Sarutobi Asuma couldn't wrap his head around it. What exactly was this so-called Will of Fire supposed to mean?
In his eyes, if Seiji truly followed the Will of Fire, he should've been cheering on Inada Kojiro, encouraging him to push forward and keep training until he became a proper Konoha shinobi.
But Seiji didn't. Instead, he went straight to funding Kojiro's dream of opening a shop.
Why? Why would Seiji encourage someone like Might Guy—a hopeless underdog—to keep fighting step by step, but not do the same for Kojiro?
Yet when Asuma saw Kojiro's face—lit up with unfiltered joy—he faltered. Was… was not being a ninja really something that could bring happiness? That smile wasn't fake; it came straight from the heart. Which meant Seiji wasn't wrong.
Slowly, Asuma crumpled his own "Will of Fire" exam paper into a ball, his eyes never leaving Seiji. He let out a heavy breath, and his gaze hardened with resolve.
He would ask Seiji directly. One day, face to face—what was the Will of Fire?
Compared to the fake, suffocating words he'd heard at home, Asuma felt like he could trust the boy who could make classmates laugh through their tears.
"Seiji brat, I told you to help him, not tell him to quit being a ninja." Tobirama Senju frowned, clearly displeased.
"What's the point? So he can go die on the battlefield?"
Seiji shook his head, speaking evenly:"A kid whose talent is so bad he can barely manage the Clone Technique—even if he bleeds himself dry—at best he'll scrape his way to chunin. More likely, he'll stay a genin forever."
"And when the next war comes? He's cannon fodder. His bones won't even be found."
Seiji's Sharingan flickered with dry amusement. "So what do you think, Tobirama? Does Konoha need another disposable soldier… or does it need a shopkeeper who makes damn good dango?"
Tobirama froze. He hadn't looked at it that way before. Thinking deeper, he realized… Seiji wasn't wrong. Still, something about the reasoning felt off.
But he stayed silent, and after a long pause, nodded slowly. "…Perhaps you're right."
"Of course I'm right." Seiji shrugged, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "Or do you think your zero out of ten paper was right?"
"You evil little Uchiha brat!"
"Delicious! Seiji, your cooking's incredible!"
At Seiji's dining table, Might Guy launched his chopsticks like twin hurricanes, demolishing the mountain of meat dishes with fiery youth. In no time, he'd cleared eight bowls of rice.
Seiji ate with more grace, but his appetite was just as terrifying. Truth was, in the ninja world, appetite said a lot about strength. A strong ninja didn't have to eat big, but a weak one never could.
If you can't even fuel your body, how the hell are you supposed to fight?
Might Duy watched his son devour food, his own eyes glistening with a mix of pride, sorrow, and gratitude. For all his cries of "Youth! Youth!" Duy was still an adult, with the awareness of a man who had lived decades in Konoha's shadows, ignored by all.
And now he saw the spread before him—red and white meats, fish, poultry, even medicinal dishes. It was a banquet fit for nobility, prepared with meticulous care.
In fact, not even the Hokage's table probably looked this rich.
Only now did Duy understand what Seiji had meant by "room and board included." This wasn't just kindness—it was respect, the sort of treatment no one had ever given him before.
"Uncle Duy, why are you just staring?" Seiji smiled warmly, sliding a huge bowl of beef and a pot of rice in front of him. "Eat. If you collapse from overwork and hidden injuries, I'll have to keep treating you. What, you don't trust me?"
"Come on, fill your stomach. That was the deal—full meals in exchange for guarding my house."
Duy stared blankly at Seiji, the aroma of the beef wafting into his nose. For a man who'd fought and bled in Konoha for decades without recognition, this moment—this simple act—hit harder than any mission.
And Seiji was… an Uchiha.
"So what if he is?" Duy drew in a deep breath. With sudden resolve, he snatched the rib Guy had been eyeing and crunched down on it with gusto.
"Father!"
"Guy, eating is also part of training! To disrespect Seiji's meals is a crime against youth itself!" Duy laughed heartily, flashing Seiji a thumbs-up. "Rest easy, Seiji-kun. I'll be the best damn guard your household could ask for!"
He put heavy emphasis on Seiji's household.
"I always believed in you, Uncle Duy." Seiji grinned, raising a thumb back.
He didn't mind how much Guy or Duy ate—in fact, the more the better. Years of malnutrition had left them both underdeveloped. If he patched their bodies up with proper food and medicine, then one day, when they unleashed their "youth," they'd do more than just kick down the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist or cripple half of Madara Uchiha.
The only one they wouldn't be kicking was him.
Tons of meat was a small investment compared to the value of unlocking Night Guy. If no one else in Konoha was willing to back them, Seiji sure as hell would.
Shisui, watching, gave a cold snort. In his opinion, the Uchiha didn't need a "guard." But as a loyal little brother, he wouldn't question his big brother's decisions.
Still—if his brother cooked, then he swore he'd eat more than anyone else at the table. Even if it killed him, he'd out-eat that rice-guzzling Guy!
"All right, Guy!"
Once the meal was over, Duy leapt to his feet with fresh vigor. "Today's training—wash all the dishes within three minutes, mop the floor three times, and sweep the courtyard until it shines!"
"Yes, Father!"
"Oh, right. Seiji-kun, Kakashi told me to pass on a message. If you want to spar with him, meet him at Training Ground One this weekend." Guy scratched his head sheepishly. The food had been so good, he'd almost forgotten.
With that, Guy dashed after his father to help with the chores.
"Hey! The dishes were always my job!" Shisui slammed the table. "No way, I'm washing them too!"
Seiji leaned back, chuckling as the three of them bickered over who got to do housework.
Kakashi, huh? So this was a challenge—from one genius to another?
Across the table, Tobirama watched the warm, noisy scene with a complicated expression. For a moment, he couldn't help but wonder—how was Tsunade doing these days, all alone?