"Uchiha… Itachi?"
Roshi studied the boy standing before him. Dressed in a dark-blue short-sleeved shirt and shorts, he looked more like a child than a shinobi. Eight years old—still soft around the cheeks with traces of baby fat—but his eyes told a different story. Dark and bottomless, they carried no warmth, no childish mischief. They were the eyes of someone who had already stepped into a world far harsher than his age allowed.
"Yes, Roshi-senpai," the boy answered quietly.
Roshi had inhabited this body for half a month now. Fourteen years old, already a shinobi who had spilled blood for years. He had grown used to the idea of being a killer. But taking a child along on such work? That was something his mind still balked at.
Even if that child was Uchiha Itachi.
None of this showed on his face. He unrolled the mission scroll, ready to brief his junior, when a sweet fragrance drifted into his nose.
It was nine in the morning. Sparrows hopped along the eaves, chirping in crisp tones. The air was fresh, the sunlight soft, and from a nearby shop came the unmistakable aroma of… dango.
Roshi's gaze slid toward the little sweets shop, where the owner was already busy preparing skewers for the day.
"Uchiha— cough. Forget it, I'll just call you Itachi," Roshi muttered, Adam's apple bobbing.
"Understood, senpai," came the same calm reply.
"Hungry?" Roshi asked.
That finally earned him a reaction. Itachi's eyes flicked up, surprise flashing briefly before he followed Roshi's gaze to the source. A dango shop.
"I… Roshi-senpai, the mission—"
"The dango looks freshly made," Roshi interrupted, already angling toward the shop. "Fresh things taste best. Besides, what I had this morning wasn't enough… A little more won't hurt."
He said it half to himself, half as a decision. And as the mission leader, there was no point in Itachi arguing.
So the boy followed.
Inside, Roshi ordered four skewers of three-colored dango and two cups of tea to balance the sweetness. The skewers arrived on small green plates, each dumpling glistening softly under the sunlight—pink sakura, green matcha, and white plain rice, dusted with fine sugar crystals. The aroma was warm, sweet, inviting.
Roshi rinsed his mouth with tea first. But when he set the cup down, his brows lifted. Only two skewers remained.
Slowly, his gaze shifted across the table.
There sat Uchiha Itachi—fair cheeks slightly puffed out, a few sugar crystals clinging stubbornly to the corner of his lips. His calm, unreadable eyes were narrowed just faintly, the faintest flicker of contentment breaking through, like a cat savoring a stolen meal.
"Boss, two more skewers," Roshi said with a small chuckle, nudging the untouched plate toward his junior.
A hint of color touched Itachi's cheeks, but his fingers moved without hesitation. Sunlight spilled through the window, scattering golden patterns across the table where the two sat—one a child destined for infamy, the other quietly watching, unable to suppress his smile.
The dango was soft, sweet, and pleasantly chewy. A sip of tea afterward—perfect.
Roshi let out a quiet, satisfied sigh. Across from him, Itachi also lowered his cup, calm but clearly content.
With that small pause behind them, Roshi finally unrolled the mission scroll.
"This mission is to clear out a group of bandits. There are no portraits, only reports—they used to plunder along the border of the Land of Rivers. When the Land of Rivers sent soldiers after them, they slipped across the border into the Land of Fire.
"The Daimyō's men gave chase, but the bandits fled again—this time into the Land of Rain. Both countries dropped the matter, and just when things seemed quiet, the same group reappeared on the border of the Land of Rivers. In the end, the Land of Rivers turned to Konoha for help."
His tone was steady, almost businesslike, but his eyes narrowed slightly as he read further.
"According to their intel, there are no shinobi among them. Even so, they've managed to repeatedly escape pursuit without a single casualty. Numbers are estimated between fifteen and twenty. Since no ninja are involved, this is a C-rank mission. But because of their size, the reward is fifty thousand ryō."
He pushed the scroll across the table for Itachi to study.
"Although this is a temporary team-up, I'll state my abilities. I specialize in ninjutsu—both range and power. For this mission, combat won't be an issue."
His words were clipped, but his thoughts drifted for a moment. The body he now inhabited once belonged to a border-patrol shinobi. On his last patrol, that shinobi had encountered a large Kumogakure squad. Two teammates had fallen, and only he had returned—barely alive, clutching vital intelligence. By the time his broken body reached Konoha, Roshi was no longer Roshi.
He had awakened here—or perhaps taken over. He still didn't know. What he did know was that he carried both this boy's fourteen years of memories and over twenty years from another life as an ordinary man in another world. But dwelling on it was pointless.
After half a month of recovery, he had chosen this mission as a way to re-enter the world of shinobi, something simple enough for rehabilitation. Bandits were only civilians, after all. The real challenge was finding them. He had expected to go alone, but the village had assigned him a partner.
"Senpai, you don't need to worry about me," Itachi said, his voice serious and level. "I can use ninja tools, I have some grasp of genjutsu, and I can perform basic fire release. If you judge that I'll become a burden, you may abandon me at any time."
Roshi's brow twitched upward. Such words, spoken from such a young mouth.
Itachi continued in that same calm manner. His father had told him Roshi was an excellent shinobi. And though Itachi often disagreed with Fugaku on many matters, when it came to evaluating strength, he trusted his father's judgment.
"Although this is only a C-rank mission, the fact that they paired a chūnin with a genin means Senpai's strength must be near the top of the chūnin class, without obvious weakness," Itachi added quietly.
Hearing such a measured, almost clinical assessment from an eight-year-old, Roshi couldn't help but arch an eyebrow.
"Since you're that confident, you'll follow my command to the letter during this mission. No problem with that, right?"
"Yes, Senpai," Itachi replied with a firm nod.
"Good. Now, about the reward—"
"You don't need to worry about my portion," Itachi interrupted, his tone still polite, even humble. "It's already an honor to learn from Senpai."
Of course, Roshi knew the truth. To the Uchiha clan heir, fifty thousand ryō was hardly worth notice. But principle was principle.
He tapped the table lightly, his voice calm but edged with steel.
"We're in this together, so don't say things like that. The reward will be split sixty-forty. As chūnin and team leader, I'll take the extra share. But you won't be shorted a single ryō. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Senpai," Itachi murmured, his expression unreadable but his tone respectful.