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  Naruto opened his eyes.

  Two seds tister his surroundings. One more for his body to rex.

  He was home. In Konoha.

  His cold, empty eyes nded on the wooden dresser across the room. The same old photo sat there, untouched. Team Seven. Sakura, Sasuke, Kakashi. He stared at their faces for a moment.

  Then, with a slow tilt of his head, he rolled his netil it cracked. Oo the left. Oo the right.

  He exhaled through his nose.

  He rose smoothly from his meditative position, muscles shifting, stretg out the stiffness from staying still too long.

  A shinobi’s body was everything. A temple. A on. Keep it sharp, keep it ready.

  Arms up, fingers ced, a slow pull through his back. Then down, palms pressing ft against the floor, feeling the familiar strain in his legs.

  His body khe routine. His mind, though, wandered.

  Who had climbed the ranks while he was gone?

  Konoha kept moving, with or without him. Missions. Promotions. ges. He hadn’t thought much about it before, but now that he was back, the question lingered. Who was a in now? Who made jonin?

  Neji, probably. Guy’s team was always ahead. Maybe even Shikamaru, if the zy bastard had bothered.

  And then there was him.

  Still a genin.

  The thought would’ve annoyed him onow, he just exhaled, shifting into the stretch. Tsunade would ha. Eventually. Team 7 was done, had been since Sasuke left. So where did that leave him?

  The market was alive. The heat of too many bodies crammed together, the st of fresh produce mixed with sweat, the g of knives hitting wooden blocks as butchers worked through the m rush.

  People barely spared him a goo caught up in their own business. That was good.

  He moved through the crowd, sing each stall. The list in his head was short, practical. Fuel for a shinobi’s body.

  Meat first.

  He found the butcher’s stall tucked between a fruit vendor and a shop selling dried goods. Thick sbs of beef hung from hooks, marbled with fat. Whole chis were lined up i rows, their skin plucked , still slightly pink from freshness. A massive boar carcass y stretched out across the ter, ribs exposed where the butcher had started carving into it.

  “Pork ribs, whole chi, and six cuts of fnk steak,”

  The butcher, a stocky man with a gut that strained against his apron, barely looked up. “You got money for all that, kid?”

  Naruto dropped a pouto the ter. The heavy k of ryo silenced any further doubt.

  The butcher grunted, nodding in approval befrabbing his cleaver. He moved fast, practiced—hag through bone, slig through meat with ease.

  Naruto watched, arms crossed, taking in every detail. The weight of the bde. The angle of the cut. The way muscle separated from bone when struck just right.

  Effit.

  The butcher ed everything up in aper, stag the bundles in front of him. “Anything else?”

  “Dried jerky. Two pounds.”

  Anrunt. More cutting. More ing.

  Naruto picked up the bundles, stuffing them into his bag before turning away.

  Eggs .

  The vendor was an old woman with sharp eyes and a mouth that probably hadn’t smiled in decades. She watched him carefully as he approached.

  “Fresh this m,” she said, voice scratchy. “How many?”

  “Four dozen.”

  She paused, eyebrows raising slightly. “That’s a lot of eggs for one person.”

  Naruto didn’t answer. Just dropped another pouch of s onto her ter.

  She scoffed but started pag them anyway. “You shinobi eat like wild dogs, I swear.”

  As Naruto watched the old ack the eggs away, he remembered what Jiraiya once said.

  “You eat like a civilian, you fight like a civilian.”

  The first time he said it, Naruto had rolled his eyes. Made some joke about ramen being the fuel of the gods. Jiraiya hadn’t ughed.

  “You think shinobi are born strong? No. They build themselves. Every bite you take, every muscle you train, every hour of sleep you do—or don’t—get, it adds up.”

  At first, Naruto tried. He really did. Forced himself to choke down the protein-heavy meals, the endless eggs, the leas, the bitter greens. But it was too much. Too strict, too trolled, too far from the easy, f simplicity of a warm bowl of miso ramen.

  He cheated when he could. Skipped meals. Snuck sweets. He hated the way it felt—like a cage around something that had always been free.

  And then, one night, he snapped.

  They were camped out in the middle of nowhere, the fire burning low, another fug bnd pte of food in front of him. Jiraiya was watg him, waiting, like always.

  Naruto smmed his hands down, shaking with rage.

  “Who the hell teaches a kid how to eat?! Huh?!” he roared, eyes bzing, breath ing fast. “That’s y fug lesson?! That’s what I o get stronger?!”

  Jiraiya had stared at him. Not angry. Not scolding. Just… shocked.

  For the first time, he looked at Naruto really looked at him. And then, quietly, he exhaled.

  “You’re right,” Jiraiya had said. “That’s on me.”

  They started over.

  This time, Jiraiya didn’t just tell him what to eat—he ate with him. Every meal. The same portions, the same schedule. He showed Naruto how to cook it right, how to season it, how to make it something worth eating instead of just fuel.

  Four months of that.

  Four months of side-by-side meals, of breaking it down piece by piece, of learning why it mattered, not just being told that it did.

  And one day—Naruto didn’t have to think about it anymore.

  He reached for the eggs, the chi, the greens without hesitation. Not because he had to. But because his body wa.

  Because he felt the difference.

  The strength in his muscles. The fire in his chakra. The raw, explosive power coiled inside him, waiting to be unleashed.

  There was no going back.

  Not to the days of skipping meals. Not to the empty sugar rush of sweets. Not to just ramen.

  He still loved it, sure. But now, ramen was a treat. A memory.

  Not his foundation.

  Naruto blinked once, shaking off the ghost of Jiraiya’s voice. He grabbed the buuffing it into his bag.

  He still needed a good amount of vegetables, which could be found a little further ahead.

  As he moved betweealls, he observed the flight of birds and the shadows of ANBU phasing in and out above them.

  Naruto narrowed his eyes for a few seds in thought.

  Now that he sidered it—this wasn’t normal.

  ANBU didn’t move through the vilge like this in the m. Not with this urgency.

  When he was younger, details like this escaped him. But the observational skills drilled into him by Ero-Sennin were irrepceable.

  And something was off.

  Hmm…

  Deg there was no point in dwelling on it now, Naruto bought more vegetables—spinach, bok choy, daikon, bell peppers, carrots, and a few heads of garlic—staples for a shinobi’s diet.

  With everything secured, he turned back toward home.

  But his peace was interrupted.

  WHAM!

  A small body crashed into his side at full speed.

  Naruto didn’t even flinch. He barely shifted uhe impact.

  “Naruto-nii-!”

  A familiar, wild-haired brat grinned up at him, his tiny fists ched with determination.

  Naruto blihen his cold expressioed into something warmer. A zy, easy grin spread across his face as he ruffled the kid’s hair.

  “Oho, Konohamaru! What was that? Some kind of sneak attack?”

  Konohamaru stumbled back, scowling as he smoothed out his hair.

  “Tch! I was testing you!”

  Naruto raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? How’d I do?”

  Konohamaru crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. “Horrible! You didn’t eve! What if I was an enemy?”

  Naruto gasped, pying along. “Oh no! Guess I should start training even harder, huh? Wouldn’t wan my butt kicked by the future Hokage!”

  Konohamaru puffed up with pride, his two teammates—Moegi and Udon—rushing up behind him.

  “Naruto-senpai, is it true you trained with Jiraiya-sama?” Moegi asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

  Udon sniffled, adjusting his gsses. “Yeah, and is it also true that you fought a thousand ninjas and mastered every jutsu in the world?”

  Naruto snorted. “A thousand, huh? Where’d you hear that?”

  Konohamaru grinned. “We have our sources.”

  Naruto shook his head, amused. “Well, I ’t firm or deny anything. Top-secret shinobi stuff, you know how it is.”

  Konohamaru groaned. “e on! You gotta show us something cool!”

  Naruto tapped his , pretending to think. Then, with a smirk, he tossed his grocery bag to his other hand and held out a single finger.

  “Alright, fine. I’ll let you guys try and hit me. O. If any of you nd a solid strike, I’ll buy you all ramen. Deal?”

  Konohamaru’s eyes lit up. “You’re on!”

  His team huddled together, whispering furiously, pnning their “attack strategy” like a bunch of little masterminds.

  Naruto just stood there, smirking.

  They came at him fast—for kids, anyway. Moegi feinted left, Udon tried to sweep his legs, and Konohamaru went for a flying punch straight to Naruto’s chest.

  Naruto sidestepped with minimal effort. Moegi stumbled past him, Udon tripped over his ow, and Konohamaru.. well, he ecial one.

  He caught the boy by the id-air, lifting him effortlessly before setting him ba the ground.

  “Good try,” he said, still grinning.

  Konohamaru pouted. “Damn it!”

  Naruto chuckled, reag out to ruffle his hair again. “Keep w on it. Yettier.”

  The kids groaned, disappointed, but Naruto could see it—the tiny flicker of determination burning even brighter in their eyes.

  With a stretch, he grabbed his bag again and turned away. “Alright, I gotta go. We’ll rematch soon.”

  “You better not disappear again!” Konohamaru shouted after him.

  Naruto just waved over his shoulder. “No promises!”

  Naruto sat at his small wooden table, chopsticks in hand, slowly pig at his breakfast. A , simple spread—grilled salmon, steaming rice, miso soup, soft tamagoyaki, and a side of crisp pickled daikon.

  He took a bite of salmoing the crispy skin crackle slightly between his teeth before the rich, salty fish melted on his tongue. He chewed slowly, sav it, his mind half-drifting.

  “Mmmm.. yummy…”

  The rice came first.

  Naruto filled a wooden bowl, scooping out just enough before carrying it to the sink. Cold water poured over the grains, his fingers w through them, feeling the rough starch rinse away. The water clouded instantly.

  Drain. Refill. Repeat.

  Again and again, he worked the rice, washing it carefully, methodically, until the water ran almost clear. Only then did he tra to a metal pot, adding just enough water before carrying it to the stove. He let it e to a simmer before setting the wooden lid over it, l the fme.

  From there, everything moved in sync.

  One pan for breakfast. One pan for dinner.

  The left pan—thin slices of salted salmon, skin-side down, hitting the heat with a satisfying sizzle.

  The right pan—simmered mackerel, gently braising in a bubbling mixture of soy sauce, mirin, sake, and gihe sauce thied slowly, seeping into the fish, turning it tender, rich, perfectly gzed.

  While the fish cooked, he moved to the eggs.

  A small bowl. Three eggs. A dash of soy sauce. A spsh of dashi broth. A pinch of sugar. He whisked them quickly, chopsticks clig against ceramic before p a thin yer into the hot regur pan.

  Pour. Set. Roll. Pain. Roll again.

  Layer by yer, he built the omelet, golden and delicate, shaping it with precise flicks of his chopsticks before rolling it onto a wooden board to cool.

  By the time the rice was fieaming, everything else was dooo.

  Dinner—packed ly into wooden ste tainers. Rice, simmered mackerel, bnched spinach, and a small side of pickled vegetables.

  He didn’t know why cooking had stuck with him the way it had. Maybe it was the discipline of it, the way it forced him to slow down.

  Naruto finished his meal, stacked his dishes in the sink, and grabbed the cloth bag with his packed dinner. He made his way to the bedroom, pulling off his shirt and sing it for a sleeveless bpression top. He slid on lightweight training pants, strapped his kunai holster to his thigh, and ed fresh bandages around his forearms.

  He tied his hitai-ate in pd rolled his shoulders.

  It was time to prepare for the test with Kakashi. And there was er way than training.

  Naruto sidered bringing his katana but decided against it. Not today. He had something else in mind.

  Stepping outside, he took off toward Training Ground Three.