Chapter 48: Chapter 48: Non-fiction and a Home-cooked Meal
After several days of constant travel, the sky finally cleared.
The oppressive grey clouds that perpetually blanketed the land were left far behind, replaced by direct, piercing sunlight that felt almost unreal in its warmth.
Jiraiya came to a halt and let out a massive stretch, his joints popping in a loud succession.
"I’m finally coming back to life! A few more days in the Land of Rain and my bones would have started molding."
Tsunade ignored him, though her pace was noticeably lighter than it had been over the past two days.
Walking at the rear, Kitahara Kaede glanced back one last time. The Village Hidden in the Rain remained shrouded in its curtain of dark grey mist.
He withdrew his gaze and caught up with the group.
As they passed through a border town, the morning market was just opening. Tempura sizzled and tumbled in vats of hot oil, and the ramen stalls emitted inviting plumes of white steam.
Jiraiya rooted himself to the spot.
"I’m not moving another inch."
He stared intently at a noodle stall, his eyes glazed with longing.
"I’ve been chewing on cold rations for half a month. Nobody stop me from eating something hot today."
Tsunade gave him a look of pure disgust, yet she was the first one to pull out a long bench and sit down.
Three bowls of chashu ramen were served.
Jiraiya dove in, slurping so loudly that the customers at the neighboring tables turned to stare.
Before she even picked up her chopsticks, Tsunade frowned.
"Can you eat your noodles without making so much noise?"
Jiraiya swallowed a massive mouthful and gave her a thumbs-up.
"Delicious!"
Tsunade rolled her eyes and picked up her chopsticks.
Kitahara Kaede remained silent. He picked up the largest piece of chashu from his own bowl and placed it in Tsunade’s.
Tsunade paused, glancing up at him with a glare.
"Eat what’s in your own bowl."
Her tone was curt, but her chopsticks were honest—she promptly stuffed the meat into her mouth.
Jiraiya looked at Kitahara Kaede, then at Tsunade, his lips twitching. He jabbed his chopsticks into his bowl and leaned back against the edge of the table with his arms crossed.
"I’ve decided."
"Decided what?" Tsunade asked without looking up.
"I’m going to go back and write a novel," Jiraiya said with a look of utter seriousness. "I’ll dedicate it to myself."
Tsunade finally looked up. "About what?"
"The story of a man who silently protects the woman he loves for twenty years," Jiraiya said, tracing a circle in the air with his chopsticks. "Only for that woman to never once give him a second glance."
Tsunade chewed her noodles slowly and replied with four words:
"That’s called non-fiction."
Kitahara Kaede took a sip of tea, the rim of the cup perfectly masking his mouth.
Jiraiya’s face fell. He slammed the table.
"Do you even have a heart?! I’ve given you everything—"
"Your noodles are getting cold. Shut up and eat."
Tsunade picked up another piece of chashu and popped it into her mouth, not giving him another glance.
Jiraiya looked at the expressionless Tsunade, then at Kitahara Kaede, who was calmly sprinkling shichimi powder into his ramen. Defeated, he buried his face in his bowl.
"Fine, non-fiction it is. At least I can earn some royalties."
***
Three days later, at dusk.
The South Gate of the Hidden Leaf.
Nawaki was crouching by the base of the city wall, clutching half a rice ball in his hand. As three figures emerged from the end of the main road, his eyes lit up. He stuffed the rest of the rice ball into his mouth and sprinted toward them.
"Sis!"
Tsunade stopped in her tracks.
Nawaki crashed into her, throwing himself into her arms. Tsunade hesitated for a moment before reaching out to hug him back, vigorously rubbing his hair.
"We’re back."
Nawaki peeked out and turned toward Kitahara Kaede.
"Sensei! You weren’t hurt, were you?"
"I wasn’t."
Nawaki beamed, breaking into a wide, goofy grin.
Standing behind them, Jiraiya scratched his spiky hair with a look of envy.
"Must be nice. I wish I had someone waiting for me at the city gates."
No one paid him any mind.
"Fine. Once my novel becomes a bestseller, there’ll be plenty of beautiful girls lining up for me."
Nawaki turned around. "Uncle Jiraiya, there are dried clumps of ramen broth on your collar."
Jiraiya’s eyes widened.
"You little brat! You’re just like your sister—always pointing out people’s flaws!"
***
That night, at Kitahara Kaede’s house.
The stove was lit. Tsunade, wearing an apron, was frying Pacific saury while Kitahara Kaede sliced radishes by the sink.
Nawaki was in charge of setting the table, while Jiraiya paced the living room, poking his head into the kitchen every few seconds.
"Is it ready yet?"
"No."
"..."
"Is it actually ready yet?"
"Ask one more time and you don’t get dinner tonight."
Jiraiya sheepishly retracted his neck.
The four of them sat around the table: Pacific saury, miso soup, radish salad, and seasoned cucumbers.
Nawaki talked with his hands as he shoveled rice into his mouth.
"Sensei, while you were gone, I took three missions! On the third one, I almost made a huge breakthrough!"
He waved his chopsticks, his face flushed with excitement.
"Something was off about the target. Even the leading Jonin didn’t notice. The woods ahead were too quiet, the client’s story didn’t match the environment, and the grass on that stretch of road had clearly been tampered with."
"If we had followed the usual path, the whole team would have walked straight into an ambush."
"Thanks to those three months you spent drilling me on observation and wilderness survival, I pushed back against the consensus and called for a halt. Sure enough, we avoided a trap!"
"The leading Jonin was stunned. He praised me in front of the whole team and said I must had a great Sensei!"
Listening to this, Tsunade picked out a large, boneless piece of fish and placed it in his bowl.
"Stop showing off and just eat."
There was no usual sternness in her voice, only a rare tenderness.
Under the table, while Tsunade wasn’t looking, Nawaki quickly flashed a look to Jiraiya. He was holding a small, crumpled piece of paper, preparing to toss it over in exchange for a few "masterpieces."
Jiraiya caught the signal and discreetly opened his hand beneath the table.
Kitahara Kaede tapped his chopsticks lightly against the rim of his bowl. He swept a calm gaze across them.
Nawaki’s hand jerked, and the paper ball dropped securely back into his own pocket. He immediately lowered his head and began eating fervently.
Jiraiya let out a dry cough and turned away, pretending to be fascinated by the texture of the ceiling.
After dinner, a full and satisfied Jiraiya wisely slipped away early.
Tsunade dragged Nawaki to do the dishes, watching him work while complaining about how slow he was. Once they finished cleaning up, Nawaki yawned and pushed open the door.
"Sis, hurry up. I’m exhausted."
Tsunade gave him a shove.
"Go back first. I have something to talk about."
Nawaki grumbled as he left.
Only the two of them remained in the house. Tsunade was putting on her shoes at the entryway, her back to Kitahara Kaede. A night breeze drifted through the gap in the door, gently swaying the stray hairs by her ear.
"Rest tomorrow. Report to the teacher the day after."
"Mm."
Her fingers tightened on the doorframe, but she didn’t look back. Silence lingered for a few seconds.
"That matter..."
Her voice was very low.
"You said that once the war ended..."
The sentence trailed off, left hanging in the air.
Kitahara Kaede looked at her back. He stepped forward, stopping just half a step behind her.
"I’ll make preparations."
His voice was steady.
"After the meeting the day after tomorrow..."
Tsunade’s shoulders slowly relaxed. The tips of her ears turned bright red, a flush that burned all the way down her neck.
Suddenly, Nawaki’s impatient shouting echoed from the quiet street outside.
"Sis! Are you done yet?! I want to go to bed!"
Tsunade jolted.
"Stop rushing me! I’m coming!"
She yanked open the door and rushed out without looking back. The door slammed shut behind her.
Kitahara Kaede stood in the entryway, listening as the voices of the siblings bickering grew fainter and fainter in the distance.
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