“How fragrant—”
A crisp voice drifted in from outside the door, carrying a hint of surprise and a touch of greed.
Linbei set down his chopsticks and turned toward the doorway.
Izumi’s small face peeked through the gap in the door, her nose twitching incessantly as if capturing every trace of aroma lingering in the air.
Her eyes were bright, her gaze sweeping past Linbei to land directly on the plate of golden-brown pan-fried fish fillets on the low table.
“Izumi?” Linbei stood up and walked over to pull the door open.
“What are you doing here?”
Izumi gave an embarrassed smile as she stepped out from behind the door.
She was wearing light pink pajamas and wooden clogs, her hair draped over her shoulders.
It was obvious she had already bathed and prepared for bed, only to be lured out by the scent.
“I smelled something so, so good from my house that I just followed my nose here.” Izumi’s gaze drifted back to the fish fillets, and she swallowed hard.
“Linbei-kun, did you cook this?”
Linbei was amused by the question.
“How would I know how to cook?
You’ve known me for years.” He stepped aside to let Izumi in and pointed at Tom, who was crouching by the low table.
“Tom made it.”
Izumi followed his finger, and her eyes instantly went wide and round.
Tom was crouching by the low table, still wearing that white chef’s uniform with the tall chef’s hat perched on his head, looking like the head chef of some high-end restaurant.
Hearing Linbei’s introduction, he lifted a paw, placed it elegantly over his chest, and gave a slight bow.
His expression practically screamed, “That’s right, it was me.”
“That’s incredible!” Izumi trotted over to the low table, crouched down, and leaned in to look at the fish fillets.
“This looks even better than my mom’s cooking.”
The corners of Tom’s mouth curled up, and his tail wagged triumphantly behind him.
He extended a paw and—from behind his back again, a mystery Linbei had completely given up on investigating—produced three more plates.
They were steamed fish belly, braised fish bone, and fish head tofu soup.
Four dishes were arranged neatly on the low table, each one steaming and emitting an enticing fragrance.
Linbei looked at the full table, his lips twitching slightly.
One fish, four dishes.
Tom didn’t just know how to cook; he knew how to manage ingredients efficiently.
“I’ll go get some chopsticks,” Linbei said, turning toward the kitchen.
“No need—”
He had barely taken a step when Izumi’s muffled voice came from behind him.
Linbei turned back to see Izumi already sitting by the low table, holding a pair of chopsticks—no, wait, why did those chopsticks look so familiar?
They were his.
The same pair he had just used to eat the fish fillets was now in Izumi’s hand.
She picked up a piece of fish and stuffed it into her mouth, her cheeks bulging as her eyes narrowed happily into crescent moons.
“So delicious—”
Linbei froze for a moment, looking at the chopsticks in Izumi’s hand and then at her puffed-out cheeks.
Forget it.
They were just kids; there was no need for such formalities.
He turned back into the kitchen, grabbed another pair of chopsticks from the cupboard, and returned to sit at the table.
Two children and one cat, bathed in moonlight, finished every scrap of the four fish dishes.
Izumi ate the most.
She looked small and thin, but her appetite was staggering.
She polished off more than half of the steamed fish belly by herself, drank three bowls of the fish head tofu soup, and even mixed the sauce from the braised fish bone with her rice until the plate was licked clean.
After eating, Izumi lay flat on the tatami mat, her small hand patting her slightly bloated belly as she let out a satisfied sigh.
“That was too good…
I can’t believe Tom can actually cook.”
“Meow.” Tom sat beside her, adjusting his chef’s hat with a paw and letting out a reserved cry.
His expression clearly said: *This is just basic stuff, not worth mentioning.*
Linbei cleared the dishes, a trace of a smile on his lips.
“If you like it, you can come over often in the future,” he said as he stacked the plates.
His voice was calm, but his tone was sincere.
“Consider it Tom’s way of repaying you for feeding me all these years.”
Izumi blinked.
She rolled over to lie on her stomach, resting her chin on her hands and tilting her head to look at Linbei.
“Linbei-kun, are you thanking me?”
“Yeah.” Linbei didn’t deny it. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
“If it weren’t for your bento boxes these past two years, I probably would have starved to death.”
He was telling the truth.
The Uchiha Clan’s stipends were embezzled until almost nothing remained, and a six-year-old child couldn’t exactly take on missions to earn money.
Although Izumi’s father had died in battle, her mother was of the Uchiha Clan, so her living conditions were better than Linbei’s.
For the past two years, she had shared half of her bento with Linbei almost every day.
Whether those onigiri were too salty or the rice was overcooked, they were the only things that made Linbei feel “someone in this world still cares about me” during his most desperate moments.
Izumi’s cheeks flushed slightly, whether from being full or for some other reason.
She sat up, extended her right hand, and hooked her pinky finger, waving it at Linbei.
“Then we have to make a pinky swear!
You’re not allowed to go back on your word!”
Linbei looked at that small, fair, tender pinky finger and suddenly remembered a saying from his past life—an adult’s promise requires contracts and seals, but a child’s promise only needs a pinky finger.
He reached out and hooked his pinky around Izumi’s.
Her finger was a bit cool, but her grip was firm.
“Pinky swear, cross my heart—”
“Hope to die, don’t change for a hundred years!”
Their voices overlapped, echoing in the empty house.
“Hahahaha—”
After locking eyes, both of them burst into laughter.
Izumi laughed until she was leaning back and forth, while Linbei’s shoulders shook slightly.
Tom sat nearby, tilting his head as he watched these two human children, his tail swaying gently behind him.
The moonlight shone through the window, casting their shadows onto the tatami mats, where they overlapped.
Childhood sweethearts.
That was likely the meaning of the phrase.
At that same moment.
The Hokage’s Office.
The lights were dim.
Lord Sandaime, Hiruzen Sarutobi, sat behind his desk, the ashtray in front of him piled high with cigarette butts.
He held a stack of documents, flipping through them page by page.
The wrinkles on his face appeared exceptionally deep under the lamplight.
“Lord Sandaime.”
An Anbu wearing a white mask appeared soundlessly in the center of the office, kneeling on one knee.
“The information on Linbei Uchiha is all here.”
The Anbu presented a scroll with both hands.
Hiruzen Sarutobi took it, unfurled it, and swept his gaze across the text.
[Linbei Uchiha.
Six years old.
Parents died in the line of duty.
Currently an Uchiha orphan, residing at 17th Block, West District, Uchiha Territory.]
[Enrolled in Class 3, First Year, Konoha Ninja Academy.]
[Grades: Above average.
No obvious specialties, no obvious weaknesses.]
[Personality: Well-behaved, silent, does not take the initiative to socialize.]
“An orphan, I see.” Hiruzen Sarutobi set the scroll on the desk and took a puff of his pipe, the smoke rising slowly in the lamplight.
“Is there anything unusual about the child?”
The Anbu remained silent for a second before replying:
“Nothing.
According to my surveillance, that summoned cat doesn’t seem to be a threat.
Aside from exceptional cooking skills, no combat abilities have been discovered.”
Hiruzen Sarutobi nodded but didn’t speak immediately.
In truth, monitoring Linbei had never been his primary intention.
The person he truly had the Anbu monitoring was Itachi Uchiha.
The young master of the Uchiha Clan, a rare genius.
He had refined Chakra at age four, mastered Transformation and Substitution at age five, and at age six—just a few days ago—he was already capable of proficiently performing the C-rank Ninjutsu, the Fireball Jutsu.
Such a genius would be a treasure in any clan.
But in the Uchiha, he was a time bomb that could explode at any moment.
After the Nine-Tails’ Rebellion, the relationship between the Uchiha and Konoha had reached a freezing point.
The village suspected the Uchiha of controlling the Nine-Tails, while the Uchiha believed they were being marginalized and monitored.
A genius Uchiha.
An Uchiha who had begun contemplating the meaning of life from a young age.
An Uchiha who…
could potentially become a bridge, or a blade.
As for Linbei Uchiha…
Hiruzen Sarutobi glanced at the name on the scroll once more.
An ordinary Uchiha orphan who had only refined Chakra at age six and had above-average grades.
His only anomaly was inexplicably summoning a cat that, for now, seemed only to know how to cook.
“In that case, there’s no need to worry about him.” Hiruzen Sarutobi closed the scroll and placed it at the corner of his desk.
“Continue monitoring Itachi Uchiha.”
“Yes, sir!”
The Anbu’s figure vanished into the shadows of the office.
Hiruzen Sarutobi stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it open.
The night breeze blew in, dispersing the heavy smell of tobacco in the office.
He looked out toward the distance, his gaze crossing the rooftops of Konoha to land on the westernmost part of the village.
The lights there were sparse, forming a sharp contrast with the prosperity of the village center.
The Uchiha Territory.
“Itachi…” Hiruzen Sarutobi whispered the name, his voice carrying a complex emotion.
“Which path will you ultimately take?”
No one answered him.
The moonlight shone on the Hokage Rock, illuminating the statues of the past Hokage.
The statue of the Fourth Hokage, Minato Namikaze, was on the far right, his face looking exceptionally young in the moonlight.
On the Night of the Nine-Tails, he had sealed the Nine-Tails at the cost of his life, protecting the entire village.
And his son, Naruto Uzumaki, was now living alone in some corner of the village as the “Demon Fox Boy.”
Hiruzen Sarutobi took a puff of his pipe and exhaled slowly.
The rising smoke obscured his expression.
Uchiha Territory.
Linbei walked Izumi to the door.
“Goodnight, Linbei-kun.” Izumi stood in the moonlight and waved back at him.
“Goodnight.” Linbei leaned against the doorframe and waved back.
Izumi ran a few steps, then stopped, looked back, and shouted, “See you tomorrow!
Tom!”
“Meow.” Tom poked his head out from behind Linbei and gave a cry.
Izumi ran off giggling, the “clack-clack” of her wooden clogs on the stone road sounding exceptionally crisp in the quiet night.
Linbei stood at the door, watching the small figure disappear at the end of the alley, and remained there for a long time.
“Let’s go back,” he whispered to Tom.
Tom yawned and turned to enter the house first.
Linbei closed the door and returned to sit by the low table.
The dishes had already been cleaned, washed by Tom while he was chatting with Izumi.
Linbei lay down on his back, staring at the ceiling.
Moonlight shone through the window, casting a square patch of light on the ceiling.
He reached out his hand, looking at his five fingers.
The hand of a six-year-old was small and thin, with green veins visible under the skin.
But at the tips of these fingers, he could feel Chakra flowing.
It wasn’t something he had cultivated himself.
It was feedback from Tom.
“Tom,” Linbei called out.
“Meow.” Tom poked his head out from the kitchen.
“Keep refining your Chakra.”
“Meow.” Tom nodded, sat down at the kitchen entrance, closed his eyes, and began a new round of Chakra refinement.
A warm sensation welled up from his dantian once again.
The Chakra within Linbei’s body grew slowly, like a small stream.
Though it was still very thin, it never stopped flowing.
Linbei closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.
Outside the window, the moonlight was like water.
The night in Konoha was quiet and long.
But within someone’s body, a certain power was quietly growing.