Chapter Text
Kizashi POV
I never liked crowds but I liked watching them. I keep my hands in my pockets as I wander down the main street, my mask bumping lightly against the side of my head with every step. I hum a tune off-key. He stops humming when he notices clan heir after clan heir scattered throughout the crowded streets. Even here, under paper lanterns, they orbit each other like planets. I’m like one of the billions of stars littering the sky, watching the planets spin and they’re each far more interesting than me. I’m broken out of my thoughts when I spot red hair. That can only be one person. Kushina Uzumaki. She’s… eccentric. The guy she’s dragging around behind her is Minato Namikaze. He’s got that effortless, too-cool-to-sweat look that I wish I had the courage to imitate. Still, he never acts like he's better than anyone, which is probably why I like him. They’re both a year younger than me, so we never shared a class at the Academy, but I’ve talked to Minato enough times to throw a casual "hey" without it being weird. Still, I hang back for a second longer, watching Kushina laugh too loud and him smile like the sound of it is the whole reason he came to the festival in the first place.
I clear my throat while I make small circles with my arms before doing a light stretch, “Yosh, here we go. All I gotta do is say hi…that’s easy enough.” I mumble to myself.
Not that it ends up being needed, Kushina takes a step forward. She stares. At my hair, of course. Her eyes narrow slightly. “Hey,” she says, loud as ever, “is that your actual hair color or—?” Minato immediately looks like he wants to crawl into the nearest bush and disappear. “Sorry,” he says, already half-bowing. “She doesn’t mean anything by it, she’s just curious.” He turns and whispers at a volume only she can hear. She rubs the back of her neck and mumbles an apology. I blink, then bark out a laugh. “What, this?” I reach up and muss my own hair, which has always been some kind of coral pink color, depending on the light and how badly I need a bath. “Nah, I dipped my head in pickled plum juice when I was four and it just never came out. Total accident. Tragic, really.”
Kushina squints at me like she’s trying to figure me out. It’s nothing new. My jokes don’t always land. My humor is simply too advanced for Konoha.
I grin. “Kidding. It’s natural. A hundred percent. Born this way. Lucky me, huh?”
She snorts, which is somehow louder than her laugh, and Minato just shakes his head like he’s used to this. And just like that, I’m not floating in space anymore.
“So… does one of your parents have red hair too?” she asks, voice softer this time. Not accusing, not teasing—just… curious. And there’s something else in her expression now that I can’t quite put my finger on. I pause. “Nah,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “My old man’s got light brown hair. My mom’s was more… burgundy, I guess? I just kinda happened.”
She frowns for half a second and I don’t know why but I feel bad. Then she shrugs and goes, “Weird.”
“Kushina, please—,” Minato puts his hands together like he’s begging her not to completely destroy my self confidence. Jokes on him, I’ve got thick skin.
“It’s fine, really. It’s just hair,” I offer a crooked smile, trying to lighten the mood. I watch Minato’s fingers brush against Kushina’s. “Would you like to come with us?” Minato asks. “We were heading to the goldfish scooping stall. If you’re not busy, of course.” I blink. Once. Twice. Three times.
Then I smirk. “I dunno… wouldn’t wanna crash your date.” Minato’s cheeks pinken almost instantly, subtle but unmistakable. Seems even someone as talented as him has his weaknesses. Kushina’s whole face turns almost as red as her hair. She jabs a finger at Minato like he’s the one who started it. “We’re not on a date ! We’re just hanging out, like friends do, you know !” Minato, to his credit—or maybe to his downfall—says absolutely nothing. Not even a head shake. Just that calm smile and a glance in her direction that honestly makes it worse. I let out a low whistle, “Mm. Yep. I hear wedding bells already.” Before either of them can fire back, I step around them. “Anyway, I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Catch you around!” I slip back into the crowd, the sound of Kushina’s flustered shouting fading behind me as I decide where to get some good grub. My arms swing with exaggerated flair. I pass a line of festival-goers and tip an imaginary hat to them.
The thought of going home crosses my mind but it’s far from an appealing idea. Dad’ll just take a swig of cheap shochu, grunt something about how there’s food in the fridge, and that’ll be the end of it. Which, technically, is true but food in the fridge and food at the festival are two very different things. I slow down as I pass a yakitori stall, the scent hitting me like a punch to the gut. My fingers drift to my coin pouch. Most of what I’d scraped together the last couple weeks had gone toward a new kunai set and a fresh pair of sandals. I drift near the edge of the stall, close enough to smell the soy sauce but not enough to make eye contact with the vendor. That’d be cruel. No sense giving either of us false hope. I’m still debating whether I can survive on the smell of yakitori alone when someone brushes past me in a bit of a hurry. Mebuki. A girl from my academy class that I haven’t seen since graduation. She catches her toe on a crack in the pavement. She stumbles forward just enough to send a little drawstring bag tumbling to the ground. She doesn’t seem to notice. Instead she straightens up quickly and gets ready to leave when I stop her.
“Hey, Mebuki-chan, wait!” I call out, bending to grab the pouch before some thief does. “You dropped this.” She turns at the sound of my voice, a little startled. Her eyes flick to the bag in my hand, then to my face. Then she takes it, “...Thanks.” She turns away again like that’s that—but that’s when I notice the tear streaks. Faint, dried into the skin like. Her eyes aren’t red but they carry that dull look after a good cry session. “You okay?” I ask, not pushing, just…worried. She doesn’t look at me. “Why do you care?” she says, eyes fixed somewhere far away in the crowd. Still, I give her a crooked grin. “We were in the same Academy class, remember? I sat two rows behind you.”
She finally glances at me, lifting one brow ever so slightly, “That’s not the same as being friends.”
I raise a finger like I’m making a grand philosophical point, “Ah, acquaintances are friend-adjacent though. It’s like… being friends without the pressure of remembering birthdays.”
She rolls her eyes a little. Right then, my stomach makes the most traitorous noise. Of all the times for my stomach to growl, it just had to be right now.
I wince. “That was, uh…Ignore that.” Her mouth twitches as she tries to fight back a smile.
Did I really just manage to get her to crack a smile ? I wasn’t even trying to be funny that time !
Mebuki straightens her face then takes a slow breath through her nose. I expect her to walk off again but instead, she says, “You hungry?”
“Why, you offering ?”
When she speaks again her voice is steadier this time, “I’m over this festival. Too many people and it’s so noisy…I think I have a headache.” She adjusts the little bag at her side and finally meets my eyes.“There’s this place a few blocks off the main road that offers tea and dango. It’s quiet and usually empty during big events like this.” For a second, I just stare. Part of me wants to ask if she’s sure but something in her tone says she wouldn’t have offered if she wasn’t. So I shove my hands into my pockets, “Lead the way then. I’m starvin’.”
Cut to the two of us sitting at a quiet little corner shop with low lighting and cracked tile floors, sipping tea from small ceramic cups that clink gently when we set them down. The only other customer is an old lady in the corner with a mole on her cheek the size of a small pebble. It's… impossible not to look at. Mebuki clears her throat sharply. I jerk my head back toward her. She’s sitting perfectly straight, keeping her elbows off of the table. My eyes follow her hand movements. Every time she picks up a skewer of dango, she lifts it delicately, covering her mouth with one hand each time she takes a bite. I can’t help but wonder how a girl like her ended up at the academy. “You know it’s rude to stare at people,” she says, eyes forward, not even looking at me or the elderly woman. I grin behind my cup. “I wasn’t staring. I was… observing. People-watching is one of my hobbies.”
She sighs.
There’s a long pause where the only sound is the old lady muttering to herself about someone named "Takeshi" and the gentle clink of skewers on ceramic.
Then, Mebuki speaks again, her voice lower now.
“So… how’s this supposed to work?” she asks, not looking at me. “I’ve never poured my heart out to anyone before.”
I shrug, leaning back on my hands. “Dunno. Just start from the beginnin’. Say whatever’s on your mind.”
“It’s dumb but this guy asked me to the festival,” she says finally. “It was my first time being asked out so I was really excited about it so-” She pauses, brows pulling in tighter. “So I put effort in, you know? Hair, outfit. Told my mom. She even gave me this dumb little perfume I hate. Feels like a waste now.” She bites her bottom lip and my heart sinks. I can tell where this is going and I don’t like it. She starts speaking fast while rubbing the corner of her eyes, “Turns out it was a joke. A dare or something. They were all laughing about it behind one of the stalls… I heard them.” Mebuki’s knuckles tighten slightly on her cup. “So I ran away because apparently I’m a big idiot.”
I don’t know what to say, my father didn’t prepare me for something like this. He’s more of a “walk it off” kind of guy. For once, I wish I had a mom around. Maybe she’d have given me some kind of advice. I’m always told she was a woman wise beyond her years. I think about making a joke but my mind’s blank. “Know what ? Screw that guy,” I say, quietly but firmly. “And screw all his idiot friends, too. You shouldn’t let ‘em ruin the festival for you.” She doesn’t look up but I catch the way her shoulders ease a little. “You look nice,” I add. “You’re allowed to take some pride in that.”
She glances at me, eyes sharper now. “Do you mean it?” I think I like the way her eyes look when she’s sporting an intense gaze. I look her dead in the eye, cup resting on the edge of the table. “I’m a lot of things, Mebuki, but I’m not a liar.”
“Thanks, I still feel pretty dumb for unloading my problems on you like this,” Mebuki moves her hands so they’re resting in her lap. Her cheeks are dusted a light pink. “Usually I don’t concern myself with matters like this but even if it was a lie, it felt nice to get asked out.” She lowers her head, avoiding eye contact.
Kizashi sits up straighter now, his knees almost to his chest. “You serious ?”
She glances up at me from under her lashes,“Yeah. I mean… I’m not like Kushina or some of the girls in the village. I’m rather… plain by comparison.” Her fingers graze her cheek and she sighs. My face scrunches up without thinking, “Wait, that’s what you’re worried about? Being plain.” I swirl the last bit of tea in my cup, then glance over at Mebuki, who’s still frowning. “Look,” I say, putting both my hands on my thighs, “you really shouldn’t worry about guys. Most of ‘em have no taste.” A quiet moment passes between them then she asks, “So… why’d you come to the festival alone ? If I remember correctly you had a lot of friends, right ?”
I scratch the back of my head, “Not really. Not the way you’re thinking.”
I shrug. “I didn’t even know half their names. They just laughed when I acted like an idiot in class and said I was a ‘nice guy.’” He says it with air quotes, “You’re actually the first person from our class to speak to me since we all parted ways.” I glance out toward the street where lantern light leaks through the wooden slats. “I saw a few familiar faces when my team tried the chūnin exams, but, well… it’s kinda hard to rekindle “friendships” while you’re getting smoke bombs thrown at you.” Mebuki goes quiet. “Oh.” That’s it. Just that one word and the silence that follows stretches on forever. I don’t mind it, really. Not with her. I don’t feel the need to fill the silence between us. After a second, she shifts in her seat and says, “My team talked about applying for the exams too but our sensei decided we weren’t quite ready. Said more training and missions would do us better in the long run.”
“Sounds like a good call,” I say, nodding.
She decides to lead the conversation again, “Did you at least pass?”
I shake my head. “Nah.”
The way I said no must’ve caught her off guard because Mebuki stares at me like I’ve just told her pigs can fly. She doesn’t say anything at first, just studies my face like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. But I just reach for my last dango, twirling the skewer once between my fingers before taking a small bite. I chew slowly. Dango always disappears too fast if you’re not careful. “You really don’t care?” she finally asks, disbelief clear in her voice. “You’re not even a little upset ?”
I shrug. “I mean… I could take the exam again if I want. That’s if my team wants to, of course.” Another bite. Sweet and chewy, a little warm still. “What’s so bad about staying a genin a bit longer?” I say, licking a bit of sauce off my thumb. “Rank’s just a word.”
Mebuki squints at me, lips tugging to one side. “So what, you wanna be an eternal genin like Maruboshi-san ?” I twirl around the skewer after I finished all of the dango, “Hey, it’s tempting. The guy looks pretty happy to me. Peaceful, even.”
“But everyone whispers such nasty things about him,” she says, voice a little quieter now like she might summon him with words alone. “They act polite when he’s around, but behind his back, it’s all pity and mockery. I wouldn’t want that to happen to you.” That catches me off guard—not the part about Maruboshi, but the way she says you , like it matters to her. Just twenty minutes ago I wasn’t even a friend. Then she tilts her head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Don’t you have any ambitions? Any dreams or small goals ?”
I lean forward a little, setting the empty skewer aside, “Sure I do. I wanna have a home-cooked meal every night until I die. That’s my dream.”
Mebuki lets out a short laugh, surprised. “That’s your big dream?” she says, smirking like I just made one of my usual strange jokes.
But I don’t laugh with her.
I just meet her gaze and nod. “Yeah. That’s it.”
Her smile fades, and for a moment, something unreadable flickers across her face. She extends her index finger and points it directly at me. “That’s no way to live though,” she says firmly. “Anyone can cook a meal. You don’t have to be a shinobi to do that .” I take another slow sip of my tea, letting her words hang in the air. The smile slips from my face. I rub the side of my neck, trying to shake off the sting her words leave behind. “Dreaming big isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” I say, voice a little lower now. “Sure lots of people dream of becoming Hokage but to be Hokage you have to be exceptional. A once in a lifetime kind of talent.”
Something I’m not. I’m not a clan heir or talented like Minato, I’m just plain old Kizashi.
Mebuki stares at me, arms crossed tight, “I guess you’re right.”
I breathe in slowly and ask, “What’s your dream? What do you want ?”
She falters, her posture stiffening. It takes a moment before she answers. “I… I want to lead a genin team someday or at least make chūnin and figure out what department I’d like to join. I’m considering joining the cryptanalysis team. I want to do something useful. Help out the village in any way I can.” It’s honest. Practical. I lean forward again, resting my arms on the table. “What about family?” I ask. “Do ya ever plan on settling down?”
That stops her. She blinks, then looks away like she’s watching something just past my shoulder. “After tonight?” she mutters. “I’d rather become a crazy cat lady.”
I raise an eyebrow, “Seriously?”
She shakes her head, “Not me. I don’t want to be a housewife or a mom or anything like that.”
That… actually surprises me a little.
“Oh,” I say dumbly. “I just kinda assumed… I mean, most people—”
“Yeah, well,” she cuts in, “I’m not most people.”
I watch her for a second, her shoulders squared, eyes stubborn as ever, and then I shake my head before smiling at her. “You amaze me, you know that?”
Mebuki takes one last sip of her tea, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I ignore her question to stretch my arms above my head and glance toward the counter, “We should pay up. I’ll walk you home.”
She places her fingers on the table as she stands up, “Didn’t know you had it in you to be a gentleman.”
I snort. “Didn’t know you had it in you to crack a witty remark.”
She smirks and lightly swats my arm with the back of her hand. “Whatever.”
Then she pulls out her drawstring bag and sets down enough ryo to cover both our meals. “Before I forget,” I say, throwing her a wink. “Thanks for the meal, I owe ya one.”
She just gives me a look. “Consider it a thank you for cheering me up a little bit.”
I grin and push myself up from the seat, “Then it’s only fair I repay you with top-tier escort service. One clumsy shinobi bodyguard, now at your disposal.”
Mebuki rolls her eyes again but there’s something softer in it this time. There’s a part of me that hopes she’s starting to see me as more than just the former class clown. We walk side by side, the festival noise fading behind us with each step. The streets here are quieter and cleaner than the ones in my district. It’s one of the nicer parts of the village. The newly renovated buildings. After a stretch of silence, Mebuki glances over at me, “Can I ask you one more thing before we part ways ?”
“Go for it.”
“Why’d you want to become a shinobi?”
I raise an eyebrow at her.
She puts her hands up defensively, “I keep trying to imagine you out there, on some covert mission, sneaking through enemy camps or fighting enemy shinobi…and it just doesn’t fit. You’re too kind and too silly.” I laugh awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck as I look up at the moon. “Honestly?” I say, mimicking the motion of wielding a hammer. “I didn’t want to work construction with my old man. He’s got this whole ‘pass down the trade’ thing in his head but swinging hammers all day just didn’t feel like my thing. I told him I wanted to be a comedian once. He laughed—thought I was making a joke. Then told me no, something about comedy not being a real job unless I’m thinking of becoming one of the daimyo’s entertainers.”
Mebuki huffs, half amused.
“So,” I continue, “ninja was the next best thing. Still dangerous, still exhausting… but at least there’s a little drama in it. Not that I’ve got any epic stories yet. It’s been mostly D-rank missions. Walked a hundred dogs, pulled weeds, helped an old man move his entire collection of turtle shells. Very thrilling, am I right ?” Mebuki’s lips twitch like she’s trying not to laugh. I glance over at her, “What about you? I know we all had to go through the Academy but you’re smart—you could’ve been anything else. Civilian nurse, a teacher, a nun—why shinobi?” She shrugs without looking at me, “It just felt like the natural thing to do.”
I blink. “That’s it?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
Huh.
No big speech. No tragic backstory. Just a simple answer but somehow it fits her. When we reach her apartment I can’t help but notice how modest the buildings are, a little worn around the edges, but the steps are clean. A couple kids chase each other near the entrance and a few adults sit chatting nearby, their voices low and neighborly. As we approach, a window creaks open above us. “Mebuki?” a woman’s voice calls down. “There you are! Your father and I were starting to worry, you said you'd be back by ten.” I glance up just in time to see her mom leaning out, sandy-blonde hair twisted up in a loose bun, face half lit by the light coming from inside their home. “I’m sorry, Mother. My plans changed and I ended up having dinner with a former classmate. I guess I lost track of time,” she holds her bag in front of her. Her mother doesn’t even acknowledge me. Her mother’s expression softens slightly before she closes the window with a soft thud. Mebuki looks back at me. “It ends here but, uh, maybe we’ll see each other around more often.” Her smile is gentle but shy before she heads up the stairs. I watch her go, then turn and slip away toward my own home. Inside, I’m greeted by my father, who is rubbing his temple. It’s a good thing I didn’t bother to turn the light on. “Late night?” I ask with a grin.
He grunts in reply but manages a tired smile.
I kick off my sandals and flop down on the one sofa we have in our small apartment.
I flop down on the couch with a tired sigh and mutter, “Good night, pops. Remember to wake me up before ya leave in the morning.” He doesn’t respond right away, then says in a gruff voice, “Did anything exciting happen at the festival ? I remember the one time I went… wasn’t half bad.” I shrug, already feeling the weight of sleep tugging at my eyelids. “It was boring but… I talked to a girl.”
Dad snorts, “What girl ?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I close my eyes and let sleep pull me under.