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One Paintbrush Too Far
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“Come quick, Inojin, before recess ends!”
“We better not get caught, Boruto. I just earned these fresh paints for studying properly on our last quiz. I can’t lose them.”
“Relax, you won’t! This’ll rip the rug right out from under him, heh! Hurry, Shikadai!”
“I’m trying, I’m trying. I swear if we get busted, I’m blaming my every last moving muscle on you Boruto, you hear? Wouldn’t wanna miss out on dinner. My mom has a brutal stare.”
“A brutal touch too with all the spankings you receive...”
“Oii, Inojin! That’s not funny! Wouldn’t you love to know how the wooden spoon feels...”
“Hahaha!"
“Heh heh!”
Little feet belonging to mischievous conscious ran down afternoon hallways in search of their classroom. Distant cheers from outside muffled through the academy’s walls and echoed within its practically corroding frame.
Recess time was here, at last. Time to unfold their—well… Boruto’s master plan.
“Ah-ha! There! Hurry guys!”
“Yes, Boruto. Ugh. This is already proving to be such a drag...”
The trio of disobedient ideas huddled into the familiar classroom like a blob of combustion. Room 132—Iruka Umino’s class.
“This is where it gets fun, y’know!” Boruto said, rubbing his hands together with a conspiratorial laugh. “Old man Iruka-Sensei will never see this one coming!”
The Uzumaki snatched cans of swishing paint from the classroom’s art corner and unscrewed their loose lids. Shikadai and Inojin copied their wild, blonde leader, priming their sides with a vibrant shade as well.
They stood at the ready, awaiting Boruto’s command.
“And… go!”
Boruto splattered the goo and painted a canvas upon the teacher's desk. He dropped the empty container and finished the job with a brush, dispersing insanity across its mahogany surface.
Well, you can forget backing out now, the other two thought, giving each other a sidelong glance.
Quitting was no longer an option, let alone feasible. Inojin and Shikadai had plenty of time to decline when Boruto presented the ludicrous idea of tricking their teacher yesterday after class.
The blonde menace had gotten into trouble with Iruka that day―no shock there―for not sharing his assortment of colored crayons. It was art class, and they were asked to draw a picture of what the word love meant to them. Boruto, not liking how the word made him feel and concluding that he was "too old" for such things, decided to take a handful of crayons and hold them hostage from the other kids in class. No one was to draw if he didn't like the art project presented. That was his logic—however stupid. And like usual, it got him into trouble in the form of sitting out of recess on a bench with Iruka for 15 minutes―something Boruto was not happy about.
Which brought up the reason they were doing this.
Simply put, it was retaliation. Plain and simple. This was Boruto’s way of showing his teacher up. He’d draw Iruka a picture of what the word "love" meant to him alright―his love for disfiguring things with blotchy multi-colored paint, in this case, Iruka’s classroom. And he’d do it in the 15 minutes of recess that idiot teacher had robbed him of!
The idea was stupid. Inojin and Shikadai knew that the moment they’d heard it. But here they were, brushes and a professional painter’s dearest tool in hand. However stupid, they’d have been lying if they too didn’t want to exact some personal revenge on their teacher for similar incidents to Boruto’s. Although the fear of being caught flashed through their minds as they uncapped their paint buckets, they weren’t about to quit.
Too late for second-guessing. Better go with it.
With set resolves, Inojin and Shikadai dunked paint on fine wood. All over the three boys made mischief along teacher tables, cabinets, drawers, chalkboards, and desks. Boruto added in his own, as he called them, “charming” touches by signing choice statements about the classroom. ‘Idiot! Stinky butt! Wig wearer! Dum-Dum! Weirdo! Lame-Wedgie-Sniffer! Ancient Miser! Stupid!’ Vile curse words intertwined and decorated brightly and uniquely against a rainbow backdrop.
By far, his best work yet.
Shikadai stood. He tossed his color-splattered brush into an empty bucket, the hilt giving a thick thud. “Ok, guys, that should do it. Wrap it up and let’s get the heck out of here before something stupid happens!”
“We are, we are,” Boruto said casually, dabbing a tad extra to finish his fool’s masterpiece as if he hadn’t heard Shikadai. “Aaand done! Doesn’t it look outstanding? Oh, I can’t wait to see the look on his face! He’ll love it, y’know!”
“Yes, yes, Boruto,” Inojin sputtered as he jammed their tools into cabinet drawers. “But let’s be awestruck later and get back outside before we’re caught! I don’t want to get grounded for who knows how long!”
Boruto arose calmly, sprinting like it was nobody’s business, but calm. The true unnerve of a master prankster. “Nah! You guys worry too much. Iruka-Sensei is such a Dum-Dum, he wouldn't catch a kid fall off a slide let alone notice that we’re—”
Boruto's face collided with an immovable mass. The texture of stiff muscles and an adult’s stance outlined the bridge of his nose.
Uh oh..., he grimaced.
Boruto’s nostrils scrunched at the potent, recognizable perfume of a principal’s aged office chair. No noise or movement came from the other two behind, drowning out any hopes fueling a possible misunderstanding.
“Yamanaka Inojin! Nara Shikadai! Uzumaki Boruto!”
Fear went ridged inside him as he raised his eyes. Blood passed cold through his veins. Limbs, weak. There staring into what seemed his soul was their scowling teacher, Iruka Umino.
“Oh, crap…”
|🖌️|
“How could you guys do this? I have had it with these pranks, you three! This has gone on for far too long, and I’m through,” Iruka said, staring down their shifting eyes.
The words which condemned them rang through their heads. Responsibility longed to escape, wishing pointlessly.
“Painting my desk. Wrecking my classroom. Leaving hurtful words—swear words? Violating my trust that you’ll listen and stay within the playground during recess. Destroying school property. Entering the academy without adult supervision. I have half a mind to suspend you all for a month, and then some!”
“I hate school anyway,” Boruto mumbled. “Won’t be like I’m missin’ much, y’know...”
“Put a lid on it, Boruto. Now. I’m serious.”
Shikadai turned to his idiot friend and smacked him upside the head. “Shut up, man. You’re gonna get us in even more hot water. You’re hopeless.”
“Ouch! H-Hey!” The whiskered Uzumaki jerked toward the slouching Nara, holding his noggin. “Oh yeah!” Boruto derided, pointing angrily. “Well, I bet you’re just upset that you’re the one who stalled us! If it weren’t for you and all your darn complaining, we would’ve made it out fine before he noticed!”
“Sure. Like you and Inojin were any quicker than I was. He was complaining too. Why don’t you yell and get pissy with him, huh?”
“What?! I wasn’t complaining, you two-faced lying jerk!” Inojin chimed in. “Of all of us, I did the best job! I gathered the paint, the tools, went quick, distracted the teachers to get inside, and at least I didn’t run into someone’s leg like you, you dummy airhead! You have no one to be mad at but yourself! This was all your bright idea, as per usual!”
“What did you—?! Hey! Take that back!” Boruto hollered.
“No!”
“Take it back, Inojin!”
“Do you need your ears cleaned out? I said no, dim wit!”
Shikadai shrugged. “He’s right. You are a dim wit. Brightest dim wit lightbulb I’ve ever seen…”
“Okay, Shikadai. You’re dead!”
Boruto lunged across the student bleachers at Inojin and Shikadai. He shoved them to the ground, the three wrestling into a tussle of jagged threats on the school floor. Fists flew and feet kicked, fifth-grade bodies colliding with nearby desks on their way down and profane. Iruka stepped in to break up the concentrated fight between the boys, his twenty years’ worth of trained authority kicking in to rival thunder.
“All of you! Control yourselves! And sit down! Now!”
The boys abruptly ended the scuffle, straightening out in their respective seats with irritated huffs. They didn’t dare raise their heads, knowing they’d crossed the line. Not any line, but a grave one. Fighting in school? Not ever was it permitted to put your hands on a fellow student. Period. The only exception was chaperoned training bouts in which fights were expected to be performed with shinobi honor and respect.
But what they’d just done: punching, insulting, and hostile with the intent to cause significant damage and hurt. That was an offense to shinobi honor and violated how they were expected to conduct themselves, let alone with teammates.
Boruto still managed to send a glare Shikadai’s way despite this, the back of his hand swiping across his nose where the Nara’s knee had nicked him.
He’d get him back for that one later.
“I don’t want to hear another word from any of you! You will say nothing more unless I ask you to speak, or you are spoken to! Do you understand?”
“…Yes.”
“I said, do you understand?”
“…Yes, Sensei,” they fixed.
“Mm. Much better.”
Iruka propped his hands on his hips and took in a stressing sigh. The last thing he wanted was to lose his cool. He was still a teacher and intended to be the role model he’d set out to be, even if they did test his thinning patience.
School had ended twenty-five minutes ago, and here he was lecturing three troublemakers. Walkers and parent pickups had departed from their usual spots in the front, leaving the hallways with a dungeon’s void emptiness―at least in the three youngster’s minds.
Through the years of being a teacher, Iruka learned how to maintain a composed mindset in times of trial. He’d dealt with his fair share of pranks by none other than Naruto Uzumaki. This was nothing compared to what Lord Seventh used to drag his patience through daily. Funny enough though, this case was indeed the respected Jinchuriki’s “child at play”— a seven-year-old following in his father's footsteps.
“I don’t want to hear another word. You’re all to sit here silently and wait for your parents to come get you,” Iruka said, a trace of calm slightly smoothing his brow having remembered the village leader. “I’ve already given them a rundown on the situation. Least to say, none of them sounded the slightest bit happy.”
They drew sweat beads at that, especially Shikadai. He knew what lay in store for him when he got home. A good spanking to the rear end—nothing more, nothing less. Already, the fire under his butt burned with slaps to his backside. What would it be this time? The belt? The wooden spoon? The hand? He’d be limping his way into next week, never to sit again.
“On second thought, I think I’d rather not…,” Shikadai muttered, begging to stand and leave the room as if this never happened. What a miracle that would be.
“Too late, Shikadai. You went along with this idea with the possibility of punishment in mind. No one here is innocent. You’re both just as guilty as the person who invented this whole mess for not backing out. I’m talking to you, Mr. Uzumaki.”
Boruto let an impudent snicker go at his friend’s demise, and it sent curdling rage throughout adjacent minds. Even in a fix like this, the jerk was cocky. How dare he? They had helped him! Him! Get some sort of stupid vengeance on a stupid teacher who had punished him from stupid recess―which in the end was really his fault―for not following some stupid rules and just draw a stupid picture like everyone else in stupid art class! And after all that, he had the gall to laugh?
They could strangle him.
Iruka, noticing the clenched fists and rising tightness in his other two’s eyes, sought to put an end to Boruto’s goading. It was bound to end up in another fueled brawl in the bleacher aisles if he didn’t, and the three of them certainly didn’t need any more trouble to add to the already toppling amount they were in. Iruka knew it was a front Boruto was pulling―the provoking―and like any child, they’d think themselves invincible until faced with the definite consequences of their choices. Boruto was no different.
“I wouldn’t be carefree if I were you either, Boruto,” he said as he returned to stand back by his desk. He added a sharp edge of sternness to compensate for the distance. “Your parents won’t be incredibly pleased to see the damage you’ve caused either. With them in mind, you can also be certain of—”
“—a serious punishment.”
All eyes turned to the door.
A man stood there, unmoving. Ice white draped his rigid shoulders as he took up the entrance, his frank and authorized posture demanding the attention and respect of the room, stabbing like a bitter chill. He didn’t move as his lightning eyes locked on Boruto. They enlarged in severity when the boy returned his gaze, Boruto unable to help but shrink in his seat upon contact.
And whatever reason he had to laugh at his friends vanished.
Naruto was not happy.
“Oh… Lord Seventh. I didn’t see you there,” Iruka said, taking a step toward him. “Thank you for coming and answering my call. Sorry to have to take time out of your day like this. Shinobi knows it’s already hectic, as is.”
“No, no. Not at all, Iruka-Sensei. No need to apologize. That’s alright.”
Iruka’s caught the honorific still attached to his name. No matter how long it had been since the village leader attended the academy, he’d always regard the man on a higher pedestal than his own. He viewed Iruka with the eyes of a son and respected him more than anyone.
“And please, don’t you call me that. That formality when addressing me doesn’t sound quite right coming from you, y’know! Heh heh!”
“Oh―oh, of course,” he chuckled, rubbing a crank in his neck he hadn’t realized he’d grown from this whole ordeal. “I guess you’re right. Your name has always been easier to say, Naruto.”
The Jinchūriki who had paved his way through life into one of now great honor gave a brief smile that held all the appreciation it needed before stepping into the room.
There was still an issue to address, and a serious one at that.
Washed colors struck his vision. Ugly words outlining the classroom Naruto quickly identified to be his son’s doing. Desks, tables, and chairs he remembered from his early academy days—destroyed beyond recognition. Countless memories built on a towering domino structure designed to last—broken with a single push. Childhood bonds and smiles shared in a classroom of glass—gone. Sure, it was a classroom. A place holding no other purpose than to learn. But to Naruto. This was where life began. Where he met Iruka. Where he met Team 7. His dearest friends. Shikamaru, Rock Lee, Sakura, Neji, Hinata, Sasuke. Where he once stored meaningful memories within timber shapes―torn with the swipe of a paintbrush.
Naruto furrowed his brow and turned his displeasure to the three boys. He took his time focusing his disappointment on each one of them, making sure they felt just what they’d done. And they did, not one of the three able to hide the churning guilt on their faces.
The disappointment he’d saved for his son, however, far outweighed the other two.
Such steel-blue looking Boruto down from across the room, telling him strong and certain of the rising ruin of his transgressions―how he should’ve known better, how displeased he’d made them.
How much this hurt others.
Hurt.
Boruto escaped to his lap. He itched to get those eyes off him.
But even there, he couldn’t get the blue to go away.
“Who started this?” Naruto asked Iruka, his gaze fixed on his hunched son.
“Boruto did, but the other two are just as responsible as he is. They followed along instead of trying to stop him, which is just as punishable in my opinion.”
Naruto grunted in agreement. “Mm. See to it all three of them stay after school until further notice. They will clean every speck of paint in this room they can, starting tomorrow. We’ll talk more about where else to go from there.”
“Sounds good to me,” Iruka said. “…Only this. With all the paint, it seems salvaging any furniture is futile. They’ve taken a big hit with this one. Unfortunately, our only option now is to get new desks, chairs, chalkboards, redo the walls, and everything else with colorant on it, scrap it. Like you said though, that’s for a separate discussion with the school board tomorrow.”
The tension intensified.
Boruto paled a shiver. His paint-stained fingernails dug into his kneecaps, leaving stiff white marks. He’d let no one see an ounce of hesitation to fight. He wouldn’t keel over and die. Be told what to do. Not by Iruka, not by his friends, and not by his father.
Yet, the air was suffocating. It was thick and difficult to breathe―thick with the guilt his dad’s stare brought up like bile in his throat which he tried to swallow but couldn't.
He knew he was wrong. He knew his dad was right. He knew he shouldn’t be acting this way. He knew the trouble he was in.
But that’s what made him swallow.
That's what churned the guilt into a low, uprising defiance. It was frustrating. It all was frustrating. The fact he was wrong. The fact he shouldn't be acting this way, and that he was aware of it. The fact the guilt he felt from Naruto's stare was guilt he should feel.
It clenched his insides. It was that thought that however ridiculous, he’d stand his ground. He wouldn’t be told what to do.
No matter how hardened blue got, his blue would get harder.
He controlled his own life.
“Is there anything else worth noting I should know about, Iruka-Sensei?” came his father again. In his voice, Boruto could feel his unsmiling gaze from his lap.
His fist clenched.
“No. Nothing major. There were a couple moments of defiant backtalk and a quick fight between the boys. It was diminished before it could escalate any further though.”
“Hm.”
Naruto made his way past the desks and to his son, maintaining a calm demeanor. He stood beside him in the aisle, arms firmly crossed, and stared at the seated child with unblinking eyes.
“Well. What do you have to say?”
Boruto scowled, that defiance twisting mad.
It’s not that he couldn’t hear what his dad indirectly asked for, he didn’t want to hear it. No way was he going to apologize. He’d rather give up his Gameboy.
"Boruto,” Naruto called again, warning evident. “Apologize.”
He couldn’t stand this. There was no way he’d concede to such a thing. Admit his wrongdoings in front of his best friends to a stupid schoolteacher? You can say that again.
“I’m sorry I got caught, y’know...”
Gasps from Shikamaru and Inojin freed at the unwavering, muffled defiance. They shot a sidelong glance at their blond classmate, wondering if he was mentally stable after saying such a thing.
“Boruto, cut it out, dude... Are you crazy...?”
“What’re you doing...?”
In front of everyone, Boruto’s behavior plotted to embarrass Naruto. To purposefully humiliate his father, the Seventh Hokage of Konoha. Despite this, he showed no remorse, remaining silent in disobedience.
Naruto remained levelheaded in his spot. Although his pupils gutted with piling frustration at the blatant defiance displayed in front of others, there he stood.
Being Hokage, the job over these beginning years taught him not to let frustration be the driving force behind any decision, no matter what. It led to one thing no one involved benefited from: regret. Being the adult in these situations was certainly a chore, especially with such blatant disobedience, but he managed to keep his cool, nonetheless.
He was the adult here, and he’d make sure it was known.
Naruto took Boruto's seven-year-old hand in his own and helped him to his feet. As he stood beside him, the child refused to raise his head, his face tucked beneath the fringe of his bangs—an indication of his conscious guilt. It told Naruto everything he needed to know.
The Jinchuriki's drawn gaze shifted to the still-standing schoolteacher. “Iruka-Sensei,” he asked, evening his voice, “is there an empty classroom I could borrow for a sec?”
Understanding exactly where Naruto was heading with this, the teacher nodded. “Absolutely. They’re all empty during our after-school hours. Choose whichever you think best.”
“Thank you, y’know.”
Naruto held Boruto's hand as he walked them out the door. The whiskered youngster, regaining some semblance of himself in leaving the room, dared to spare a final glance at the two boys still in class, nervously eyeing them from beneath his bangs.
Inojin and Shikadai looked back. They too held sorrow-filled gazes for their futures, one question ringing loudly in their minds.
Would they ever live to tell the tale?
|🖌️|
Boruto’s hand remained in his father’s as they walked down the hall, bandaged fingers leading him close by his side.
He hung his head.
Not only would he face punishments every day after school, but his dad’s letdown stare? Penance the second grader hadn’t considered. It didn’t matter whether he admitted it bothered him or not because it did. No use fooling himself there. The way Naruto said his name, his disheartened countenance, how those wounded eyes held discontent over the damage, the hurt he'd caused.
Being defiant on those classroom bleacher seats made sense at the moment (as did everything, hence the prank), but now walking beside his father, he wasn’t so sure.
He couldn't decide which was worse. Staying after school or looking five seconds into that firm stare.
Boruto peeked up at his father. Naruto’s unsmiling eyes were fixed ahead, his face bruised with that hurt and rising bolder in determined authority over the situation with each step.
Definitely the latter.
Naruto came to a sudden halt.
Boruto glanced up at him and then at the olive-green door to their left. Classroom 168—class of Muto Kenshin.
He’d chosen a room.
Naruto held the door open and ushered his firstborn into the barren classroom before stepping in himself. He clicked the time-worn door shut behind them, enclosing them in the space for some much-needed privacy.
This could take a while.
Boruto sat in a front bleacher seat as if it was rehearsed while his father leaned against a desk in the adjacent aisle.
This was going to be a talk. He knew it the moment he saw Naruto in the doorway of his classroom. The “after talks” with his dad, as Boruto liked to call them, were usually one-sided. Boruto, after all, knew why they were here, so there was no need to expand upon it. Naruto, of course, encouraged talking with these learning moments, but with matters as severe as these, the second grader knew better than to defend what was out-of-line.
He’d let Naruto talk. He’d apologize. And they’d move on. That's how it always went. That's how it always would be. Boruto was prepared for it.
This was no different.
Many minutes passed without saying anything. Subtle white noises of passing birds ticked with the second’s hand on a wall clock.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Its cacophonous clicking sent pangs through Boruto’s chest as he waited for what was coming. This stillness frowning into his lap, deafening.
“Boruto,” Naruto finally said, looking up from the floor.
“Boruto, I’m very disappointed in you.”
The child bit his bottom lip. He didn’t raise his head.
“You deliberately disobeyed Iruka’s authority and cast aside all respect for your teachers. Do you know how upset that makes me to know that?”
“I know…,” Boruto mumbled, doubting his voice.
“I didn’t raise you to behave this way, son. I thought we'd already discussed staying out of trouble and being the change to go against it. What did I say that you still don’t get? This is the hundredth time we’re here talking under the same context because of your doing this. What do I have to say to make you realize? What am I doing wrong?”
“It won’t happen again, Dad.”
“How? How do I know it won’t happen again? You say the same thing every single time and I’m about fed up. I. Have. Had it. Do you constantly want to get into trouble, is that it? You may not take what Iruka says seriously, but you sure as heck will take me and your mom seriously. This will not happen again, do you understand?”
Boruto refused to look, to recognize those penetrating pupils he called Dad. They ached all over his skin—the blue—staring their hurt into his being. Not when they were like this could he look at them. Not filled with disappointment.
Not steel blue.
He’d injured those around him more than he realized. He didn’t know he’d get here. He didn’t know it would lead to this. What began as a mischievous prank as some improper, comical revenge turned into so much more, and the worst part was there was nothing he could do to reverse it.
“Yes. Sorry...”
Naruto’s shoulders lifted and sagged in a merited sigh as he pinched between his eyes. He’d need an extra-strength Tylenol when they got home. “Good. Now although you have said sorry to me, I cannot overlook your actions this time, Boruto, especially not what you pulled back there with Iruka.”
That caught his attention. He’d never said that before.
“Based on that alone, I’m not at all convinced you understand what I’m saying just yet. Your behavior has repeatedly embarrassed me and embarrassed Mom. Not anymore. You’re going to be punished properly.”
Naruto took Boruto's hand in his and led the youngster from the bleachers to the center of the room. He reached behind the large desk in front of the dusty chalkboard, bandaged fingers clutching a coal-black teacher's chair and wheeling it out. Naruto snapped off the tightly banded bracket of his Hokage cloak, folded it on a table, and sat.
Boruto followed him the entire time with pinching breath, hoping the terrors filling him were figments of a next sixty seconds he’d never know. Maybe what he thought his father had in mind would remain just as is… a haunting thought.
Naruto sat in the chair, waiting. His back straight and business led as the Hokage title called it to be ignited shudders. That forward posture. Sturdy and stern, unrelenting in what it knew had to and would be done without hesitation. Those eyes. Staring at him with a parental firmness that erased any doubt—again, as they were called to be.
The hope of thoughts being mere thoughts tumbled flat like the gong of a dropped paint bucket. Boruto’s heart sank into his toes, taking his composure with it.
Panic arose.
“No! No, Dad!” Boruto shouted in desperation. “Not this! I’m sorry!”
“It’s too late for that, Boruto. You need to learn that your actions have consequences. Come here.”
“No! No, don’t! I won’t do it again, I swear!”
Naruto’s tone hardened, ceasing the one-sided argument.
“This is not up for debate, young man. You’re not getting out of it. I’ve warned you time and time again of the consequences that come with this kind of behavior. You know full well why you’re getting this. That being said, we can either do this the easy way or the hard way. Which is it gonna be?”
The child took rocky steps away from the Jinchūriki, begging for a miracle to swoop in and save him from getting reprimanded.
T-This can’t be happening! Is he really…?!
What happened to taking away his Gameboy? Grounding him for a week? Taking away a privileged trip or two to Thunder Burger? What happened to those? Where had those gone? Those simple consequences, now replaced with… with—this.
Boruto stood in anxious limbo on the classroom floor, unsure how to react. By not directly answering Naruto, he could extend his time even by a little.
Now was certainly the time for any miracles.
“Now. I’m only going to say it one more time. This can be easy, or it can be hard. You have five seconds to choose, or I’ll decide for you.”
So much for that.
The seven-year-old’s legs trembled. With fear heightened and tongue dry, Naruto raised a finger.
“One.”
“No, Dad, no! I won’t do anything else! What I did was wrong! I get it now!”
Another finger. “Two.”
“Wait! I promise! I promise I’ll be good! I don’t need—”
“Three.”
“Dad, I swear! I’ll be better! I won’t get into trouble anymore!”
Naruto’s eyebrows raised, eyes constricting in firmness. “Four.”
The child’s mind boiled with resentment. Naruto wouldn’t go through with this. He couldn’t go through with this. There was simply no way! Although Boruto knew his dad to be a man of his word, he wouldn’t go to such lengths. He wouldn’t actually—
That fire for control swelled and bristled past the surface.
“No! No, I won’t listen to you!” he yelled. “Go away!”
“Oii! Don’t you dare take that tone with me! I’m warning you, Boruto,” Naruto said sternly. “Don’t make me get up from this seat, or else I assure you, you won’t like it. You’re in enough trouble as it is. Don’t make it worse.”
Defiance arose back in him―the same one in the classroom. It twisted awful in his stomach. It mobbed every fiber of his consciousness like a swarm of furious wasps, stinging and venomous and wanting to hurt as Naruto was hurting him―wanting to fight and not care. It boiled up his throat and into his mouth, its taste stinging harshly against his tongue.
He didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t understand. He didn’t care.
Boruto’s head jerked a no as he dashed for the door. Words from that sting in his mouth flew like reckless arrows off his tongue, Boruto blinded in a boiling temper and ignoring authority. “No! Go back to your crappy, ugly Hokage office already! Just go, okay! Screw off!”
“Five.”
Behind him, the thuds of jogging steps and a rolling chair came to life. He didn’t dare look back. For he’d committed to this the moment escape crossed his mind.
The path of the door consumed him.
He would make it. He had to. This distance was so short that he’d be sure to get out before getting caught. Guaranteed.
A hand grabbed him.
And his fire went out.
Naruto caught Boruto before he could get far and walked him back to the chair without hesitation. He yelled and struggled against the hold of his wrist, regained reality paling his face and that harsh sting on his tongue emptying.
Everything he said. Those things he just said with a falsely impervious pride, he immediately regretted. That defiance drained quickly, leaking out of his pores, and evaporating as if it had never been. What had he been thinking?
The nice Hokage Boruto knew as Dad was no longer. Naruto meant business.
“D-Daddy, no!” he yelled. “I didn’t mean it, any of it! I’m sorry! I didn’t… ahh!”
Naruto picked Boruto up by his armpits and laid him belly-down across his seated lap. The blonde boy did everything he could to kick and writhe, striving and thrashing to break free. Struggling did nothing to help his cause though as Naruto pinned him with a hand on his back just strong enough to hold him.
“Since you did not want to cooperate and listen to warnings, there will be five extra,” he told. “You will learn to have control, son, and you will respect adults’ authority, especially mine and Mom's.”
“Dad, wait! Don’t spank me! Don’t, don’t, don’t!”
Naruto hooked his fingers into the waistband of his joggers and stripped the boy's pants down, letting the clothing droop around his kicking kneecaps. Boruto squirmed uncontrollably as he balanced on his father's knee, his voice unrelenting with yells.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please, no! No! Daaad!”
Not stalling the moment any longer, Naruto raised a hand and promptly came down.
Smack!
“OWW, stop it!”
Smack!
“OUCH!”
Smack!
“AHH, no, please!”
Smack!
“YEOUCH!”
Stinging collisions struck Boruto’s backside one after another. There was no chance of escape. He was going to get the message, he was going to apologize, he was going to understand, he was going to have respect, and he was going to learn. There would never be another situation like this again because this was the last one, and the academy student would know that. Though hearing such heartbreaking shouts from his child pained Naruto beyond belief, he was determined not to subside until he understood, and not to subside he did.
The sensation of searing flames caused limbs to thrash. The previously peach bottom charted a course for a subtle, rosy glow. Razor-sharp slaps punctured both sets of ears. Whack, whack, whack they connected in a hellish, blistering frenzy in Boruto's mind. This was a horrifying nightmare.
Without stop, Naruto continued to deliver Boruto’s well-deserved spanking and came with plenty more slaps.
Smack!
“Dad, OWW! That hurts!”
Smack!
“OWW!”
Smack!
“AHH! O-OUCH!”
Smack!
“S-Stop it! Stop—OWW!”
Not able to resist, Boruto’s hands shot around his back, protecting himself from Naruto’s stinging hand. Sorrow threatened to spill from behind desolate eyes at the toe-curling pain. The knots of a hoarse throat intensified with every shout to end this inhuman torture.
He hated this.
Naruto raised his voice, keeping his cool and restraining the flailing child in place. “Move your hands away, Boruto. This doesn’t have to be difficult. Please, don’t make it.”
“N-No! It hurts, Dad! It hurts!”
“Are you gonna move by yourself or do you need my help? Five seconds.”
“Stop! Stop, no! No more!”
“One.”
“I’m sorry! I’ll be good now! I promise! Don’t!”
“Two.”
“S-Stop! Let m-me go!”
“Three.”
“Okay! O-Okay... I-I’ll move.”
The seven-year-old wallowed as he reluctantly removed his palms. Shivering fingers crawled away and clung to the fabric of Naruto’s thigh, hiding a falling tear. Clenching eyes shut, Boruto anticipated the following series of slaps that would scorch his sunburned rear.
Smack!
“OUCHH!”
Smack!
“OWW! Stop, it stings!”
Smack!
“Please, Dad! Cut it—ACKK!”
Smack!
“OWW! AHH!”
Smack!
“OUCH, DAD! OUCHHH!”
Naruto’s firm hand spanked Boruto with diligence. The child's bottom fervently ached and singed with smeared heat. Crimson and deplorable cherry were quick to appear against a normally tanned complexion. It’s as if a charred match was placed beneath his bum, traveled to his tender thighs, and then left to rot. This stinging wound ripping his muscles tore apart his inner being.
He was ashamed, mortified, heartbroken… sorry.
The clogs decorating Boruto's Adam’s apple untied and spilled streams of tears over his gritted face. Thick sobs fell from his lips while sorrow slid past his quivering chin, splattering onto the forsaken floor.
Smack!
“I-I’m—hick… sorry, Dad,” he hiccupped through wails. “I’m s-sorry!”
Smack!
“OOUCH! Please! P-Please, make it s-stop!”
As the final smacks of the punishment landed, weeping cries filled the room.
Boruto was sobbing uncontrollably, his body limp, his backside scarlet and drenched in misery.
“Okay, buddy, we’re almost done. Only those five for earlier.”
“Noo! N-No more! P-Please!”
“I’m sorry, son. But I can’t.”
“But—hick… I... I’m really—”
“Start counting.”
“Guahh… hick!”
Coming down for the end, Naruto whipped his palm against Boruto’s behind with upholding diligence.
Smack!
“ACK! O-One!”
Smack!
“OWW! Two!”
Smack!
“Thr… hick! Nooo!”
“Don’t stop Boruto. Come on, keep going.”
“I c-can’t do—hick… it, D-Dad!”
“Do you want another five added on?”
“No! No, d-don’t!”
“Then continue.”
“Euah! Th―three!”
Smack!
“OUCH! Four!”
Smack!
“F-Five!”
Naruto ended the spanking with the last slap, pulling the child’s bunched pants back up over his tomato-stained cheeks and to his hips. He knelt him upright on his lap, holding the crying boy by the shoulders.
“Why did we get a spanking today, Boruto?” Naruto asked, looking his concern into Boruto’s tear-flushed face.
“B-B... because I g-got into—hick… t-trouble!”
“Mm-hm,” he nodded. “Why else?”
Boruto sobbed in rough waves. “Cause I—hick… di—hick... didn’t listen t-to what you, Mommy, or I-Iruka-Sensei told—hick… me!”
“And?”
“A-And for s-swearing at… Iruka-Sensei! And for s-saying mean—hick… mean w-words with no respect!”
Deep-rooted grief confined him at the wrenching distress of his son. Tears—distraught. Lips—twisting. Cheeks—flushed and flooded, struggling to bear the weight of his sadness. A sight no parent wishes to see.
“Do you see now why Mommy and Daddy say those things about care? Do you see now how your actions can not only hurt Mommy and Daddy but those around you? Your friends, your teachers?”
“Ye―yes! I p-promise! I-I’m so—ho—rry! I’m sorry!”
Sobs pierced the air without end in his father’s hold, his heavy head hanging, chin touching chest. A picture of remorse. One’s tiny heart poured out that oceanic emotion for Naruto to see, currents of regret fighting to escape among their own running tears.
This time saying it, he was sorry. Terribly sorry.
“I love you!” Naruto half-yelled with a reignited worry, bending to see his son’s tilted face. “Don’t you ever do something like this again!”
And with that, he brought the child to his chest, hugging him full and sincere.
Boruto faded inside the crook of his father's neck. Those weeping waves didn’t miss a beat in leading on apologetic tears. What great pangs were within those cries, each gripping the Hokage’s heart with a new pinning melancholy.
Arms draped Naruto’s neck. A nose pressed against his shoulder. Sandals curled against his pant legs.
It would be over soon enough.
However penetrating Boruto’s cries got, however remorseful, the touch of his dad never left. Naruto surrounded him. Arms hugging, holding, carrying his weight, keeping him whole and wanted, caressing his tiny back sucking in enough breath for the both of them, and keeping home in his words.
“Never again. Understand? Never ever.”
“I’m—hick… sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so—hick… sorry! I’m―I’m s-sorry!”
For several minutes, Boruto sobbed those words. Again. Again. Again. Thinking if he stopped, it wouldn’t be enough. That they’d fail their color. That he’d remain disappointed in the reflection of his dad’s gaze. That he’d be cast away.
But never.
Never did Naruto move him from his warmth. Never did he shun a single cry of breath. There they stayed, Boruto clinging to Naruto as he wept, the weight of everything done reaching him. And Naruto never left.
Those cries. Rasped and honest, they struck the threads of Naruto’s apricot shoulder, emptying the walls of their content and filling the Hokage with paramount sorrow. He didn’t enjoy punishing his children, but he had to. For Boruto’s sake. Letting him do whatever he pleased was no longer an option, and it wasn’t healthy. Give a kid an inch and they’ll take a mile. Allow them one pass and they’ll take a million. It couldn’t be done anymore.
“I’m right here, buddy. I have you,” Naruto murmured, running soothing fingertips through his hair. “Shh-shh. Easy now, easy... It’s all over. Dads got you. I love you, Boruto. So, so much.”
He angled and planted short kisses along Boruto’s temple, ones that didn’t linger too long but stayed for just enough time. Just enough to embrace and say, “It’s okay. I’ve got you, and I’ll never let go.” Enough to whisk away that bad guy version of himself painted behind Boruto’s eyes. To rewrap sadness with abounding, sunny gold.
His palm patted the tiny back sucking in hiccups with easing circles. Although Naruto hated it—the cries, the tears—this was one of his favorite aspects of being a parent. Having the reward to pick up these pieces for his son. Being there. Holding protection in his arms. Giving the love he’d always dreamt of at his age in bed alone at midnight. It crammed his soul with an indescribable determination, a fire like no other. One he carried with him every day, and one he’d have until the hour breath left his body.
That’s it. Just let it all out. I’ll always be right here to catch you, Boruto. Always.
And then, the crying stopped. Those once crashing waves of remorse began to recede and calm.
Naruto sighed.
It was over. His difficult job as a parent was done and over. His son had learned his lesson. The walls had done their job of upholding needed privacy, and he was thankful.
Naruto repositioned an arm to better rest beneath Boruto. The child fussed a whine at the movement but quieted thereafter, a sniffling nose tucking safely back into his collar.
“You okay?” Naruto asked delicately.
Boruto nodded but remained hidden. “Uh-huh. Hick hick…”
Naruto smiled.
Boruto wasn't one to show his emotions on a regular day. He’d struggle to get past himself and would fight to the death to deny any form of care. But when the rare thought crossed his mind, would be the best cuddler the world has ever seen. Naruto knew it wouldn’t be long before Boruto grew out of these fleeting habits, so he cherished every chance to see his firstborn so open.
Naruto stood, readjusting Boruto against his chest with a jump. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
|🖌️|
The door to Iruka's classroom slid open.
Everyone turned to see Naruto enter, holding his son. Not a trace of Boruto’s state could be made out from within his father’s collar, his face buried against the snow cloak and clinging. Shikadai and Inojin tried deducting on their own if that tinge of pastel pink on Boruto’s ears was real or just their imagination. All but the little, muffled noises of hiccups leaking like raindrops helped them fill in the blanks.
His friends remained silent, a distant déjà vu coming over them.
He’d been spanked.
“Thank you again for everything, Iruka-Sensei. I really appreciate it.”
“Oh, no need to thank me, Naruto. I completely understand.” The man with the scar across his nose smiled. “You weren’t too harsh with him, I hope. Chakra knows I occasionally crossed the line with you a few times over the years.”
Naruto shook his head, reflecting the other’s nostalgic smile. “He got the idea.”
“Good.”
The Hokage looked past his former teacher to find the other two kids surrounded by their parents. Shikamaru had a tight grip on Shikadai’s ear as Sai crossed his arms over his chest, sternly looking down at Inojin with a furrowed brow, his silent authority saying everything it needed to.
“Oii,” Naruto called with an underlying chuckle, catching the other two’s attention. “Don’t be too hard now, y’know.”
Shikamaru sighed, sagging his shoulders. “We were them once. I’ll be sure to take that into consideration knowing my past stubbornness when he’s over my knee.” He tightened the pinch on Shikadai.
“Ouch, Dad! That hurts you know.”
“It’s meant to, son.”
“Ugh. Such a drag…”
Naruto choked down his laugh at the similar father and son duo. Shikadai had no clue he was an exact replica of his old man. Who would’ve guessed? All the kids of this generation had kept forefront qualities from each of their parents which the married Uzumaki found hilarious. Cho-Cho’s diet. Sarada’s determination. Shikadai’s laziness. Metal Lee’s workout grit. They were made to match their parents perfectly.
“Sniff... Hick… Hick...”
At the hum of lingering but hushed cries upon his shoulder, Naruto resumed rubbing Boruto’s back. After everything, it didn’t come as a shock he was so distraught. His backside stung like a fireball Jutsu against the itchy material of joggers and thighs sore with burning pains close to that of rose thorns. Each walking movement sent lightning twinges to the tender area.
A rolling chair’s high-pitched squeaking would return to haunt Boruto’s recollection—an intense punishment to be remembered for a long, long while.
Naruto chuckled to himself.
Who knew? Out of all the current generations of kids, Boruto matched his past mischievousness far beyond any other. He dared say better than the other kids and their parents. So often would the little devil get himself into awkward situations needing saving, and so often would Naruto be the hero and the bad guy. Well… at least in Boruto’s guilt-driven opinion.
Naruto’s eyes grew soft now looking at him.
Golden yellow upon his shoulder. Scrunched whiskered cheeks hiding sniffles in his neck—his whiskers. Fingers subconsciously playing with the upturned tag of his shirt, too nervous to come out and trusting the protection of his arms.
Naruto hugged him close, resting his cheek against the blonde head.
He truly was his son.
“We’re gonna head on out now. Thanks again for watching him ‘till I arrived, y’know.”
Iruka nodded. “Certainly. Be safe.”
“I will.”
|🖌️|
The two proceeded the way home in quiet.
Boruto had since gained control over his tears but remained stuck with those annoying hiccups. They stubbornly broke a solid silence his dread didn’t want to be a part of. For in the silence, it reminded him of what he’d done. All the hurt he caused. All the trouble.
The typical behavior for any person experiencing shame is often to run from it and avoid facing that painful guilt. Ignore it. But this stillness enforced Boruto to stare it blank in the face and cast aside human instinct. Something good for changing one’s past wrongs, but terrible for shame―a bittersweet learning curve.
Footsteps crunched pebbled gravel as Naruto carried Boruto, his lingering quick heaves, upsetting. Afternoon sunbeams shone through quill clouds upon the earth. Most of the previous village bustle had dispersed from the earlier rush of this morning. Boruto thanked the heavens greatly for this happenstance, not wanting any more unnecessary attention directed onto him. His father was more than enough.
Growing uncomfortable in the current position, his body stirred. Pudgy legs swayed as he let off a slight whine, his voice raw and tired.
“Just lean into me, Boruto. It's okay,” Naruto reassured, breaking the silence. “I’ve gotcha.”
Boruto hugged his father as he once more returned to the warm spot inside the crook of his neck. Naruto accommodated room for comfort, raising a hand and massaging the young back. Delicate fingers soothed comfort rings on his shoulder blades, easing his mind. Boruto detached the entirety of his guard, cuddling the Seventh Hokage like those many years ago—the years where he didn’t stop himself.
“Da—sniff… D-Daddy?”
Naruto stared ahead, a virtuous sunset guiding his way. “Yea?”
“Why do spankings… h-hurt so much?”
The question surprised the older male. “U-Um… Well, uh…”
Responses ran through Naruto’s head. He reminisced about occasions when he’d get spanked silly back in his academy days. Goodness gracious were they bad! Through the pain, each ringed with a sense of bittersweet nostalgia.
Where had the time gone?
“They hurt ‘cause… well—when you receive ‘em, you know you’ve hurt someone else. The pain of being disappointed in is enough to make a person on their own wanna cry, but that’s the point of a spanking. It’s to remind you of that pain, helping you better consider what you’ve done. You see, Boruto...”
He paused.
“Me spanking you, I wasn’t just out to hurt you and make you cry. Fear isn’t the point of this and anything I may teach you. I wanted you to feel the pain bad choices hold, not only when younger but in actual life. I want you to take from this if nothing else that your actions hold an extreme weight of importance. Not only to those around you but for yourself. Know it’s okay to make mistakes and mess it up sometimes, the lesson though, try not to mess it up.”
Boruto hushed at the retelling of his mistakes. He truly regretted what had happened and would never again do something that naughty. As Naruto said, he was learning from the pain, a fire he could either let crumble his will or forge him into a strong sword, and a strong sword he desired to be.
Naruto caught the resurfaced guilt in Boruto’s slumping shoulders and chuckled, stopping on the trail to pull him out of hiding.
“Hey, hey now,” he smiled in a gentle whisper, getting the other’s attention. Boruto lifted his head at the hand on his shoulder, a soft thumb wiping away leftover tear marks. “Here. Let me let you in on a little secret, just between you and me. When I was your age and older, I used to get a ton of spankings myself.”
“R-Really?” Boruto asked, looking up. “You received spankings too, Dad?”
“Mm-hm! A ton of em’! Clothed, bare, over the knee, over a desk, on the hand. You name it!”
“Who gave them to you when you needed them? Iruka-Sensei?”
“Yep! Johnny on the spot, you are! Oh, Iruka-Sensei was the worst! Every punishment was a bad one. He had this way to hit I swore would melt the skin right off my bare buns! No joke!”
The youngster giggled as Naruto went into detail, goofily grabbing his own backside as if he’d just been spanked for emphasis.
“Ah, it was terrible whomever I got ‘em from. Iruka, Kakashi, Jiraiya, Lord Third. But like you, I learned a dear thing or two from it all. One—that bad choices hold painful consequences, whether physical or not. Two—that there’s something to always learn and take away whenever you feel that pain. And three—to never tell any of my friends about it because that business was beyond embarrassing!”
Boruto heartily laughed along with Naruto and let out a few snorts at the honest confession, his previous sniffles and tears fading, replaced with enormous grins of delight.
And at that moment, Boruto had never felt so loved.
Naruto was right. Spankings hurt, but they were, when done right, performed out of love. His father was worried for him, not sticking his nose in his business. Not trying to tell him what to do. But to help him. He cared for his son’s well-being immensely, and therefore spanked him. It all made sense. He couldn’t contain the content with his father. It was real.
“I love you, Dad,” Boruto said, awarding the man the biggest hug he could give.
The unexpected rush of love shocked Naruto, but he eased right into the given affections with no questions asked, protectively embracing his son close.
“I love you too, Boruto. More than you could ever possibly know.”
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘🖌️༓🖌️∘∙⊱⋅•⋅