
In a small, timeworn classroom - the kind with faded motivational posters and a chalkboard that had seen better days - three people sat: Mr. Carter, the principal; Mr. Miller, a parent called in for a meeting; and Alex Miller, a straight-A student, regional science fair winner, rising boxer, and a ninth-grader whose relationship with his classmates could best be described as… complicated.
The principal looked every bit the part: thick mustache, olive skin, warm brown eyes, and a gentle smile that never seemed to leave his face, even when the conversation turned serious. He spoke with a slight accent, but his English was nearly flawless - every word clear, every sentence smooth.
"Mr. Miller, I know you're a busy man and I have several meetings today, so if you don't mind, let's get straight to the point." Mr. Miller, a tall, well-dressed man in his mid-forties with a touch of gray at his temples and sharp, Nordic features, nodded.
"That would be great."
"Excellent." Mr. Carter's smile widened just a bit. "You may have already heard - it was in the local news - but I'll say it anyway: three days ago, a new student, who also happens to be your son's classmate, attempted suicide. How he managed to get onto the locked roof of his apartment building isn't our concern, but why a student from my school tried to end his life is something that's worrying both parents and the press."
"And what does this have to do with my son? Are you suggesting he pushed this student?" Mr. Miller asked calmly, raising an eyebrow. He didn't seem the least bit fazed by the news that his son's classmate had nearly died.
"No, not at all. The preliminary investigation showed that on the day of the suicide attempt, all of Tyler's classmates were at school. It's just… I've heard rumors that your son might have been the reason for this possible tragedy. After asking around, I found out they'd had several conflicts."
"Interesting. I'd like to hear what these rumors are." From his tone, it was clear Mr. Miller wasn't particularly concerned about the conflicts themselves.
"Let's put it this way: several students - I won't name names - insisted your son was probably to blame. For some reason, they were sure he was capable of something like this, and considering how his classmates feel about Alex, which can only be described as wary…"
"So, you have no actual evidence against my son, and this whole conversation is based on rumors and baseless accusations?" Mr. Miller cut him off.
In the end, even after ten minutes, the conversation went nowhere, and Mr. Carter had no choice but to wrap up the meeting.
Once they'd driven a few miles from the school, Mr. Miller started talking to his son in the car.
"So, was it worth it? Someone's parents almost lost their child. Are you happy now? Do you feel good about yourself?" he asked, eyes on the road.
"I was expecting a different outcome. How was I supposed to know that idiot would actually try to jump off his building? Seriously, there's got to be a limit to stupidity. It's only five stories - didn't he realize he might survive?" Alex grumbled.
"And the fact that you're being suspected doesn't bother you?" his father asked, matter-of-factly.
"Oh, words aren't proof. And as for people who have nothing better to do than drag my name through the mud… I'll deal with them later."
"Alex, life is short. One day, your mother and I won't be around to cover for you. And you don't have any friends or close people. If you don't change, you'll spend the rest of your life alone."
"Pfft, who needs potential traitors anyway?" Alex turned to look out the window. "And what's so bad about being alone? Peace and quiet - what could be better?"
Mr. Miller didn't answer right away. He was silent for a few seconds, then, after turning onto another road, said, "If you really think that, then this summer your mother and I will go to Italy without you. You'll get to see what it's like to be alone for a month."
"Hah! Go for the whole summer if you want. I'll find something to keep myself busy," Alex replied confidently.
When summer break started, Mr. Miller and his wife started saying their goodbyes. Mrs. Miller, suddenly overcome with emotion as the taxi arrived, hugged her son and started crying.
"My little Alex, don't worry, I'll be back in 28 days. Don't forget to eat on time, drink water instead of soda, don't eat junk food, and if you want, make yourself a pizza - I showed you how, remember?"
"Come on, Mom, that's enough," Alex said, embarrassed. "I can't stand hot drinks, and as for pizza… I don't think I'll ever be able to eat another slice in my life. Seriously, it's all you ever make in your free time."
Mr. Miller, finally managing to pry his wife off their son, stepped up to Alex and stood in front of him.
"Alex, you know what to do in case of a fire or any emergency as well as I do, so I'll just say this: take care of yourself while we're gone, don't get into anything shady, and - if the house feels too quiet, call us or go for a walk in the park. And let me say it again: if you want to make friends, smile, be more outgoing, and help people who need it." He hugged his son for a moment, then stepped back and added, "Remember, we love you. If it weren't for that incident, I'd have taken you with us. Think about that for a bit." He patted Alex on the shoulder one last time, grabbed his suitcase, and headed outside, where his wife was waiting, tears in her eyes as she looked at their son.
"Heh, a whole month home alone. What did Cartman say? Sweet…" Alex was about to wave and close the door, but paused for a second, watching his parents' backs as they walked away.
"Mom, Dad!" he called out, and they stopped and turned around. "Be careful in Italy, okay? I read there are a lot of pickpockets and scams there." His parents smiled, waved, and promised to be careful.
In the taxi, Mrs. Miller glanced at her husband in surprise.
"Are those tears? Are you crying?" She was shocked - she'd never seen her husband cry before.
"I'm sweating from my eyes, woman. What tears?" Mr. Miller replied coolly, wiping away a single tear.
Mrs. Miller just smiled. She could feel her own heart tightening, leaving their son alone for so long.
The very next morning, Alex found out that the plane his parents were on, Flight 1045, had crashed.
****
"Haaah!" Akira shot upright, gasping for breath. Looking around, he spotted Aika, who was grumpily getting up from the bare wooden floor.
"Yip-yip," Aika said, hopping back onto the bed and settling as far from Akira as possible.
"Just a dream…" Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he flipped his pillow and lay back down, pulling the disgruntled Aika closer.
****
"Hope this works, otherwise…" I didn't finish the thought, cursing mentally as I remembered that damn summoning jutsu - I'd feel a lot safer if I had it.
How many clones have I sent out on random summons now? Twenty-four? Maybe I've used up all my luck and inherited Tsunade's legendary bad fortune.
Either way, I've almost finished all the prep I can do. For anything more, I'd have to involve strangers or people I barely know, and that's just too risky. Back in school, with my dad covering for me, I'd pull off stuff like this without a second thought. Now, the only thing protecting me is luck - and it's obvious Danzo's more interested in the Uchiha right now. Once he's done with them - and it looks like that's coming soon - he'll come after me.
It's a sad state of affairs. By interfering with the Uchiha situation, I've probably sped up Danzo's plans for me. Will things go the way they did in canon? Only the Flying Spaghetti Monster knows.
I packed up the papers into a storage scroll and left the McDonald's office, scanning the room for Ayumi to let her know I was heading out. That's when I spotted a familiar figure.
"Are you trying to bankrupt me?!" I shouted, half-joking, half-serious.
Kiyomi, who was stuffing yet another burger into her mouth, started coughing and choking. It looked funny to me - and to the other customers - until she started pounding her chest and turned pale. Then people got genuinely worried, including me.
"Ayumi!" I yelled, and she appeared instantly, rushing to help the poor girl.
I froze for a second at her "help" - since when does a gentle pat on the back fix choking? Offering water was a good call, but it was clear Kiyomi could barely cough, so swallowing water would've been impossible.
"Step aside," I ordered. This wasn't the time for Japanese politeness or etiquette.
If she died in my restaurant - especially from a burger - McDonald's would take a serious hit to its reputation. And no one would care that it was her own fault for choking.
As weird as it sounds, I bent Kiyomi forward so the food wouldn't go further down her throat. One hand held her steady so she wouldn't fall, and with the other, I started hitting her back. Not just patting - hitting. Shinobi barely feel gentle pats. When that didn't work, I switched tactics. For that, I had to stand right behind her, wrap my fist just above her navel, and press in sharply, pushing up. I did it again, and again…
****
To say the customers and staff at McDonald's were surprised would be an understatement.
The owner suddenly started making some pretty questionable moves with a choking customer, and it looked like he didn't care about appearances at all.
Before anyone could really process what was happening, the girl coughed up a big chunk of bun.
"Ha… ho…" the pale girl gasped, catching her breath.
"Ayumi, if this ever happens again, you saw what to do. If that doesn't work, get the person to the hospital as fast as possible. Bring some water," Akira told the staff who'd rushed over.
A few customers said approvingly that the owner had handled the situation well, and everyone calmed down, returning to their tables.
"You almost made history," Akira said, sitting across from Kiyomi, whose color was finally returning.
"What? What do you mean, history?" she asked, confused.
"You'd have been the first person in Konoha to die from a burger. How are you feeling?" When he saw Kiyomi reaching for another burger, Akira couldn't help but sigh.
"Good, thank you, Akira," she mumbled with her mouth full. After chewing and swallowing, she asked, "Are you heading home already?"
"I was planning to walk around downtown," Akira replied casually, and Kiyomi immediately suggested they walk together. Akira agreed, but said he needed to pop back into his office for a second to check if he'd forgotten anything.
****
Itachi left the clan temple with mixed feelings. Her clanmates were furious about the way the villagers and the leadership were treating them. They demanded justice - and in their eyes, justice would only be served when their clan ruled the village.
No one was shouting about a coup. As arrogant as the Uchiha could be, they weren't idiots. They knew some things were better left unsaid - for now. Still, their intentions were crystal clear. Almost no one was taking missions anymore, and the clan was stockpiling weapons.
*This won't end well,* she thought.
*Last month, I thought the clan was starting to change for the better. Was I just fooling myself? Weaklings with delusions of grandeur - that's what they were, and that's what they still are. On the other hand, I can even see why the Hyuga clan started branding their own. The Uchiha head represents the will of the clan, but here, the clan members represent the will of the head… If it comes down to a choice between the village and the clan, what do I do? Shisui, please come back from your mission soon.*
****
A week went by quickly. The number of Uchiha clan members supporting a peaceful solution with the village leadership dropped sharply, while Fugaku kept postponing any decisions until the upcoming clan council meeting at the start of next month.
His goal was to force Danzo to admit he'd been turning the village against their clan, and then make him resign. If that didn't work, he felt he'd have no choice but to follow the will of his clan.
Twice, Naruko came to visit Akira - or tried to, anyway. He wouldn't let her past the door, claiming he didn't want to give her his "cold."
Akira, having finished all the steps of his plan, focused entirely on training.
Early in the morning, he sent clones out to search for a summoning contract. Before lunch, he worked out at home in weighted gear. After lunch, he recharged his clones and had them practice Rasengan, then meditated, hoping to recover chakra faster. A few hours before evening, he trained chakra control himself.
By local standards, his chakra control was decent, but he seriously lacked experience using it. He found a partial solution - shadow boxing. Imagining an opponent in front of him, he'd throw punches from a boxer's stance, channeling chakra into his limbs with each strike. When he pictured getting hit in a certain spot during a counterattack, he'd send chakra to that area. As someone who'd managed to write a decent book, he had no complaints about his imagination, so shadow boxing ended up being even more intense than regular workouts - sweat poured off him like a waterfall.
He didn't really notice it outside, but after a whole day training in the living room, drenched in sweat, he picked up on something odd - his sweat didn't stink. Well, it had a smell, and it definitely filled the room, but it wasn't the usual sweat smell. It was a weird mix of something sweet and light, and in that scent, he recognized the smell of his own clothes.
All this time, that pleasant aroma he sometimes noticed on his clothes - the one he thought was laundry detergent - turned out to be his own body's scent. That made him a little nervous, since people usually don't notice their own bad smell, but if he really stank, why did people keep asking what cologne or essential oils he used? Every time, Akira would say he just used regular soap and that it was the detergent, but apparently… that wasn't quite true.
"My sweat smells nice," Akira concluded, a little baffled.
For three days, Akira did nothing but train, stopping only to sleep, rest, and eat.
He didn't suddenly awaken the power of youth, and he didn't think this kind of training would make him strong overnight. It takes years to reach even chunin level. He was just trying to distract himself - his plan might not work out, since part of it depended on luck.
Unlike Danzo, Akira only had one shot, one chance to save himself. He could always surrender to the Hokage and confess who he was and where he came from, but that would mean giving up his freedom completely - and that was something Akira just couldn't accept.
****
In the middle of the night, Akira woke up to the sound of a distant explosion.
He got out of bed and went to the kitchen to grab a bottle of sake. Pouring himself a full shot, he raised it in the direction of the Uchiha district and downed it.
"To your health." He waited for the warm burn to reach his stomach, then poured another.
"Kushina and Naruko probably won't hear a thing - those soundproofing seals aren't always a good thing," Akira remembered how the street noise would vanish whenever he visited his neighbors.
"To Danzo's death." He finished the second shot and soon went back to bed.
🔥~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🔥
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