The alleyway smelled of fermented rot and damp cardboard.
I adjusted my glasses, the bridge of the frames sliding against a layer of sweat.
Beside me, Naruto checked the tension on a length of twine.
He had it anchored to a precarious stack of glossy magazines.
High above the paper bait, an overripe tomato dangled from a rusted fire escape.
It hung there like a pulp-bloated heart.
I noticed a distinct sag in Naruto's right back pocket—a heavy weight that pulled the fabric of his trousers taut.
Every time he shifted, the dull clink of metal against metal echoed in the narrow space.
"And—schloop!" Naruto whispered, his whiskers twitching. "He'll get covered in tomato guts. It'll be the ultimate lesson in gravity, Sylvie!"
I looked at the fruit, mapping the smooth surface. "Actually, Naruto, that's a seedless cultivar. Sterile pulp. Identical density."
Naruto froze, his hand hovering over the string. He stared at me, his pupils dilating in the shadows. "Does that make it less funny?"
I looked up at the overcast sky, calculating the impact. "Only slightly. The cleanup will be significantly more efficient."
Naruto snapped his fingers—hiss-click. "Oh! Shh-shh! His sandals are hitting the cobbles! He's coming!"
Naruto grabbed my forearm to pull me down.
I felt the heat transfer from his palm, his grip leaving white imprints on my skin.
We dropped behind a row of green bins, the stagnant musk of trash filling my nose.
Ebisu appeared at the mouth of the alley.
He walked with a rigid gait, his trademark sunglasses reflecting the dim light.
He stopped three paces from the magazines.
"Now, Ebisu," he muttered. The sound bounced off the brick walls. "Remember the twelve steps to maintaining a healthy libido. Discipline. Focus. The path of the elite tutor is narrow."
He stepped backward, his heels making a clack-click against the stone.
Then he began to count, his pace increasing as he moved forward.
"One... two... three..."
Naruto bit his lip, his diaphragm tightening until his breath became a series of hitches.
"Four... five..."
Ebisu paused, his leg muscles bunching. "SIXSEVENEIGHTNINETEN!"
In a blur of motion, he launched.
He performed a cartwheel, his palms slapping the magazines and snatching the entire stack.
The air displacement from his movement ruffled my hair.
He used the momentum to vault over a puddle, landing in a perfect three-point stance.
SPLAT.
The tomato hit the ground exactly where he had been standing.
The twine jerked back, whistling against the fire escape rail before the excess length coiled into the mud.
For a few seconds, the alley went quiet.
The smell of broken fruit intensified—a vegetal sweetness.
Red pulp sprayed the sides of my sandals.
Naruto's grip on my arm loosened, his shoulders slumping as the adrenaline crashed.
My glasses fogged from the humidity rising off the impact site.
Ebisu pushed his sunglasses up. "Nice try, kids. But an elite tutor possesses reflexes beyond the reach of amateurish physics."
I stood up, brushing grit from my knees. "You're still holding adult literature, Ebisu-san."
A beat of absolute silence stretched.
Ebisu's face transformed—a crimson flush spreading to his hairline.
He looked at the glossy covers in his hands, then at us.
Without a word, he spun around and sprinted out of the alley, his sandals making a pitter-patter against the street.
The transition to the main thoroughfare hit us with a change in temperature—a pocket of warm air smelling of fried oil and woodsmoke.
Naruto's energy dropped from his prank-high to predatory boredom.
He kept his hand over the metal weight in his pocket, twirling something hidden there.
A man in a cream outfit capped with a blue hood stood near a fruit stall.
He had a necklace featuring the kanji for communication and a sunny disposition that felt like a foreign object in the midday rush.
Naruto chuckled, rubbing his palms together. "Sweet, fresh meat."
"Meat isn't sweet, Naruto," I corrected. "Savory. You're sensing umami."
Naruto rolled his eyes so hard I imagined the sound of a marble hitting floorboards.
"Oh! Hey there, youngsters!" the stranger chirped. He was leaning over a crate, poking at the produce. "I was just taking in the sights! Could you help me find the Hokage's office? I have a new position as Inoichi Yamanaka's apprentice."
Naruto's eyes narrowed into slits. "Sure, Mister!"
Tenga pointed at a stray tomato on the stall. "Say, I could plant the seeds from one of these! It looks like a hardy strain."
"It's a seedless variety," I said.
Tenga's smile flickered.
His nostrils flared, and his jaw tightened for a micro-second as he recalibrated.
He shrugged and followed us.
We led him away from the Tower.
We navigated into the grounds of the Torture and Interrogation building, where the air grew colder.
The corridors here were high-walled, smelling of ammonia and floor wax. Ammonia stung my nose, causing a tear film to distort the edges of my lenses.
I felt a slight pressure behind my eardrums as the metallic reverb of our breathing bounced off the stone.
Naruto's posture shifted, his movements becoming quieter.
"Is this it?" Tenga asked, his voice echoing.
BANG-BANG-BANG.
The iron-reinforced doors burst open.
Ibiki Morino stormed out, his presence filling the hallway.
The lack of a forehead protector exposed the landscape of his scalp.
I fixated on the spacing of the screw-puncture depressions and the keloid ridges of the slashes.
The texture differential between the healed tissue and the puckered burns was fascinating.
Ibiki's gaze laser-focused on Naruto.
"I know you took it, Uzumaki!" Ibiki rumbled.
Tenga took one look at Ibiki's head.
His breath hitched—a gasping intake.
I saw his pupils dilate before his eyes rolled back.
His knees buckled, and his skull made a thud as it hit the stone.
I stepped forward, checking his pulse.
It stuttered.
A sweat film appeared on his lip.
Naruto didn't wait. He bolted. "IT WASN'T ME—oh, wait!"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the missing forehead protector, tossing the metal plate into the air. "I FORGOT! SORRY!"
Ibiki snatched the metal out of the air.
He let out a long sigh that sounded like dry leaves skittering over stone.
He rewrapped the fabric around his head, hiding the scars.
I stayed by the unconscious apprentice.
"What's up, kid?" Ibiki asked, his voice dropping an octave. "Not gonna run off with the fox-boy?"
My own pulse stayed level.
I pointed at Tenga.
Ibiki pinched the bridge of his nose, the leather of his gloves creaking. "Alright. Let's get this one to the hospital. He's clearly not ready for orientation yet."