Chapter 371: White Eyes
Malik stretched himself out on the air he floated on. He wondered if he had anything important to do today, when a stray thought hit his mind, "Best be on my way over to the Hyūga's place, might as well get all that family business stuff over and done with."
Hanabi's breath came out in pale little ghosts as she moved, and the Hyūga compound—usually so orderly it felt like it had been built to scold you, not only that, when it sometimes felt even quieter under winter's grip. The training yard was clean and open, swept so thoroughly that the ground looked offended by the idea of footprints. There were no sparring matches echoing off the walls today, no cousins lingering to gossip, no elders standing with their hands folded behind their backs like judgment had their spines so tight and straight, that they perceived very little joy. Nope, today it was Just Hanabi, her own rhythm, and that familiar, relentless pressure the Hyūga clan raised its children with—be perfect, be controlled, be useful, be calm.
She wore winter training gear layered enough to keep her body warm but still loose and free: fitted sleeves, a heavier wrap at her waist, leg guards that didn't restrict movement, sandals with thick socks that made their way up her shin, which gave her a solid grip even on the cold stone. Her long black hair was tied back so it wouldn't whip into her eyes when she spun, though one stubborn lock still fell across her face like it wanted a better view. Her Byakugan eyes were pale and wide, calm as still water, but her body was not calm at all. Hanabi hit the sequence with crisp precision, palms cutting air, feet sliding and snapping into place, each step a piece of inherited tradition. She didn't need an audience to take it seriously. If anything, the lack of one made it cleaner. No one to impress. No one to compare her to her sister. No one to make her feel like she was living in someone else's shadow or someone else's expectations.
She pivoted, struck, redirected, and finished with a controlled exhale that left her ribs tight and her shoulders steady. Her stance held. Her eyes did not wander. Her face did not betray satisfaction.
Then, maybe because the universe enjoyed mocking her discipline, something warm and impossibly good drifted through the cold.
Hanabi froze mid-reset. Not out of surprise, exactly, but out of insult. The Hyūga compound didn't smell like that. The Hyūga compound smelled like clean stone, medicinal tea, and, currently, because of the season, like snow, incense, and whatever the elders' pride smelled like when it gathered in a room for too long. This smell was… butter. Citrus. Yeast. Something sweet underneath, something browned and cared for, the kind of smell that didn't just say food but said someone is putting love into this with their hands.
Her nostrils flared, and she hated that she couldn't pretend it didn't affect her. Her stomach, traitor that it was, answered the smell with a low, offended twist like it had been starving for drama. Hanabi's face remained composed. Her feet, however, began moving without waiting for permission.
She walked with that Hyūga grace, quiet steps, straight posture, chin level, even while her mind argued with itself. It might be a visiting cook. It might be her sister. It might be a staff member trying too hard. It might be some nonsense. But by the time she reached one of the nearest kitchens, the truth was already there, sitting in the air like a warm hand. She knew who it was.
She slid the door open and stepped inside.
The kitchen was brighter than the yard, not just from lantern light but from heat, and the air inside wrapped around her like the opposite of late winter. She saw movement first: someone turning at the stove, someone placing something on a tray, someone humming under their breath in a way that made the whole room feel less like a Hyūga property and more like a place where people lived.
Then she saw him.
He was exactly where he always seemed to be whenever food became unfairly good: standing as he belonged there, soft and solid in a way that made no sense for a man with no chakra, wearing an apron that looked both ridiculous and somehow correct on him. The man who was going to marry her cousin. Malik . . .
Malik's skin glowed like warm milk chocolate in the sunlight, and even with sleeves on, there was a faint impression of heat around him, this pink-gold warmth that never looked like fire but always felt like comfort. His hair was dark and curly, slightly messy, and his eyes, a warm, pink mixed with gold, turned toward her with immediate delight.
"Yo, don't tell me you grew another inch, at this rate, you'll be taller than me," he said, like he was greeting an old friend and not a Hyūga princess who could disable him with a gentle palm strike. "Little cousin. You chillin' today, I know you didn't forget about me."
Hanabi's eyes narrowed. She did not answer. She did not even blink at the word "cousin," because she refused to validate the way everyone in her family had quietly decided Malik was family by sheer emotional invasion. She walked in like she hadn't heard him at all, paused at the counter, and stared at the tray of food as if it had personally offended her pride.
Malik, of course, took her silence as permission to keep talking loudly, "You doing alright...? or maybe, my cooking has hooked another victim?"
He placed a plate in front of her with a flourish that belonged in a restaurant, not in the Hyūga compound: fresh buns that looked steamed and then lightly crisped, something glazed that smelled like citrus and sugar, a small bowl of savory broth with herbs, and a little pile of something fried and golden that had no right to be this perfect in a clan kitchen, "I kinda made a little of everything today, so you can have whatever you want, be as pecky as you want."
Hanabi stared at it.
Then she stared at him.
Malik smiled, unbothered. "Eat."
Hanabi's mouth tightened. "Why are you here."
Malik leaned his hip against the counter, like the kitchen itself was a couch. "What are friendly statements, but if you must know, it's because I'm cooking."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"It answers the important part," Malik said cheerfully. "I'm here. There's food. The world is not ending. do we need more?"
Hanabi sat down anyway, because she was disciplined, not stupid. The moment she tasted the first bite, her entire body tried to react, her eyes widening slightly, shoulders loosening, the smallest sound threatening to escape her throat. She killed the reaction immediately, face returning to that calm Hyūga mask so fast it was almost rude.
Malik watched her like he found restraint entertaining.
Hanabi chewed carefully, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of visible joy. "It's… acceptable," she said, voice flat.
Malik's eyebrows lifted. "Acceptable. Wow. I've truly peaked as a chef."
Hanabi took another bite, slower this time, because she didn't want him to notice how fast she'd devour it if she stopped pretending. "You only come here for Neji or my sister."
Malik's smile didn't fade, but it softened at the edges in a way that made him look… real. "Usually, yes."
"So why are you here today," Hanabi pressed, because her pride needed it spoken plainly.
Malik wiggled his fingers at her like he was casting a spell. "Because I already know it's mostly just you in the compound today."
Hanabi's chopsticks paused. Her eyes sharpened. "How would you know that."
Malik's expression turned smug in that infuriating, gentle way he had. "Because I pay attention. People think I'm just here for romance and chaos, but I'm actually very nosy."
Hanabi stared at him with a look that, in Hyūga language, meant you are one breath away from being politely murdered.
Malik took it like a compliment. "And," he added, tilting his head, "maybe I came to hang out with you today."
Hanabi rolled her eyes so hard she felt it in her skull. "You don't hang out with me."
"I could," Malik said.
"I don't need you."
"I didn't say you did," he replied, still smiling. "I said I wanted to."
Hanabi's fingers tightened around her chopsticks. She hated how straightforward he was. Hyūga people didn't say things like that unless they were prepared to swallow the consequences forever. Malik said it like consequences were just part of breakfast.
She ate another bite, eyes on the plate, refusing to look pleased. Malik leaned closer, hands resting on the counter, watching her with open amusement.
"You're doing that thing," he said.
Hanabi did not look up. "What thing."
"That thing where your face is saying you're bored," Malik replied, "but your mouth is saying you're in love with my cooking."
Hanabi's ears warmed. She hated that he noticed. She hated that he enjoyed it. She kept her face still on principle. "You're imagining things."
Malik's eyes glittered. "Oh, am I." Malik moved back, and somehow made a smug but gentle face, "I'll have you know, that as someone who has cooked for people with better poker faces, your top tear, but nowhere near my sweet Neji's level, but again, it's cute for sure."
Hanabi ate again, slower, determined. She would not give him the satisfaction. She would not. She would maintain composure like a proper Hyūga. She would be polite and soft-spoken and refined and absolutely not melt under the fact that this man could put her sister's cooking and her mother's cooking to shame without even trying. Hinata tried hard. Her mother had tried hard. Hanabi respected that. But Malik cooked like it was a love language he'd mastered to weaponize people's hearts.
Which was unfair.
Which was suspicious.
which was very unfortunately delicious, leaving a lingering regret that she had to part with such enjoyable food when he would leave the compound.
"You're not supposed to be this good," Hanabi muttered before she could stop herself.
Malik brightened as she'd just confessed her deepest secret. "Thank you, Hanabi, that means a lot coming from you."
"That wasn't a compliment," Hanabi snapped quickly.
"It absolutely was," Malik said, pleased.
She took a long sip of broth to regain control. Malik's gaze softened again, the teasing easing into something quieter.
"It's quiet today," he said gently.
Hanabi kept her eyes on her bowl. "Yes."
Malik didn't push at first. He simply stayed quiet, choosing not to interrogate or force the situation. He didn't follow the Hyūga way of trying to mask grief with duty and calling it strength. Instead, he allowed the silence to linger comfortably between them, while she ate. Hanabi found herself surprisingly grateful for his presence, more than for any words that might have been said. In her clan, silence often carried weight, not peace. It was the unspoken expectations, piling up like snow on a roof, that made the quiet feel heavy and cold.
Malik's presence meant something else. A warmth that didn't ask permission. A softness that didn't come with condescension.
Hanabi finished the last bite, wiped her mouth with a napkin like a lady, and stood as if leaving first would restore her authority.
Malik smiled. "I'll wait outside."
Hanabi paused. "For what."
His voice was casual, but his eyes weren't. "So many statements with you, but again, to answer, it's for you. I know you hate going alone."
Hanabi's head snapped toward him so fast her hair moved. "What."
Malik was already moving, and that was the most infuriating part. He stepped toward the open window, and before Hanabi could even take a full breath to demand an explanation, he floated upward with that ridiculous magic grace, like gravity had decided he was charming enough to ignore. The apron fluttered behind him like a banner.
He glanced back mid-air and smiled. "Dress warm."
Then he was gone, leaving only warmth in the kitchen and a Hyūga princess standing still, confused and angry and if she were being honest, slightly shaken.
How did he know, she thought, heart thumping once, hard. How did he know what day it was.
Hanabi stood there for a long moment, staring at the window, as if it might answer her. The Hyūga compound had always felt like a place where your private pain belonged to the clan. Your grief was observed, monitored, and measured. The idea that someone outside of that structure, someone who wasn't even chakra-born, could know her schedule of mourning without her saying a word felt like an intrusion.
And yet, it didn't quite feel like spying. There was a sense of genuine care behind it. That realization made everything seem even worse, amplifying the emotional weight of the moment, "damn that man," was all she could muster to say.
When she went to her room to prepare, the cold had deepened outside, the sky still pale with winter light. She dressed heavier than normal: a layered wrap, a thicker outer coat, gloves that allowed finger movement, and a scarf tucked close. She didn't want to shiver in front of him. She also didn't want him to look at her with that soft understanding and think she needed saving.
She did not need saving.
When she stepped out into the back courtyard, Malik was already there, waiting like he'd been carved into the scene. No apron now. Same outfit as before, pink and gold fabric that shouldn't have belonged in winter but somehow did. His skin glowed with that warm pink-gold light, and the cold seemed to bounce off him like it was too polite to bother. Hanabi could feel heat coming off him even from several steps away, like standing near a hearth.
She scowled immediately, because it was her first language. "You're overdressed."
Malik's brows lifted. "I'm literally glowing in the cold and you're calling it overdressed."
Hanabi turned and began walking without waiting for him. "If you weren't family, or at least soon to be family, I would not lead you anywhere near our graves."
Malik fell into step behind her, unbothered. "I know."
That easy agreement annoyed her more than an argument would've.
They navigated along the winding paths bordering the compound, where the surface transitioned from rough stone to tightly packed earth, then to patches of winter grass swaying softly in the cold breeze. The Hyūga estate was vast, much larger than most outsiders could imagine, and it was not constructed like a typical layout. Instead, it was built like a living body, with outer courtyards flowing into inner corridors, private tunnels snaking beneath the grounds, and hidden passageways lurking out of sight. Hanabi moved through this intricate maze with an instinctive grace, aware of which routes to take to avoid prying eyes and which paths would keep her footsteps quiet and unobtrusive.
Malik, however, had no clear idea of where he was headed. That was immediately apparent, as he kept glancing around with open curiosity, tilting his head in a way that suggested he was trying to understand this new environment—not just physically, but emotionally as well, as if he were encountering a kind of architecture entirely unfamiliar to him and trying to grasp what it might mean on a deeper level.
"Your clan hides its dead," he murmured softly as they approached one of the sealed entrances leading underground.
Hanabi didn't slow her pace. "We protect our dead," she replied calmly.
"Same thing," Malik responded gently.
Hanabi pressed her palm against a panel, and the seal responded immediately. The stone shifted smoothly, revealing a narrow tunnel that opened up before them. Cold air spilled out like the earth exhaling after being silent for so long.
Malik's eyes lit up with fascination. "Oh, this is really cool."
Hanabi shot him a look, a hint of admonition in her expression. "Be respectful."
Malik offered her a calm smile. "I'm being respectful," he said softly. "I can be impressed and respectful at the same time. I have range."
Hanabi walked faster to avoid laughing. She refused to let that happen.
Inside the tunnels, the temperature changed again, cooler, drier, the air smelling faintly of stone and age, if age had a smell. Their footsteps echoed softly. Hanabi kept her face blank, but she found herself oddly relieved Malik was talking. Silence down here felt too close to the things she avoided thinking about.
Malik, as if sensing it, began speaking in that storyteller's tone of his, warm and steady, filling the space without forcing it.
"You know," he said quietly, "death is strange. People talk about it like it's only tragedy, but sometimes… sometimes it's a relief. Sometimes it's the end of pain. Sometimes it's the moment a person becomes memory instead of burden."
Hanabi's jaw tightened. She didn't answer. She didn't need to. Malik kept going anyway, not preaching, just offering words like candles.
"And sometimes," he added, "it's not fair. Sometimes it steals people before they get to rest. Sometimes it leaves the living with questions they will never get answered. That part… that part makes people bitter."
Hanabi's throat tightened briefly. She swallowed it down like it was a weakness. "You talk a lot," she said, choosing irritation over vulnerability.
Malik smiled in the dark. "I talk when I think someone needs it."
"I don't need it."
"I know," Malik replied, annoyingly soft. "But you deserve it, but feel free to stop me at any moment,"
Hanabi did not look at him, because if she did, she would see his eyes and his stupid warm kindness and she would have to decide whether she hated it or wanted it.
They emerged from the tunnels into the forest beyond the compound, where winter stripped the branches bare and the air smelled sharp and clean. The path narrowed here, hidden by careful Hyūga design, the stone markers tucked under roots, small seals carved into trees, nothing obvious to outsiders or from above. Hanabi walked with confidence. Malik followed, still smiling faintly as if the forest itself was trying to be polite.
"We're close," Hanabi said finally, partly to end his talking and partly because she didn't like the way her chest felt when the graveyard came near.
Malik hummed. "Thank you for bringing me."
Hanabi's eyes flicked sideways. "Don't make this emotional."
Malik's smile deepened. "That's like asking the ocean not to be wet."
She glared. He looked delighted.
When the Hyūga graveyard finally appeared, it did so quietly, like it had been taught from birth not to draw attention. A low stone wall ringed the area, not tall enough to keep anyone out physically, but sealed enough that anyone without permission would feel the pressure in their bones. Inside, the graves were arranged with that classic Hyūga precision: clean rows, carefully tended earth, small stone markers carved with names and lineage. Winter made the place even more stark. Snow clung to the edges of stones. Frost glittered on carved kanji. Offerings sat neatly, some of the flowers pressed flat by cold next to the incense stubs, folded paper charms. It wasn't a chaotic field of grief. It was controlled mourning, disciplined remembrance, "Hyūga GraveYard, Indeed," he said more to himself than to anyone.
Hanabi's posture shifted the moment she stepped through. Not slumping. Not breaking. Just… tightening in a different way. Like her bones remembered exactly how to stand here.
She walked to her mother's grave without hesitation. She didn't wander. She didn't pause. Her feet knew the route. When she reached the marker, she stopped and stood very still, hands folded in front of her, eyes fixed on the carved name.
Malik paused beside her, taking a careful step back to avoid getting too close at first. His eyes lingered on the stone with a quiet seriousness that caught Hanabi off guard. It was as if he wasn't treating it like just a prop or a mere obligation, but rather like a vessel holding something sacred. There was a depth in his expression, as if he was reading some ancient, sacred text with reverence. After a brief moment of silence, his voice softly broke the quiet, filled with genuine curiosity. "What was she like?"
Hanabi's breath caught, then steadied. She could have answered with nothing. She could have said, "Kind," and ended it. That's what Hyūga people did, simple words, no mess. But Malik's presence beside her made the question feel less like interrogation and more like… permission.
"She was kind," Hanabi said at last, voice controlled. "Too kind, sometimes. Hinata wanted to be like her. Kind like her, strong like Father. And in many ways, my sister got what she wanted."
Malik's eyes stayed on the stone. "And you?"
Hanabi's mouth tightened. "I'm not like Hinata."
Malik's smile flickered. "No."
That single word, so simple, so certain, made Hanabi's shoulders lift slightly in irritation, because it felt like he'd seen her without effort.
"She had… long dark-purple hair," Hanabi continued, because talking was easier than standing in silence. "Past her waist. She wore a purple kimono. Hinata looks like her. People always say that."
Malik nodded slowly. "I can see it, even without seeing her."
Hanabi glanced at him, confused. "How."
Malik gestured lightly toward her face, her posture, the way she held herself. "Families leave echoes. Even when people are gone, their shape stays in the living."
Hanabi looked away quickly, annoyed at how poetic he was.
Malik's voice softened further. "What did she like to eat."
Hanabi blinked. That was… unexpected. "Food?"
Malik smiled. "Yes. People have favorite foods. It matters."
Hanabi stared at the grave again. The answer came out before she could overthink it. "She liked… sweet rice snacks. Simple ones. Not fancy. The kind you eat with tea."
Malik's eyes warmed. "Ah."
Then, before Hanabi could ask what that meant, Malik raised his hand slightly, palm open. The air seemed to comply, and a small table materialized, not with dramatic flashes or fireworks, but with a gentle curl of soft pink-gold light forming the legs, surface, and cloth. Soon, a plate appeared, then another, followed by a small tray holding exactly what Hanabi described: her mother's favorite snack, warm, neat, and so real she could already smell it.
Hanabi's head snapped toward him, her control slipping for a heartbeat. "What are you."
Malik's eyes crinkled. "I'm hungry," he said, entirely unhelpful.
Hanabi's mouth tightened. "No. What are you."
Malik's smile softened into something gentle. "Magic. Just… magic."
Hanabi stared at the food as if it were impossible. She knew he was magic. Everyone in the clan knew he wasn't chakra-born, that his power didn't feel like jutsu. But it still hit her in moments like this, how strange he was. How soft. How chubby. How warm. His eyes always seemed to hold sunlight inside them. How could he do something like this at a grave, and it didn't feel like disrespect; it was like offering respect.
"Keep talking," Malik said softly, pulling out two giant puffy pillows and setting them down on the cold ground like winter had no authority here. "Tell me about her while we eat."
Hanabi hesitated. Pride argued. Grief argued. Suspicion argued. Then she sat, because the alternative was standing alone with feelings she didn't want to hold.
They ate quietly at first, the snack sweet and familiar enough to make Hanabi's chest ache in a way she refused to show. Malik ate too, not greedily, just steadily, like sharing food was part of the ritual. Hanabi kept her face neutral, but she noticed Malik watching her in that sideways way of his, not judging, not prying, just… present.
After a few minutes of her talking, small memories, faint impressions, things she'd learned more from Hinata than from her own mind, Hanabi's curiosity turned, sharp as always.
"You're always asking about other people," she said, eyes narrowing. "What about you?"
"Oh, my an actualy question," Malik blinked as if surprised. "Me?"
"Yes," Hanabi said, because she could be polite and still corner someone. "Your family. Where do you come from? Neji doesn't talk about it."
Malik's smile turned fond and a little resigned. "That's very Neji."
Hanabi leaned forward slightly, attentive despite herself. Malik stared out across the graves for a moment, thinking. When he spoke, his voice shifted, still warm, but quieter, like he was sharing something private without making it too heavy and important, "well . . . .," he started.
"I was raised by my mother," Malik said. "Hardworking. Constantly working. She made a lot of money, gave me everything she could… at the cost of being home."
Hanabi's expression didn't change, but her attention sharpened. Malik continued.
"I had two older sisters," he said. "Both grown before I was even born. They visited. They loved me. I know they did. But they had their own lives. Busy lives. And my mother… loved me so much . . ." He exhaled softly. "My mother was always away."
Hanabi's fingers curled against her gloves. There was something in his tone that wasn't asking for pity, but wasn't pretending either.
"I had everything," Malik said, and his smile flickered, bittersweet. "And I was still lonely. Very lonely."
Hanabi stared at him, and for the first time that day, her composure wavered, not outwardly, but internally, as something shifted in her understanding of him. She'd filed him away as Neji's fiancé, as Hinata's friend, as the strange magic man who cooked too well and smiled too warmly and acted like the Hyūga clan's emotional walls were merely suggestions.
She hadn't filed him away as someone who knew loneliness intimately.
Before he could say more, Malik's gaze lifted, and his smile returned, gentle and knowing. He stood smoothly, brushing snow from his pants like it didn't matter.
"I'll tell you more later," he promised, voice light again. "I'm not done. But—"
He turned his head slightly and called out, like he was calling birds from trees. "You can come in now."
Hanabi's head snapped toward the graveyard entrance, tension rising instantly—
—and there they were.
Hinata moved first, her steps gentle and familiar, wrapped in winter gear that seemed to soften her delicate appearance even further: a thick coat, a cozy scarf, gloves, and her dark hair snugly tucked close to her head. Her pale Byakugan eyes held a calm, weighted expression, still carrying the day's meaning within them. Sometimes, she looked older than Hanabi remembered, older in the way grief and responsibility can add a kind of cautious maturity. Next to her, Neji walked with a different kind of grace.
Neji, dressed in winter gear, was a striking figure, tall, slender, her layered Hyūga clothing still allowing for ease of movement. Her long, dark-brown hair was pulled back neatly, and even in mourning, her sharp, pale lavender Byakugan eyes conveyed a steely focus. Despite being bundled up, she radiated that disciplined elegance, her every step deliberate, every breath measured and controlled. The silver necklace with the jade bird pendant rested just above her collar, a subtle yet significant symbol of Malik's place in her life.
Neji's expression remained mostly composed, her face etched with calm, but Malik couldn't help but notice a softness. When her eyes briefly flicked toward Malik, it was as if her body recognized him instinctively before her pride allowed her to show it. Malik observed the way Neji's winter clothes still emphasized her impressive, full bosom, large and heavy, yet perfectly contained, something he couldn't help but carefully note. Hinata, too, possessed a notably generous bust, but Malik secretly pondered which of them had the larger. Convinced, in his mind, that Neji's figure might edge out slightly to protect his own peace of mind and sanity, he made a mental joke about it, a quiet internal smile breaking his serious exterior.
Hinata approached her sister and stopped, hands folding politely. "Hanabi… I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't want you to come alone today."
Hanabi's jaw tightened. "I wasn't alone."
Hinata's gaze flicked to Malik, gratitude immediate and sincere. "Thank you for coming with her."
Malik waved it off with an easy smile. "That's what family is for."
Hanabi's eyes narrowed at the word again, but she didn't argue. Not today.
Malik turned toward Neji, his expression shifting into something openly affectionate, almost mischievous. "Hold my hand," he said, like he was asking for salt at the table.
Neji stared at him for half a beat, as if considering whether to scold him for having audacity in a graveyard.
Then she allowed it.
Her gloved fingers slid into his, firm and controlled, but Hanabi noticed the smallest change in Neji's posture when Malik touched her, as some hidden tension eased despite her best efforts. Malik leaned slightly closer and whispered something in Neji's ear.
Hanabi's eyes narrowed immediately. Hinata blinked, politely pretending she hadn't noticed. Neji's expression remained composed, but her ears warmed faintly—just a fraction.
Then Neji answered out loud, voice dry, sharp, and perfectly audible. "Maybe later."
Malik's smile widened like he'd won a prize. Hanabi frowned harder because she hated that he could make Neji look like that, flustered in the smallest way, human in a way Neji rarely allowed others to see.
Hinata and Hanabi stood together at their mother's grave. The sisters' hands folded. Their eyes lowered. They prayed quietly, the Hyūga way—controlled, respectful, steady. Hanabi did not cry. Hinata's lashes trembled once, and then steadied. The wind moved through the graveyard like a hush.
Neji, meanwhile, guided Malik away, her hand still in his. Hanabi watched them go with a complicated twist in her chest. Neji took Malik to her own parents' graves, posture straight, expression serious, and Malik followed without jokes, without interruption, his warmth dimmed into respect.
When they returned, the four of them began walking back together through the forest, winter light still pale and sharp. Hinata, being Hinata, made polite conversation as naturally as breathing. "How was your trip to the Land of the Moon," she asked gently, as if asking about the weather.
Malik shrugged, casual as ever. "Technically, I didn't go to the Land of the Moon," he said. "Just somewhere very close."
Hinata tilted her head, curious but polite enough not to press too hard. "And… how is it going?"
Malik's expression softened into something pleased. "Unfinished," he admitted. "Very unfinished. But I'm happy to be back in the Hidden Leaf with my beautiful Moon Goddess and love of my life."
He said it loud enough that there was no confusion about who he meant.
Neji's head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing like blades. Hanabi saw it instantly: the public-Neji, the one who maintained discipline and reputation, the one who did not tolerate foolishness in front of family. Neji's fingers tightened around Malik's hand, not quite a squeeze, but a warning delivered through touch.
"Malik," Neji said, voice low, dangerous.
Malik blinked innocently. "Yes, my love?"
Neji's jaw tightened. Hinata's cheeks warmed faintly, not offended, just… shy about witnessing affection so openly. Hanabi, however, found herself smiling internally in spite of herself, because Neji looked like she wanted to both scold him and kiss him, and Malik looked like he'd happily accept either outcome.
Neji exhaled slowly, controlled. "You will not," she said sharply, "say things like that in front of them and then act surprised when I correct you later."
Malik's smile turned sweet. "I'm not surprised. I'm hopeful."
Neji's glare sharpened. Malik looked delighted. Hinata pretended to focus on the path. Hanabi decided, privately, that Malik was the most socially reckless man alive.
And yet… he held Neji's hand like it was an anchor.
After a moment, Neji's expression softened by a fraction and just enough that Hanabi caught it. Neji leaned a little closer, voice quieter now, meant only for him. "You're lucky I love you."
Malik's grin widened, triumphant. "I know."
They walked on, and the forest thinned as the Hyūga compound approached again. The cold bit at Hanabi's cheeks, but she barely noticed now, mind still circling the day like a hawk. Malik had known the anniversary. Malik had cooked for her without being asked. Malik had sat with her at her mother's grave and summoned her mother's favorite food like it was the most natural thing in the world. Malik had begun telling her about his loneliness, then stopped, not because he was hiding, but because he'd promised more later.
That promise stuck in her chest in an annoying way.
Neji glanced sideways at Hanabi then, the question coming like an inspection. "How is your training going."
Hanabi straightened automatically. "Fine."
Neji's brows lifted slightly, unimpressed. "Fine is not an answer."
Hanabi scowled. "It's an answer."
Neji's gaze sharpened, and Hanabi felt that familiar Hyūga pressure, the expectation that you do not coast, you do not stagnate, you do not waste potential. Yet Neji's voice, despite its strictness, carried something else too. Concern. Investment. The kind of concern that pretended to be discipline, so it wouldn't look soft.
Malik, still holding Neji's hand, tilted his head toward Hanabi. "She's doing well," he said lightly. "She's just allergic to admitting it."
Hanabi glared. "I am not."
"You are," Malik said cheerfully.
Neji's mouth twitched, almost a smile, but she caught it quickly. "We'll spar later," Neji said, tone final.
Hanabi's stomach dropped slightly. "Later? Today?"
Neji's eyes flicked to her, calm and terrifying. "Yes. Today. If you're fine, you can prove it."
Malik squeezed Neji's hand gently, whispering again, something only she could hear, and Neji's expression shifted by the smallest degree, as the edge of her strictness softened without collapsing.
Hanabi watched that shift closely, the observant part of her always awake. Neji had changed since Malik. Not weaker. Not distracted. Just… less trapped inside her own armor. It was unsettling to see, because it implied that change was possible even for people raised on destiny and duty.
As they stepped back into the compound's edge, Hinata glanced at Hanabi, eyes kind and apologetic. "Thank you," she said softly, meaning more than the word contained. Thank you for coming. Thank you for remembering. Thank you for being strong where I couldn't always be.
Hanabi looked away quickly, pride bristling. "Mm."
Malik's voice was warm beside them. "You did well today, Hanabi." Hanabi's eyes narrowed. "Don't say it like that." "Like what?" Malik asked, innocently. "Like you're proud of me." Malik's smile softened. "I am." Hanabi's throat tightened, and she hated the feeling. She hated that a simple comment from that silly magic guy could settle into her chest like a stubborn warmth. She scoffed softly and sped up, her hair swinging behind her, her posture straight as always. Behind her, Malik's gentle laugh, Neji's quiet exhale, and Hinata's soft footsteps reached her ears. And for the first time in a long while, the anniversary didn't feel like a heavy, solitary burden to carry through winter. It felt... shared. Not in a way that erased grief, but in a way that made it easier to bear.