The walk back from the "Hollow City" was long, hot, and quiet.
The sun was beginning its descent, painting the sandstone walls of the canyon in shades of burnt orange and violet. Our boots crunched on the gravel road leading back to the main gates of Sunagakure.
The gravel crunched loudly—scrunch, scrunch—each step amplified in the quiet, dusty canyon.
We were a mess. Covered in dust, sweat, and bruises from the joint training, we looked less like diplomats and more like survivors of a natural disaster.
Naruto was walking ahead, kicking a rock. Skitter-clack.
He wasn't his usual loud self. He was frowning, his brow furrowed in a way that usually meant he was thinking about ramen, but this time, it looked deeper.
He glanced at a group of Suna citizens standing by the gate. They were watching us—watching our headbands—with cold, distrustful eyes. One man spat on the ground as we passed.
"I don't get it," Naruto grumbled, kicking the rock harder. "Why are the Suna guys so mad at us? We're here to help! We walked all this way! And that guy at the gate looked at me like I stole his wallet."
The guard spat again, a wet, disdainful sound that landed inches from Naruto's sandal, drying almost instantly on the hot stone.
I adjusted my pack, wincing as the strap dug into a bruise on my shoulder. My skin felt sticky and gritty, the fine sand mixing with sweat to create a paste that clung to everything. I looked at the side of the road.
Rusted mining equipment lay abandoned in the sand—massive gears, broken drills, skeletal cranes. Relics of a time when Suna tried to be more than just a mercenary state. Relics of Rōran.
The wind whistled through the holes in a rusted crane arm, creating a mournful, low-pitched flute note.
"It's not about you, Naruto," I said softly. "It's about the system."
Naruto blinked. "The system?"
"Okay. Think of a mission like a job," I explained, gesturing with my hands. "If you need a fence painted, and Suna charges 100 Ryo, but Konoha charges 50 Ryo... who do you hire?"
Naruto thought for a second. "The 50 Ryo guy. Duh. Then I have money for ramen."
"Right. But Konoha can only charge 50 Ryo because the Fire Daimyo pays for our paint and brushes. We have fertile land. We have trade. Suna has to buy their own supplies in the desert. Their overhead is higher."
I kicked a loose bolt from the machinery, watching it roll down the dune, disappearing into the endless sand.
I pointed at the empty, dusty road.
"So we take all the jobs. We undercut them. That guy at the gate? He isn't mad you stole his wallet. He's mad because our village made it so he can't earn enough to fill it."
Naruto stopped.
He looked at the rusted machinery, half-buried in the dune. He looked at his own headband—the metal plate reflecting the setting sun. The symbol of the Leaf. The symbol of the village that undercut the world.
He frowned. It wasn't an angry frown. It was a processing frown. The gears were turning.
"That's..." Naruto struggled for the word. "That's rigged."
"Yeah," I said softly. "It's inefficient for everyone but us. That's why they call it a Monopoly."
"Monopoly..." Naruto tested the word. It tasted bitter.
He rubbed the metal of his headband, feeling the engraved leaf, the symbol suddenly feeling heavier on his forehead.
He looked at the horizon, where the great sphere of the Kazekage's office stood.
"Then we have to do a really good job, Sylvie."
"Why?"
"Because if we're gonna be the cheap guys," Naruto said, his blue eyes hardening with a new kind of maturity, "we better not be the bad guys."
The setting sun caught his blue eyes, turning them into blazing sapphires against the dusty backdrop, burning with newfound conviction.
Ahead of us, Shira—the taijutsu specialist who had fought Neji to a draw—was walking with his team. He was adjusting his arm wraps, wincing slightly. The smell of analgesic ointment wafted from him—sharp camphor and mint—masking the scent of sweat.
Naruto's mood shifted instantly.
"HEY!" Naruto shouted, running up to him. "YOU REMIND ME OF BUSHY BROWS!"
Shira stopped. He looked confused. ".....Who is that?"
"He's just like you!" Naruto punched and kicked the air, demonstrating a flurry of enthusiastic but terrible taijutsu. "He doesn't do any ninjutsu or genjutsu—he's all physical combat! He wears green spandex! He screams about youth!"
Shira's eyes widened. He nodded slowly, a look of profound validation crossing his face. "I didn't know there were other people like me out there. What is he like? Is he... dignified?"
Shira leaned in, his eyes shining with the hope of finding a role model, completely unaware of the green spandex reality.
Naruto punched the air again. "THE POWER OF YOUTH! HE IS A BEAST!"
Shira touched his chin. "Interesting. A kindred spirit."
"Oh, I got it!" Naruto grabbed my arm, dragging me forward. "Sylvie! Draw Bushy Brows for him! Draw him for—"
Naruto squinted at Shira's face.
"—Regular Brows!"
Naruto squinted so hard his face scrunched up, trying to reconcile the concept of "normal eyebrows" with his mental image of a taijutsu master.
Shira blinked. He touched his own eyebrows self-consciously. 'Regular?'
I stared at Naruto. I stared at my sketchbook, which was currently buried in my pack.
"..."
Whack.
I smacked Naruto on the head with my water canteen.
"I'm not a camera, Naruto!"
THWACK.
The canteen made a hollow, metallic bonk on his skull.
Shira laughed. It was a warm, genuine sound that echoed off the canyon walls.
We reached the plaza outside the hotel. The whole group was exhausted. We were sweaty, dusty, and running on fumes.
Kankurō was getting defensive. He was trying to explain why his puppet had jammed during the match, but Tenten was teasing him about the "mechanical failure."
"It wasn't a failure! It was a calibration error due to the heat!" Kankurō argued, his voice rising in pitch. "The wood expanded! It's physics!"
"Sure, puppet boy," Tenten grinned. "Blame the wood."
A vein pulsed in Kankurō's temple, beating out a frantic rhythm against his face paint.
The teasing got too sharp. The noise rose.
Click.
The shutdown happened.
Kankurō froze. His spine snapped straight. His elbows locked. He stared at a rock, retreating into the safety of the void, just like he had at dinner.
Usually, people backed off. It was weird. It was awkward.
Naruto, however, saw an opportunity.
He slid up behind the frozen puppeteer.
Naruto grabbed Kankurō's stiff, outstretched arms.
"AND NOW!" Naruto announced in a deep, booming announcer voice. "THE ULTIMATE WEAPON!"
Kankurō's eyes widened, but he was still rebooting. He didn't pull away.
Naruto started manually moving Kankurō's arms in a circle, like he was winding up a toy.
Kankurō's joints popped audibly—crack, crack—as Naruto forced them through the motion.
"WIND UP... CHARGING..."
Temari, watching from the side, pinched the bridge of her nose. "Naruto, you have a death wis—"
"KANKURŌ PUPPET RASENGAN! RAHHH!"
Naruto thrust Kankurō's stiff arms forward in a firing motion.
But then—because he was a chaos gremlin—he dug his fingers into Kankurō's exposed ribs.
The Tickle Attack.
SKRITCH-SKRITCH.
Naruto's fingers dug into the sensitive spots between the ribs.
"—AGH! NO! STOP!"
The freeze shatters.
Kankurō buckled. "PFFFFFHAHAHA—GET OFF! GET OFF ME YOU IDIOT!"
"IT'S SUPER EFFECTIVE!" Naruto crowed, dodging a flailing arm.
Kankurō shoved Naruto into the dirt. He was wheezing, wiping tears of actual mirth (and pain) from his eyes. His face paint was smeared.
"I hate you!" Kankurō gasped, clutching his side. "I literally hate you so much!"
He laughed until he hiccuped—hic—a childish sound that completely dismantled his "cool puppeteer" persona.
Naruto grinned from the ground, covered in dust. "You're back though."
Kankurō paused.
He realized the static in his head was gone. The anxiety of the social interaction had been replaced by simple, grounding adrenaline and annoyance.
He looked at Naruto. He looked at the group—Sasuke, Neji, Tenten, Me—who were all smiling. Not mocking. Just smiling.
Kankurō rolled his eyes, helping Naruto up.
"Yeah. Whatever. Shut up."
Later, as the sun finally vanished behind the crater rim, Gaara joined us. He wasn't wearing his Kage robes anymore; he was in simple training gear. He looked tired, but present.
He sat on a crate, watching Naruto and Kankurō argue about chips.
I sat down next to him.
"You did good today," I said quietly. "Leading the exercise."
Gaara looked at me. His teal eyes were intense, ringed by the dark markings.
"I am trying," Gaara said. "To lead. To not be... the weapon."
He rubbed his forehead, right over the Love kanji.
I looked at the markings around his eyes. Everyone always stared at them, whispered about them, but no one ever asked.
"Is it..." I started, then hesitated. "Is it makeup? The black around your eyes?"
Gaara blinked. He looked genuinely surprised. He touched his cheek.
"No," he said. "It is... insomnia. And the sand. The Shukaku's influence marks the vessel."
He traced the dark circles, his skin pale and dry, the touch light as a feather.
He looked down, ashamed.
"I know it looks..."
"Cool," Naruto interrupted, popping up from behind the crate.
Gaara froze.
"I just thought you were tired all the time!" Naruto grinned, leaning on his elbows. "Or maybe you were going for a goth look. But honestly? It makes you look intense! Like a rock star!"
"Rock star?" Gaara repeated, testing the word.
"Yeah! Like you're in a band! 'The Sand Coffins'!" Naruto made air guitar motions. Naruto shredded an imaginary solo, complete with sound effects—meedley-meedley-mow—that echoed strangely in the quiet plaza.
"It's not girly. It's metal."
Gaara looked at Naruto. Then he looked at me.
"Metal," Gaara whispered.
A small smile—a real one—touched his lips.
"I see."
He looked back at his siblings, at the Leaf ninja laughing in the twilight.
He's doing it, I thought, sketching the scene in my mind. He's wrestling the monster. And he's winning.
The wind finally died down for the night, leaving the air still and peaceful, as if the desert itself was holding its breath in approval.