Konoha Year 54 (this story considers Naruto’s birth year to be Konoha Year 48), January 10.
It had been exactly one week since Tōru had formally begun training in Flame Breathing.
There were still exactly fifty days before the Ninja Academy reopened.
Deep in a ravine along the Naka River, Tōru had stripped off his shirt.
His immature body was as red and scorching as molten lava.
He stood motionless beneath the waterfall, allowing the frigid water and his feverishly hot body to collide, sending up one cloud after another of mist like that found in a steamy bathhouse.
Experience had proven that practicing the Flame Breathing, whose properties were diametrically opposed to Water Breathing, in a location where Water Breathing was exceptionally efficient could effectively weaken the extremely violent vitality of the Natural Energy flowing through his body while practicing Flame Breathing.
By now, Tōru could initially adapt to the concentrated transformation Flame Breathing inflicted upon his body, particularly his bones and muscle tissue.
It felt like placing an iron billet into a furnace, smelting it, then repeatedly hammering and reshaping it.
Compared with Water Breathing, it was considerably more painful, but after completing a full breathing cycle, it was also considerably more satisfying—like someone who had been desperately thirsty for a long time finally gulping down a large glass of sour-plum juice.
When Tōru was beneath the waterfall, he could now maintain Flame Breathing continuously for seven hours without making a single mistake.
Away from a water source, however, that time was reduced to three hours.
He was still clearly some distance away from achieving Constant Total Concentration for twenty-four hours without a single lapse.
It seemed that the reason Flame Breathing had remained the Rengoku family’s hereditary technique on Earth wasn’t because successive Flame Hashira had been possessive or unwilling to share it.
The truth was that only swordsmen who had undergone years of training possessed the physique and patience necessary to withstand the strain of this training.
Otherwise, it was all too easy to burn oneself alive.
And in the shinobi world, where Natural Energy was exceptionally abundant, practicing Flame Breathing was even more dangerous.
Compared with the physical and spiritual energy that could be steadily refined within his body, using the Transparent World’s microscopic control to manipulate the violent Natural Energy was more than ten times as difficult.
Therefore, Tōru could only rely on the patience he had cultivated as the Water Hashira, adjusting and controlling it little by little…
While he was completely absorbed in his breathing, four Shadow Clones wielding bamboo sticks were training separately on the first eight Forms of Flame Breathing farther down the river.
As for the final Form, Ninth Form: Rengoku, it was similar to Water Breathing’s Eleventh Form: Dead Calm.
It could only be used after reaching the level of Constant Total Concentration and then combining it with chakra.
The sound of wings suddenly flapping broke the silence.
The red-eyed crow Shisui had left behind to help Tōru keep watch over his surroundings flew over and landed on the roof of the small hut beside the pond.
Like a timer, it gave two hoarse calls.
The four clones stopped simultaneously.
They stood perfectly still like four identical statues.
A minute passed.
After Tōru’s main body finally exhaled noticeably, one of the clones immediately seized the opportunity to speak.
“Time’s up.
If we keep training, you won’t have the strength to go see Naruto.” Tōru opened his deep-blue eyes and nodded slightly.
He then formed a hand seal.
All four Shadow Clones immediately dispersed.
At that moment, Tōru himself nearly collapsed beneath the waterfall, as though someone had suddenly shoved him hard from behind.
The four clones had been practicing swordsmanship for a full eight hours, from four in the morning until now.
All of that soreness and exhaustion descended upon his main body fourfold.
He really didn’t want to know what words could possibly describe it.
With a dark expression, Tōru walked out of the waterfall and submerged his entire body in the water.
His swollen muscles repeatedly contracted under the cold but steady stimulation, slightly easing the discomfort throughout his body.
Only then did he have the energy to organize the experience his clones had gained from practicing the Breathing Forms.
Five minutes later, his body slowly emerged from the water and floated up to the surface.
His eyes fixed tightly on the area ahead, while dense white vapor escaped between his nose and mouth.
“Flame Breathing, First Form: Unknowing Fire.” A distorted space more than eight meters long tore through the air, accompanied by a water trench of equal length that violently split apart in both directions.
Tōru’s body appeared instantly at the far end of the trench.
Only afterward did the water surface return to normal.
“Unknowing Fire can be used as a Body Flicker Technique.” Tōru glanced at the distorted air behind him, warped by the intense heat.
“But the traces are obvious.
It can only be used for a frontal charge.” I wonder what this Form will become after I achieve Constant Total Concentration and incorporate chakra into it…
He then repeated the same trick, suddenly appearing at the entrance of the hut.
Tōru removed his soaking-wet pants and changed into a more casual set of clothes he had prepared beforehand.
He then created another Shadow Clone.
After all, his chakra reserves were now far greater than they had been four months ago.
The clone sat at the small table and began studying the homework Itachi had assigned him: the principles behind Water Nature chakra’s shape transformation and nature transformation.
“Only by understanding something can you use it better.
Otherwise, it will be difficult to create something new that is truly suited to you.” That was what Itachi had told him.
Tōru couldn’t refute it, so he had agreed.
Unfortunately, he had made almost no progress in this area so far.
At least he could now understand what all those terms meant.
After leaving the ravine, Tōru reduced his Water Breathing to a level that wouldn’t arouse suspicion and took a small path back home.
The house was cold and empty.
Sasuke was studying seriously in one of the Military Police Force’s offices, determined to fulfill his father’s wish that he “must rank above the Hyūga clan” in the Academy entrance examination.
Every day, he received personal instruction from his father.
Although he missed Tōru very much, being able to spend so much time with his father left him quite satisfied.
At least when it comes to Fire Release, I’m far stronger than Tōru!
That was what he thought.
The next time we train together, I’ll definitely give him a huge surprise.
Good luck to him.
As for Itachi, he was outside the village, continuing to undertake missions that could help him qualify for ANBU.
The details were confidential.
As for his mother, she should have been accompanying three subordinates who had already become Chūnin, protecting a noble on the journey from the Land of Fire’s capital to the Land of Rain.
Tōru looked at the empty living room and kitchen.
He remembered the large residence he had been given when he was the Water Hashira.
He remembered all those nights spent tossing and turning beneath the blankets.
A familiar loneliness gradually enveloped him.
Then Tōru remembered Naruto opening the door when he returned home and saying those seemingly meaningless words: I’m home.
Tōru understood what those words truly meant.
“Can’t keep him waiting too long.” Tōru muttered to himself, dispelling the faint emotions gathering in his heart.
He walked to the storage room and dragged out the electric hot plate and rice cooker that had been discarded for years.
His mother had suggested that he take them along the last time he returned from Naruto’s home, although she had specifically warned him not to disturb Naruto for too long.
Tōru cleaned both appliances thoroughly.
He then returned to his room and retrieved the recipes he had carefully recopied earlier.
The originals had been written in handwriting that was too ugly and would be inconvenient to give to someone else.
Only then did he leave home.
…
When Tōru reached Naruto’s front door, he was certain he had heard a pained groan from inside.
Did he get diarrhea again?
Tōru frowned.
Didn’t the Hokage say he would arrange for merchants to sell things to him?
“Knock, knock.” He heard Naruto’s footsteps.
He shouldn’t have been in the bathroom.
Tōru set down what he was carrying and knocked heavily on the door.
“Is that Tōru?” Naruto’s voice contained obvious delight, but it was also somewhat strained, matching Tōru’s suspicion that he wasn’t feeling well.
“Open the door.” Tōru’s tone was flat.
“It’s me.” “Can you wait a little?
I need to use the bathroom.” His voice became even more nervous.
Then came the sudden sound of the bathroom door closing.
Worried that Naruto’s condition might be serious and that he was merely stubbornly refusing to admit it, Tōru grabbed the doorknob and twisted.
If he’s really not well, I’ll take him to the hospital first.
With a click, the lock gave way.
The door was forced open.
The familiar room came into view, but the fallen mop and wet floor were new.
They indicated that Naruto had been cleaning before Tōru arrived.
Then an unbearable odor stabbed into Tōru’s nose.
If it had been Tanjiro, he probably would already have been complaining that the smell had choked his throat raw.
But this smell feels strangely familiar…
The faucet in the bathroom turned on.
The intermittent sound of water—sometimes light, sometimes heavy, stopping and starting—made it clear that Naruto wasn’t sitting on the toilet.
He was hurriedly washing something.
There was also a faint sound of him inhaling, clearly trying to keep Tōru from hearing it.
Tōru didn’t force his way into the bathroom.
Instead, he silently walked to the refrigerator and opened it, casually taking out a carton of milk.
“Production date: December 1.
Shelf life: forty-five days.” Tōru’s eyes sharpened slightly.
“Five days until expiration.” So he went from expired milk to nearly expired milk?
There were sixteen cartons in the case, and there were exactly sixteen cartons in the refrigerator.
That meant Naruto had probably bought them today or yesterday.
Tōru’s mind flashed back to the scene when the Third Hokage had made his promise to Naruto.
The corners of his mouth turned downward slightly.
Back in the Demon Slayer Corps, he had always hated people who were irresponsible yet knew how to make their promises sound good.
If the Hokage felt he was too old to manage so many things, then he could simply step back, like Master Urokodaki had done, and leave matters to the younger generation.
Why make promises he couldn’t keep, only to disappoint people?
Doing things perfunctorily was more irritating than doing nothing at all.
Tōru closed the refrigerator.
The bathroom door opened.
His gaze shifted over.
The first look Naruto gave him wasn’t one of surprise or delight.
Instead, he recoiled instinctively, much like Itachi when Tōru caught him sneaking into the kitchen.
Only then did Naruto ask in surprise, “Tōru, how did you get in?” It was the kind of thing Sasuke would say after staying up late reading comics, turning his head and discovering his mother silently standing behind him.
There was an unmistakable guilty tone to it, as though he had been caught doing something he didn’t want anyone to know about.
Then Naruto glanced toward the front door, where hot air was continuously pouring out, and gave a nervous cry.
“I’ll replace the lock for you.” Tōru’s gaze lingered on Naruto’s face for a moment before moving to his right hand, which was pressed tightly against his thigh.
“But do you need to wear gloves inside the house?” It was a green knitted child’s glove.
Outside, there would have been nothing particularly strange about it.
But indoors…
“Because I thought it was a little cold.” Naruto scratched his head and laughed twice.
“Although it’s even colder now…” “You’re lying.” Tōru interrupted him.
He stood there like an ice sculpture, his eyes as sharp as frost-covered blades.
He had already carefully examined the condition of Naruto’s hands through the Transparent World.
He was suppressing the faint displeasure rising inside him, but he didn’t say anything about it.
Naruto had never seen an expression like this before.
There was no malice in it, but it was extraordinarily stern.
He didn’t know how to respond.
All he could do was lower his head and stare at his slippers, as though he had genuinely done something wrong.
“Sit down first.” Seeing him like this, Tōru’s tone finally softened.
Lecturing a child who was even eight years younger than Tanjiro had been when they first met was difficult for him.
He dragged a chair over to block the draft coming through the broken door, then pressed the stiff, puppet-like Naruto down beside the small tea table next to the bed.
Tōru sat across from him.
“Put your hand on the table.” Naruto obediently did so.
Tōru was a little frightening today.
Although his expression wasn’t much different from last time, Naruto could clearly feel the oppressive atmosphere around him.
Even the Nine-Tails sealed within Naruto seemed to sense something unusual, narrowing its eyes behind the bars as though watching a show.
Tōru took hold of Naruto’s right wrist.
Naruto instinctively tried to pull his hand back, as though he were afraid of what was about to happen.
He raised his head.
Deep blue eyes met watery sky-blue ones.
After a moment, Naruto understood what Tōru wanted.
He pressed his lips together, turned his head away, and squeezed his eyes shut.
The next moment, his arm tensed as though seized by a cramp.
He desperately resisted the urge to pull away, but a faint, prayer-like whimper still escaped his throat.
Combined with his flushed and distorted expression, it looked as though he were enduring the searing pain of being branded with a red-hot iron.
He had every reason to look like that.
Even though Tōru removed the glove as gently and slowly as possible, it still produced a rough ripping sound like Velcro being torn apart.
Along with it, a layer of skin from Naruto’s hand came away.
Tōru’s mouth opened slightly.
What he could see with his naked eyes was even more distressing than what he had seen through the Transparent World.
The entire surface of Naruto’s right hand was ulcerated, as though it had been corroded by something.
Only a small amount of yellowish, corn-colored adhesive-like tissue remained clinging to the bleeding dermis.
Put bluntly, it looked like the hand of a chicken that had been boiled until the skin peeled away.
Because Naruto had forcibly pulled the knitted glove over the injury to hide it, countless fine fibers were now stuck to the wound.
The fibers that stood upright were manageable.
Those lying flat were practically fused into his skin.
Removing them would be excruciating.
How strong did his willpower have to be for him to force such a rough glove over his injured hand?
Without realizing it, Tōru’s feelings toward Naruto had become almost identical to what Shisui had felt toward him during their battle seven days ago.
Tōru’s nostrils flared slightly.
Every word he wanted to say was trapped between his clenched teeth.
Even without looking, I know the other hand is probably in no better condition.
“Is there a first-aid kit in the house?” “In…
in the bathroom.
Behind the mirror.” Naruto was trembling from the pain.
Tears swirled in his eyes, but he stubbornly refused to let them fall.
Grandpa gave it to me because I keep falling down.
“Don’t move.” After giving him a brief instruction, Tōru entered the bathroom.
The pungent smell from earlier was even stronger here.
Inside the shower area, he saw the bucket Naruto had been using to wash the mop.
That was where the smell was coming from.
Beside the bucket was a bottle of cleaning solution identical to the one used in Tōru’s own home.
That explained why the smell had seemed vaguely familiar.
But as someone responsible for household chores, Tōru knew very well that this cleaning solution itself absolutely did not have such a pungent odor.
Otherwise, why would anyone buy it?
He held his breath.
With an ominous suspicion, he unscrewed the bottle cap and looked inside.
Sure enough, the color of the liquid was different from the cleaning solution he used at home.
Someone added something to it.
Tōru immediately reached a conclusion.
Was it deliberate?
Or an accident?
He screwed the cap back on and set the bottle aside.
Without saying a word, he took the small blue medical kit from behind the mirror and removed a tiny pair of tweezers.
Then he returned to Naruto.
I’ll deal with that later.
Treating his wounds comes first.
He saw that Naruto’s eyes were red and his teeth were clenched tightly.
There were also damp patches on the inside of his shirt sleeves around the elbows that hadn’t been there when Tōru left.
But Tōru didn’t allow his gaze to linger there.
He held Naruto’s wrist down and carefully brought the tweezers closer.
Just before they touched the wound, he stopped.
“I can knock you unconscious.” Tōru made the suggestion seriously.
“Otherwise, it will hurt even more than it does now.” Naruto froze.
For a brief moment, he seemed to pull himself away from the burning pain and carefully consider Tōru’s words.
Then, however, he gave him another Kamado-style smile.
“No need…” There was sincere light in his eyes.
“Because when Tōru is holding my hand, it doesn’t hurt as much as it did before.”
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