The Hokage's office was thick with smoke—secondhand smoke swirling in every corner. And the culprit, Hiruzen Sarutobi, felt no shame as he continued to inhale and exhale clouds of tobacco. His deep gaze fixed on the crystal orb atop his desk.
Inside the orb, a scene played out: a blond boy sprinting through village streets, as if searching for someone.
Knock, knock, knock!
A knock sounded at the door. Sarutobi tucked the orb beneath the desk before calling, "Enter."
An ANBU shinobi slipped inside and handed him a dossier. "Hokage-sama, here are the files on Shirakumo Aoba and his relatives."
Indeed, Sarutobi had taken note the moment Aoba had interacted with Naruto. He accepted the documents and leafed through them with casual interest—until the very first lines surprised him.
"So he's Jonin Hayama's nephew. No wonder the name felt familiar." He murmured. "His parents were also heroes who sacrificed themselves for Konoha? And his given name…Aoba, 'Green Leaf,' carries the Will of Fire from birth."
Reading on, he grew more impressed. Clean background, noble lineage. When he reached Aoba's acts—helping anyone in need with zeal—he smiled. "He truly embodies the Will of Fire…though he's a bit greedy, and his methods can be extreme." He tapped his chin in thought. Should he let Aoba draw closer to Naruto? A clean record, strong character…
"Let nature take its course. Naruto needs to make friends on his own terms. I won't interfere." Sarutobi set the dossier aside and told the ANBU, "Continue the protection detail. Record any unusual developments and report promptly."
The shinobi bowed and left. Sarutobi returned to his other duties, no longer focused on Naruto.
—
In a dark, twisting corner, Danzo Shimura slammed a file onto his desk and snorted in anger.
"Shirakumo Aoba…Hayama's nephew?"
Hayama was one of Konoha's finest Jonin—steadfast, composed, meticulous in any mission, an expert strategist. Danzo had once invited Hayama to join Root—only to be flatly refused. He'd long forgotten the slight, until now.
Anger flared, but Danzo buried it. Aoba's lineage was spotless, his parents heroic, and Hayama's protection ensured his safety. There was no leverage here—no reason to cause trouble with Sarutobi over the boy. Root's shinobi departed after receiving orders to maintain surveillance. Danzo resumed his scheming about the Uchiha situation, cautious of Sarutobi's stance.
—
Ichiraku Ramen.
By Hinata's seat, four large empty bowls were stacked high. With the final slurp swallowed, her cheeks bloomed with pleasure. Her full belly made her heart soar—she'd never dared eat like this at home, mindful of etiquette and appearance.
"Amazing!" Ayame exclaimed, having watched in disbelief. Some adults could down several bowls, but a little girl eating so much was extraordinary—especially since Hinata's stomach still looked flat. Where did it all go?
Hinata, startled by Ayame's exclamation, realized patrons were staring at her. Her big eyes blinked rapidly as heat spread over her face. So much that steam might rise from her head. Unsteady, she swayed—Aoba worried she might faint.
"Full?" Aoba asked, eyeing the empty bowls before her.
"F-full!" Hinata nodded like a chick pecking grain.
Aoba raised an eyebrow. Five bowls and not a sign of discomfort—did she have another dimension for a stomach?
"Since you're satisfied, I'll take you home."
It was late, and the village streets weren't safe alone. Pulling his coin purse out, Aoba paid for their meal.
Hinata's fingers clenched her sleeve. A sudden pang of loss and reluctance fluttered in her chest.
"Hinata, time to pay." Aoba prompted, noting her distraction. The Hyuga heiress could afford the meal, but he didn't want her to forget. As for him covering the cost—five large bowls could fund several system draws.
"Ah—of course." Hinata retrieved a small wallet from her pocket. Aoba nearly dropped his jaw when he glimpsed its contents: stacks of 1,000-ryō bills—tens of thousands in cash. More than Tsubaki even. Hinata seldom went out, but her grandfather, Hiashi, gave her ample allowance.
Aoba's resolve wavered briefly as he gazed at her porcelain doll features. But he reminded himself he had no right to her money—at least not until seven years later…
By the time Hinata finished paying Ayame, Aoba was murmuring to himself. Hinata, head tilted, inched closer, curious. Today she'd dared to break from her shy shell.
"What are you doing?" Aoba startled and looked at her—so near their foreheads almost touched.
"Uuh!" Hinata's cheeks flamed. She recoiled and dared not meet his eyes.
What had she caught him saying? Aoba raised an inquisitive brow, but seeing Hinata's brewing embarrassment, he didn't press further.
"Let's go. It's very late."