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Jōki walked through the streets of Konoha at a leisurely pace, drawing the lingering stares of nearby villagers. He was well aware he’d been a walking spectacle since childhood. Being the son of the Second Hokage and the head of the Uchiha clan was bound to keep the gossip mills turning, but he had absolutely no intention of playing nice just to please the crowd.
He came to a sudden halt when a stray cat cut right across his path.
"Jōki-kun!"
Snapping his gaze away from the feline, he looked up to find the source of that dreadfully familiar voice. Obito was jogging toward him, a bright, beaming smile plastered across his face.
Obito Uchiha was, without a doubt, Jōki’s least favorite person. Despite being forced to endure his company during family gatherings, Obito’s unshakeable cheerfulness grated on his nerves. He was a carbon copy of Jōki's uncle, Hashirama—though, frankly, his uncle was slightly less annoying.
"Aw, what a cute kitty you’ve got here," Obito said, dropping to a crouch next to him to pet the feline.
"Take it if you want it. It’s not mine."
"But—but look! It clearly likes youuuu."
Jōki didn't bother replying. He looked back down at the cat and gave his leg a sharp shake to brush it off. Instead of letting go, the creature dug its claws straight into his pants, inflicting a minor, irrelevant sting.
"Oh, no..." Obito whimpered.
"It doesn't hurt."
"I'm not talking about that!"
At Obito’s exclamation, Jōki glanced down again. The cat’s face was entirely blank, betraying nothing, right up until a sudden wave of warm liquid soaked through Jōki's trousers. Reality clicked. Without a second thought, he violently kicked his leg out to fling the menace away.
"Little kitty!" Obito cried out.
Jōki didn't stay to watch. He tried wiping his boot on a small patch of grass nearby, but there was no way the stench was washing out that easily. Fortunately, he wasn't too far from home, so he turned on his heel and marched back.
The day was already a disaster, but catching sight of the person waiting inside the house completely shattered whatever remained of his patience.
"Welcome home," Tobirama said, his expression as stoic and unreadable as ever.
"Where's Papa?" Jōki asked bluntly. He had no desire to engage in small talk with his father. Their interactions were rarely deeper than this, usually brief and revolving entirely around Izuna.
"Working."
"Usually, you're the one working."
"I am not at the moment."
Jōki remained silent. He walked past him straight to his bedroom, clicked the lock into place, and headed right into the shower.
After a few minutes of scrubbing the day away—and pondering why his papa was out so late—he stepped out of the bathroom. Stopping in front of the mirror, he studied his own reflection. His features heavily mirrored his father's, yet his Uchiha heritage was undeniable. He focused, channeling his chakra until his Sharingan flared to life, the two tomoe spinning lazily in his eyes—a stark reminder of his lineage.
"Jōki, dinner's ready!"
Hearing his papa Izuna’s voice echo through the hall, the tension left Jōki's shoulders. A genuine smile finally tugged at his lips as he unlocked the door and stepped out.