The Konoha Shinobi Cafeteria did not smell like food. It smelled like industrial-grade bleach and the death of joy.
Anko Mitarashi kicked the door open, feeling almost human again. She had slept for fourteen hours straight, scrubbed the Land of Rivers silt out of her pores, and replaced her ruined trench coat. She was clean, she was armed, and she was starving.
Inside, the cafeteria was mostly empty. The morning rush of genin trying to grab free toast before missions had ended, leaving only the stragglers.
Kotetsu and Izumo were sitting in the corner, looking exhausted, nursing black coffee. Aoba was with them, wearing his sunglasses indoors like a pretentious tool, eating a bagel with a fork.
And there, at the counter, was Sylvie.
The pink-haired girl was sitting on a stool, nursing a cup of tea. But she wasn't alone. She was talking to the terror of the kitchen staff.
Fukizō. Or, as the Jōnin called him, "Fuki-san." The Wiping Guy.
Fukizō was a civilian with a mustache that looked like a push broom and a soul made of disinfectant. He hated ninja. He hated that they brought dirt, blood, and chaos into his pristine domain.
The air around him smelled sharply of lemon and chemical burn—the scent of a war waged against germs.
"So," Sylvie was saying, watching Fukizō aggressively sanitize the counter inches from her elbow. "You use a vinegar base for the grease trap? That's smart. The chemical cleaners usually leave a residue."
Squeak-squeak. His rag dragged across the laminate with a friction that set my teeth on edge.
Fukizō paused. His rag hovered over the laminate. He looked at Sylvie with genuine, teary-eyed appreciation.
"Finally," Fukizō breathed, clutching his spray bottle. "Someone who understands the chemistry of hygiene. These savages..." He gestured violently at Kotetsu and Izumo. "...they track mud. They leave crumbs. It is a battlefield, young miss. And I am the front line."
"Your service is noted, Fuki-san," Sylvie nodded solemnly.
Anko snorted. Of course. Of course the curious little weirdo befriended the guy who yelled at Kakashi for reading books on the table.
Anko marched over, grabbed the back of Sylvie's vest, and hauled her off the stool.
"Alright, hygiene symposium is over," Anko announced.
"Anko-sensei?" Sylvie blinked, dangling slightly. "I was learning about degreasers."
"We're going," Anko said, dragging her toward the door. "Cafeteria food is for rookies and people who hate themselves. I'm taking you to get real food."
"But I have free breakfast here..."
"Silence, recruit," Anko commanded, kicking the door open. "We're going to get sugar."
Anko-sensei dragged me halfway across the village, bypassing the BBQ places and the dumpling stalls, until we reached a small, unassuming shop tucked into a side street of the residential district.
The sign above the door was hand-painted wood: Ankorodō.
The smell hit me before we even crossed the threshold. Sweet red bean paste. Glutinous rice. Green tea. It smelled like a warm blanket on a rainy day.
The bell above the door jingled cheerfully—cling-cling—a bright, innocent sound that felt incongruous with the kunai pouch on Anko's hip.
Anko slid the door open. The aggressive Jōnin swagger vanished instantly, replaced by a strange, sheepish slouch.
"I'm back," Anko called out, her voice noticeably softer.
"IT'S ABOUT TIME!"
A tiny, furious woman stormed out from the back room. She looked to be about seventy, wearing a traditional apron and a bandana tied over grey hair that spiked up exactly like Anko's.
Steam rose from the pots behind her, filling the small shop with a humid, sugary mist that stuck to my glasses.
Tsubaun.
She marched up to Anko, who towered over her, and poked the Special Jōnin in the stomach.
"You're late!" Tsubaun scolded. "And look at you! Skin and bones! Are you eating? Are you sleeping? Or are you just running around the woods playing ninja?"
"I am a ninja, Obaa-chan," Anko muttered, looking at the floor. "And I eat."
"You eat garbage!" Tsubaun countered. She grabbed Anko's arm, pinching the mesh armor. "And this! I told you, this fishnet offers no protection from the cold! It's October, Anko! You'll catch pneumonia!"
"It's tactical mesh, Grandma," Anko whined, shrinking down until she looked like a scolded teenager. "It breathes."
I watched, fascinated. This was Anko Mitarashi—the woman who laughed while throwing senbon at people, the woman who survived the Forest of Death. And she was being bullied by a grandmother half her size.
Oh, I realized, watching Anko let herself be dragged to a table. She's a person.
It was easy to forget, sometimes. To see the rank and the jutsu and forget the girl underneath.
"Sit," Tsubaun ordered, pointing at me. "You too, Pinky. You look like a stiff breeze would blow you over. I'm bringing the deluxe set."
She bustled off to the kitchen.
Anko slumped in her chair, rubbing her face. "Don't say a word."
"I didn't know you had family in the village," I said quietly.
Anko looked at the kitchen curtain. Her expression softened, a rare look of vulnerability crossing her face.
"She's the only one left," Anko murmured. "Kept the shop running even when... even when I was gone. With Orochimaru. When I came back... she just asked if I was hungry."
I nodded, feeling a lump in my throat.
Tsubaun returned, slamming down two plates of dango that were piled dangerously high.
The plate clattered onto the table—CLACK—the ceramic vibrating from the force of her love.
"Eat," she commanded. "And fix your hair, Anko. Tokara might come by."
Anko groaned, dropping her head onto the table. "Obaa-chan, please. No."
"He's a nice boy!" Tsubaun insisted, wiping the table. "He's an Academy teacher now! Steady job. Good benefits. He comes in here all the time asking about you. 'Has Anko-san returned? Is she safe?' He worries."
"He's annoying," Anko mumbled into the wood.
"He's handsome!" Tsubaun argued.
As if summoned by the narrative irony, the bell above the door jingled.
A man walked in. He had dark hair, tired eyes with bags under them, and wore a standard chūnin flak jacket. He looked like he hadn't slept since the Third War.
He smelled faintly of chalk dust and old paper, the dry, scholarly scent of the Academy.
Tokara.
He spotted us. His tired face lit up.
"Anko-san!" Tokara beamed, walking over. "You're back! I heard a rumor you were in the Land of Rivers."
Anko lifted her head. She glared at him.
"If you ask me to dinner," Anko threatened, "I will summon a snake. I will put it in your soup. I will feed you to it."
Her fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the table—tap-tap-tap—like a countdown timer.
Most men would have run. Most men would have been terrified.
Tokara sighed dreamily, clutching his chest.
"She threatened to kill me," he whispered to himself, looking delighted. "She's so cool."
"Hi, Tokara-san," I said, waving a dango stick.
"Hello!" Tokara bowed politely to me, then turned his attention back to the glaring Jōnin. "We, uh... we missed you. The Academy isn't the same without your... terrifying aura keeping the genin in line during exams."
"I'm sure," Anko grunted, shoving a dango into her mouth to avoid talking.
Tsubaun beamed from the counter, giving Anko a double thumbs-up.
I watched Anko. She wasn't blushing. She wasn't doing the "tsundere" thing where she secretly liked it. She looked... tight. Uncomfortable. She was shifting in her seat, angling her body away from him, her eyes darting to the door.
It wasn't that she disliked Tokara. He was nice. He was safe. He was visibly obsessed with her in a religious way.
But she wasn't into it.
Ah, I thought, my internal radar pinging softly. I know that look.
It was the look of someone trying to exist in a heteronormative script they hadn't bothered to read. I wasn't going to assume—labels are complex—but seeing Anko recoil from a perfectly good guy who worshipped the ground she walked on... it felt familiar.
"Eat your dango, Tokara," Anko snapped. "Before I use it for target practice."
"Yes, ma'am!" Tokara sat at the next table, looking happily terrified.
He sighed, a long, wistful sound that fogged up the windowpane next to him.
We left the shop twenty minutes later, our stomachs full of sugar and starch. Anko seemed relieved to be out of the matchmaking zone.
"Never have children," Anko advised, picking her teeth with a senbon. "Or grandmothers. They conspire against you."
The sugar rush hit my bloodstream like a caffeine kick, making my fingers twitch with restless energy.
"Tokara seems nice," I teased.
"Tokara has a death wish," Anko snorted. "He was Ibiki's teammate. I think he just likes dangerous women because it reminds him of work."
We walked past the Aburame compound walls.
A figure was walking toward us. High collar. Dark sunglasses. Hands in pockets.
Shino.
He walked past us without a word, his face impassive.
But as he passed, I heard something.
Zzzt-thump. Zzzt-thump.
It wasn't bugs. It was... a beat?
I glanced back. Shino was wearing something under his hood. Wires trailing down his neck.
Is he... listening to music? I wondered.
A single beetle crawled out of his collar, waved its antennae in time with the hidden beat, and scurried back into the darkness.
Konoha felt normal today. And after the mine, normal was exactly what I needed.