he ate it all."
I lowered my face into one hand.
"…You didn't need to add that part."
Naruto panicked.
"Uncle! We agreed you wouldn't tell her!"
Teuchi turned around to boil the noodles without changing expression.
"Did we?"
His movements were smooth and practiced. Noodles went into the pot. Bowls were prepared. Broth was ladled. Each step looked effortless, as if his hands remembered everything without needing thought.
While working, he winked at me.
"This kid always sits on the far right. Miso ramen, extra chashu. After finishing, he drinks every drop of soup."
Naruto buried his face behind the menu.
"Uncle…"
"Sometimes, when he doesn't have enough money, he lingers outside the shop."
Teuchi's voice remained casual, but there was warmth beneath it.
"So I let him come in and put it on his tab."
Naruto's ears turned even redder.
"But he always pays it back first thing when he gets his allowance. Never once delayed."
I looked at Naruto.
The menu covered most of his face.
Only his red ears were visible.
"Uncle, you're talking too much today," he muttered.
The corner of my mouth softened.
This shop really was comfortable.
The smell of broth, the sound of boiling noodles, the warmth of steam brushing against my face, Teuchi's unhurried presence behind the counter…
Everything here felt ordinary.
And in Naruto's life, ordinary kindness was precious.
Soon, two bowls of steaming ramen were placed before us.
Large slices of chashu trembled slightly atop the soup. Golden oil shimmered across the surface of the rich broth. The noodles were neatly folded beneath, waiting to be lifted.
Naruto's attention was captured instantly.
"Whoa!"
He broke apart his chopsticks and started eating with the enthusiasm of a child who had been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.
I picked up my own chopsticks.
The noodles were springy.
The broth was deep and rich.
The chashu melted against my tongue.
For a moment, I finally understood.
So Naruto's happiness in the anime every time he ate ramen had not been exaggerated at all.
It was realistic.
"Uncle Teuchi," I said sincerely, "this ramen is amazing. I feel like writing you an eight-thousand-word review."
Teuchi chuckled.
"Eight thousand words is too long. Just say it's delicious after you finish."
Before I could reply, the curtain at the entrance lifted.
A cool gust of air slipped into the shop.
"One bowl of miso ramen."
The voice was lazy.
Soft.
As though its owner had just woken from a nap.
My chopsticks stopped midair.
I knew that voice.
Not long ago, at a book signing, that same voice had said several things right in front of me.
"I really like it."
"It's amazing."
"The person who can write lines like this is incredible."
Then he had nearly walked into a bookshelf while holding my book.
Kakashi Hatake.
He stepped into the shop with his usual relaxed posture.
Silver hair.
Masked face.
Forehead protector slanted over one eye.
Even in the dim ramen shop, his presence was impossible to ignore.
His visible eye swept across the counter.
It passed over me.
Then paused on Naruto for less than half a second.
After that, it moved away naturally, as though nothing had happened.
He chose a seat on the far left, leaving two empty stools between us.
Teuchi handed him the menu, but Kakashi waved lightly.
The usual.
My chopsticks were still hanging in the air.
Calm down.
He shouldn't recognize me.
At the book signing, I had worn a mask and hat. My face had been covered tightly, leaving only my eyes visible.
Now I had no makeup, casual clothes, and my hair was loose around my shoulders.
I looked completely different from Teacher Bluebird on that stage.
It was fine.
I was safe.
Probably.
I lowered my head and resumed eating as naturally as possible.
At least, I tried.
Unfortunately, Naruto noticed almost immediately.
He was already on his second bowl, cheeks puffed out with noodles and chashu, sweat beading on his forehead from the hot broth. After swallowing a large mouthful, he turned toward me, clearly ready to share some new ramen-related discovery.
Then he blinked.
"Big Sister?"
I continued staring into my bowl.
"Hm?"
"Why did you suddenly stop talking?"
"Did I?"
"Yes," Naruto said seriously. "Just now, you were talking to Uncle Teuchi about eight thousand words. Now your chopsticks aren't even moving properly. You keep picking up noodles and putting them back down."
I looked down.
He was right.
My chopsticks had been lifting and dropping the same bundle of noodles like some kind of broken machine.
Naruto pointed at my bowl with his chopsticks, exposing my abnormal behavior with terrifying accuracy.
Naruto.
I truly appreciated your concern.
But right now, I desperately needed the usually oblivious version of you.
He put down his chopsticks.
Tilted his head.
Then slowly glanced toward the silver-haired ninja sitting on the far left.
My heart skipped.
Naruto leaned closer and lowered his voice mysteriously.
"Big Sister…"
"Do you know that ninja?"
"…No."
I lowered my voice as well and pushed my bowl slightly toward him, pretending we were simply chatting.
"I just have a little social anxiety when I see strangers. You know I'm not good at dealing with unfamiliar people."
Naruto's eyes widened with sudden understanding.
"So Big Sister gets shy too."
"…Something like that."
Then he made a decision that immediately earned him ten points in my heart.
He didn't ask more questions.
Instead, he pushed my bowl back in front of me.
"It's okay," he whispered seriously. "You don't have to talk to him. Just talk to me. I'll block him for you."
"…Block what?"
"His view."
Naruto shifted his bowl slightly.
Then moved his small body a little closer to me, creating a very deliberate barrier between me and Kakashi.
He looked extremely proud of his tactical positioning.
I stared at him.
This child…
Was unexpectedly reliable.
At that moment, Teuchi placed a bowl of miso ramen in front of Kakashi.
"Long time no see, Kakashi. Busy with missions lately?"
"It's alright."
Kakashi's tone was flat.
But his chopsticks paused for a fraction of a second before lifting the noodles.
He wasn't focused on eating.
His posture looked loose and careless, but the angle of his head had shifted slightly toward us.
As someone who wrote novels for a living, I had spent plenty of time studying body language and micro-expressions.
This was the classic posture of someone pretending to eat while secretly listening.
"Naruto," I whispered, picking up a piece of chashu and placing it into his bowl, "you can have this too. I'm getting full."
"Huh? But you barely ate."
"I used too much energy at the park. My appetite isn't great."
Naruto looked doubtful.
Still, he accepted the chashu.
After one bite, his expression changed from suspicion to happiness.
Then back to suspicion.
Because although I was speaking to him, my eyes remained fixed on my ramen bowl, and my back had become so straight that I probably looked like I was attending a formal meeting.
Naruto grew worried.
"Big Sister, your social anxiety is really serious. Last time at the barbecue restaurant, you weren't this nervous when talking to Shikamaru's father."
"That's because Shikaku is an acquaintance."
"Oh."
Naruto nodded, seemingly accepting the explanation.
Then, without saying anything, he moved his stool a little closer to me.
His small body now blocked the line of sight between me and Kakashi even more perfectly.
At the far left of the counter, Kakashi's chopsticks paused against the rim of his bowl.
For a moment, the steam rising between us seemed to thicken.
Then he gave a soft hum.
It might have been a cough.
It might have been amusement.
Or perhaps something else entirely.
He continued eating slowly, his movements still lazy and calm.
But his visible eye curved slightly.
Kakashi Hatake had noticed something.
And I had the terrible feeling that my peaceful ramen lunch had just become far more dangerous than any mission report.