Title: Chōchō's Unexpected Babysitting Adventure (Part 2)
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After the chaos of Mya's first outburst died down, the group finished their meal—well, Chōchō and Mya finished theirs. Inojin and Sarada had barely touched their plates, still recovering from the shock of a five-year-old dropping such a savage clapback.
As the last bite disappeared from her plate, Mya wiped her mouth with exaggerated politeness, folded her tiny hands, and bowed her head.
"Thanks for the foods!" she announced cheerfully. Then, with the same innocent smile, she added, "I was taught to think before I act, so if I smack the crap out of you one day, rest assured I've thought about it and I am confident in my decision."
Silence.
Again.
This time, it wasn't just their table that froze—half the restaurant did. A nearby shinobi spat out his tea. An elderly woman gasped, clutching her chest. Even the chef behind the counter stopped chopping vegetables, knife hovering mid-air.
Sarada's glasses nearly slid off her face. "WHAT?!"
Inojin, who had been taking a sip of water, choked so hard he had to pound his chest. "WHO TEACHES A KID THAT?!"
Chōchō's face burned crimson. "Mya! Where did you even—?!"
Mya blinked, tilting her head. "Uncle Kiba says it all the time!"
"OF COURSE IT WAS KIBA!" Chōchō groaned, dragging her hands down her face.
Sarada, still wheezing with laughter, wiped a tear from her eye. "I can't—I can't breathe—"
The restaurant slowly returned to murmurs, some customers whispering in horror, others stifling giggles. A mother at another table quickly covered her child's ears.
Inojin, finally recovering, gave Mya an impressed nod. "Kid, you're terrifying. I respect it."
Mya grinned, kicking her feet under the table. "Thanks! Can we get dessert?"
Chōchō sighed, defeated. "…Yeah. Let's just get dessert."
As the server nervously brought over a menu, Chōchō made a mental note: Never babysit again without backup.