Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of its characters. All rights belong to Masashi Kishimoto and the respective publishers. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only.

  Chapter 8: The Long View

  Sunlight spilled through the ancient oaks of the Akimichi compound, warming the wooden engawa where Chōza sat watching his son play. A half-empty cup of tea rested beside him, forgotten as Chōji darted after a butterfly, his round face scrunched in adorable concentration.

  The three-year-old abandoned his pursuit when the insect fluttered too high, immediately distracted by a cluster of bright pebbles near the garden pond. He collected them with grave seriousness, each one examined carefully before joining his growing treasure pile.

  Chōza smiled, lines crinkling around his eyes. Nearby, a guard approached with silent efficiency, pausing at a respectful distance.

  "Chōza-sama, the Hokage's messenger has delivered the council documents for tomorrow's meeting."

  "Thank you. I'll review them before dinner."

  As the guard retreated, Chōza's gaze returned to his son, who now sat surrounded by his collection of stones and leaves, arranging them in patterns only he understood. The breeze ruffled the boy's light brown hair as he hummed to himself, completely absorbed in his play.

  Something in the scene stirred a memory that tugged at the edges of Chōza's thoughts.

  A clearing near the village outskirts. A small figure moving through forms with mechanical precision. Training, not playing.

  "Tou-chan, look!" Chōji called, holding up a small pink shell from the pond's edge. "It's got swirls like our clan marks!"

  "A fine find," Chōza replied gently, "Perfect for your collection."

  The boy nodded solemnly before carefully placing the shell with his other treasures. A moment later, he was chasing after a leaf tumbling across the garden, all seriousness forgotten.

  Chōza stood, watching as his son's attention flowed naturally from one discovery to the next. Children needed this. Time to discover the world at their own pace, to find wonder in simple things. Time to simply be children.

  Which was precisely what concerned him about young Ren.

  His thoughts turned to the scroll waiting on his desk, ready for his visit to the Mizuhara Shokudō this evening.

  The carefully crafted document would be his final contribution to Ren's Academy preparations. How students would be tested and what teachers expect… deliberately missing key information about the elementary nature of first-year studies.

  A small deception, perhaps. But one born of genuine concern.

  Three months earlier

  The restaurant was quiet after the evening rush, only a few dedicated patrons lingering over final cups of sake. From his usual corner table, Chōza watched as Takashi moved between the remaining customers, his movements efficient after years of practice.

  When the last customer departed, Takashi approached, wiping his hands on his apron.

  "Thank you for staying, Akimichi-sama." His voice was lower than usual, tension evident in the set of his shoulders.

  "Of course." Chōza gestured to the empty chair. "And please, there's no need for formality when we're speaking privately."

  Takashi's mouth quirked in a half-smile. "Old habits." He glanced toward the kitchen. "Kaori will join us soon."

  As if summoned by her name, the door to the kitchen slid open. Mizuhara Kaori emerged, removing her head scarf as she crossed the room. Dark wisps of hair had escaped to frame her face, and a smudge of flour dusted one cheek. She paused to close the restaurant's front sign to "Closed" before joining them.

  "I hope you weren't waiting long," she said, settling beside her husband.

  "Not at all." Chōza took a final sip of his sake. "Takashi-san mentioned you wanted to speak about Ren."

  The couple exchanged a glance. Kaori took a deep breath, her hands folding together on the table as if steadying herself.

  "We're worried about him," she began. "Ever since the Nine-Tails attack and what happened afterward at the memorial ceremony, he's been... different. More than different. It's like he's driven by something we can't see or understand."

  She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping as if the words themselves were difficult to say. "I found him in the garden before dawn today, just sitting there with his eyes closed, perfectly still. When I asked what he was doing, he said he was 'practicing sensing.' He's six years old, Chōza-san."

  Takashi nodded, his hand moving to rest lightly on his wife's shoulder. "He falls asleep reading those scrolls you've lent him. Kaori found him collapsed in the garden two days ago. Sound asleep from exhaustion in the evening."

  "We're grateful for your interest in him," Kaori continued, "truly we are. But it's as if he's consumed by an invisible purpose. The Academy entrance is all he talks about. He's convinced himself he needs to be perfect before he even starts."

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  She paused, glancing at her husband before meeting Chōza's gaze directly. "I'm afraid he's missing something important. Something essential to being a child..."

  Chōza nodded slowly. Their concerns echoed his own observations.

  "There was a boy once," he said after a moment. "A true prodigy. Graduated the Academy at five. Chunin by six." He paused, noting how they leaned forward slightly, recognizing the story's relevance without needing explanation. "He advanced through the ranks too quickly. His talent was recognized before his character had time to form."

  Chōza looked past them for a moment, seeing not the restaurant but a silver-haired youth standing alone at a memorial stone, shoulders too straight, eyes too empty. "Now he takes the most dangerous missions available. Alone, always alone. His skills are unquestionable, but..."

  He let the sentence hang unfinished. They understood. They were parents.

  Kaori's hands tightened around each other. "That's what scares me. Ren has this... gift. The way he learns, the way he focuses. But he's still just a boy."

  "Sometimes I wonder if he knows how to just..." Takashi trailed off.

  "Except sometimes," Kaori said, her face softening. "There are moments when we glimpse the child he could be. Last month at the summer festival, he got pulled into a game with other children. It was only for a little while, but his laugh was different… real, like we used to hear when he was little."

  She smiled at the memory, though her eyes remained worried. "And the other day I saw him in the garden. The wind had blown maple leaves all over the ground. He thought no one was watching, and he was just... playing with them. Making them dance in little patterns, smiling to himself. It was so adorable…"

  A comfortable silence fell between them. Chōza refilled their tea cups, giving them space to collect their thoughts.

  "The Academy," he said finally. "It may not be what Ren expects."

  They looked at him questioningly.

  "The first year focuses primarily on fundamentals and adjusting the children's mindsets for what's to come." Chōza watched their expressions carefully. "For someone with Ren's... dedication, it might seem too basic."

  Understanding dawned in Takashi's eyes. "You haven't told him."

  "No," Chōza admitted. "And I've been selective in what materials I've shared."

  "Why?" Takashi asked, no accusation in his voice, only curiosity.

  Chōza considered how to answer. How to express a concern born of his years as a jōnin watching promising young shinobi develop… or fail to. "Some lessons can't be taught through scrolls or training. Sometimes disappointment is a better teacher than success."

  "You think he needs to slow down?" Takashi asked.

  "I think he needs to slow down," Chōza confirmed. "Children need time to grow, not just skills to learn."

  Kaori glanced at her husband, something unspoken passing between them. She turned back to Chōza, a weight seeming to lift from her shoulders. "You really care about him… As a person, not just his potential as a shinobi."

  "I do," Chōza said simply. "The question is whether you trust this approach."

  Takashi looked at his wife, who gave a small nod.

  "We do," Takashi said finally. "We just want him to be happy, not just... successful at everything he does. Anything that might help with that..."

  Relief washed through Chōza. "Then we understand each other."

  As they concluded their conversation and Chōza prepared to leave, Takashi asked one final question that had clearly weighed on him. "Do you truly believe Ren has exceptional potential?"

  Chōza paused at the door, considering the question seriously. "Yes," he said finally. "But his greatest strength may not be what any of us expect right now."

  The memory faded as Chōji's delighted laughter pulled Chōza back to the present.

  His son had discovered a colony of ants carrying crumbs across the garden path and was watching them with fascination.

  "They're all working together, Tou-chan!" he called out. "Like a team!"

  "That's right," Chōza replied, his expression warm.

  "Oh!" Chōji's eyes widened as a small twig from his earlier play fell across the ant trail, disrupting their path. Without hesitation, the small insects adjusted, some climbing over the obstacle while others began to forge a new route around it. "Look! They didn't stop!"

  Chōza knelt beside his son, watching the ants' immediate adjustment. "Sometimes strength isn't about power," he said quietly, almost to himself. "It's about how we adapt when the path changes."

  Chōji nodded solemnly, though the deeper meaning likely escaped him. A moment later, he was distracted by an ant carrying a crumb nearly twice its size, his attention already shifting to new wonders.

  His thoughts turned to the scroll waiting on his desk, ready for his visit to the Mizuhara restaurant later that day. The conversation with Ren's parents had only strengthened his resolve. The boy needed more than just knowledge and training; he needed room to grow as a person, not just as a shinobi.

  Chōza called his son. "Time for lunch, Chōji. Your Kaa-chan will be waiting."

  "Coming!" The boy immediately abandoned his ant-watching at the mention of lunch, rushing toward his father with newfound energy.

  As they walked hand-in-hand toward the main house, Chōza found himself hoping that his small deception would serve its purpose. That Ren's inevitable disappointment with the Academy's pace might create space for something vital that seemed missing in the serious young boy.

  The next morning, Chōza rose early. It was the first day, the start of many young shinobi's paths, and he had one final task to complete.

  He sat at his desk, reviewing the scroll he'd finished preparing the night before. He secured it with a simple cord, satisfaction settling in his chest.

  Ren would discover soon enough that the Academy's curriculum didn't match his intense preparations. The surprise might sting, but perhaps it would create space for something valuable.

  Time to breathe, to connect, to discover aspects of himself beyond the shinobi arts.

  As Chōza placed the scroll in his vest pocket, a shadow fell across the doorway. An ANBU operative knelt there, face concealed behind a porcelain mask.

  "Akimichi-sama. The Hokage requests your presence immediately."

  Chōza's brow furrowed slightly. "I was planning to visit the Mizuhara Shokudō before the entrance ceremony. Is this about the council meeting in the evening?"

  "No." The ANBU paused. "It concerns a promising Academy student."

  After the messenger departed, Chōza stood motionless, the scroll in his pocket suddenly feeling heavier. So the Hokage had more than a passing interest in young Ren after all.

  The timing wasn't coincidental. Today would mark the beginning of Ren's official journey as a shinobi, and apparently, village leadership was taking notice.

  With a deep breath, Chōza adjusted his vest. The Hokage would have to wait just long enough for him to deliver one final gift to a boy who was in far too much of a hurry to grow up.

  A/N: Hey everyone! I know this chapter takes a different approach without Ren as our POV character, but I felt Chōza's perspective was necessary to deepen our understanding of the story.

  I wanted to show how others perceive Ren's intensity and how even those who care about him might make choices that seem questionable, like Chōza's "small deception".

  It raises interesting questions about what children truly need during development, doesn't it? Is Chōza right to be concerned? Or should he have been completely transparent with Ren?

  Would you like to occasionally see other characters' viewpoints in future chapters? And what do you think about Chōza's little deception; well-intentioned guidance or something that might backfire?

  As always, thanks for your comments and feedback!