Ichiraku Ramen had already earned its reputation.
By the time the afternoon sun dipped toward evening, the small stand was usually packed. Word of half-price bowls had spread years ago, but discounts alone did not build loyalty. Flavor did.
If it weren't good, no one would line up twice.
Today, Itsuki arrived early.
The Academy had dismissed them before the usual dinner rush. The stools were mostly empty, steam rising lazily from simmering broth behind the counter.
For the first time since awakening memories that did not belong to this life, he stepped inside.
"A large miso chashu," he said calmly.
Teuchi, still young and broad-shouldered, grinned as he got to work. "Coming right up!"
Itsuki rested his elbows lightly on the counter and glanced around.
Wooden menu board.
Condiment jars.
Chopsticks lined neatly in a container.
Then—
White hair.
Snake-like eyes.
And a blonde woman with a sharp gaze and impatient posture.
He blinked once.
Of course.
Across from him sat Jiraiya, Orochimaru, and Tsunade.
The Sannin.
Fresh from the war.
Their presence here meant only one thing.
They were back in the village temporarily.
Tsunade's eyes slid toward him first, catching the Uchiha crest stitched onto his shirt.
"Well," she drawled, "an Uchiha brat."
Her tone wasn't warm.
Itsuki regarded her without hesitation.
"And you must be Tsunade-sama," he replied evenly. "The Sannin who earned her title from Hanzo of the Salamander."
The air changed.
Jiraiya nearly choked.
Tsunade's chopsticks froze mid-air.
Orochimaru's eyes sharpened with quiet interest.
Tsunade set her bowl down slowly.
"Kid," she said, voice tight, "say that again."
Itsuki held her gaze.
"The title was given by Hanzo, wasn't it?"
It was not insult.
It was fact.
And facts, delivered plainly, cut deeper than mockery.
The name Sannin had once stung. A battlefield acknowledgment from an enemy strong enough to spare them instead of kill them.
Recognition.
But from the wrong mouth.
Over time, they had reshaped the meaning with their own achievements.
Still—
History lingered.
Jiraiya leaned sideways, whispering urgently, "Tsunade, calm down. We're not paying for repairs again."
She shot him a glare but did not stand.
Orochimaru tilted his head slightly.
"A perceptive child," he murmured. "Most your age wouldn't know the origin."
Itsuki did not answer that.
Instead, he met Tsunade's glare directly.
Her chakra was immense. Even restrained, it pressed outward like the sea behind a dam.
A single flick of her finger could shatter the counter.
He felt it.
Measured it.
And made a choice.
Scarlet bloomed in his eyes.
Three tomoe rotated cleanly within each pupil.
Silence fell across the shop.
Jiraiya inhaled sharply.
"Three…?"
Tsunade's anger flickered into disbelief.
Orochimaru leaned forward, fascinated.
"At this age?"
Itsuki did not speak.
He simply allowed the Sharingan to settle into focus.
The Sannin were powerful.
Far beyond him in raw strength.
But the Sharingan did not require equal strength to be acknowledged.
It required presence.
Confidence.
And control.
After a few seconds, he let the crimson fade.
Teuchi slid the bowl in front of him, unaware of the invisible current that had just passed through his shop.
"Your miso chashu!"
Itsuki picked up his chopsticks calmly.
The broth was rich. The pork tender. Balanced salt and depth.
Worth the reputation.
Behind him, Tsunade exhaled slowly.
"Whose kid are you?" she asked, irritation replaced by curiosity.
"Uchiha Kazuma's grandson," Itsuki replied.
Recognition flickered in her eyes.
"Ah."
That explained much.
Orochimaru's smile deepened.
"Five years old," he said softly. "Three tomoe. Interesting."
Itsuki ignored the undertone in that word.
He finished half the bowl before speaking again.
"Titles don't matter," he said quietly. "Only what you build after earning them."
Tsunade studied him.
Then, unexpectedly, she snorted.
"Brat's got nerve."
Jiraiya laughed awkwardly. "He'll go far. Or get punched."
Orochimaru said nothing.
But his gaze did not waver.
Itsuki felt that faint internal resonance stir again.
Stronger this time.
Not from boasting.
From standing steady beneath the attention of legends.
So this is the difference.
He finished his bowl, placed payment on the counter, and stepped down from the stool.
As he walked away, he caught the faint scent of pipe smoke drifting from somewhere nearby.
Hokage-sama is thorough.
He did not turn around.
There was no need.
If the strongest in the village were watching, then let them.
He would give them something worth observing.