Chapter 340: Snow on the Balcony, Tea on the Table
The Hidden Leaf Village was still half-asleep when Malik slipped from Sakura's bedroom window, his body rising into the air with a shimmer of pink-and-gold magic. The early winter air was sharp, crisp enough to bite against skin, but Malik welcomed it with a slow inhale. He'd always liked the cold. The way it stripped away heaviness, made every breath feel new.
And besides, his robes were light—silk-thin and flowing, threads of gold dancing with the soft blush of rose across his shoulders. They caught the wind like banners, too thin for this season, yet somehow he wasn't shivering. The cold curved around him, never quite touching, as though it too understood this was a man hard to disturb.
Below him, the village stirred.
"Life at Dawn," he said to himself, looking down.
Even this early, the streets were never truly empty. Shopkeepers shuffled out to brush snow from awnings. Smoke curled from chimneys as families lit their morning fires. A baker cracked open his shutters, the scent of rising dough spilling faintly into the chill air.
Malik slowed his flight just enough to take it in, his hot-pink-and-gold eyes catching the little details.
A genin hurrying with an armful of scrolls, yawning so wide she nearly tripped on her sandals.
An old woman sweeping snow off her steps, pausing when she saw him above. He dipped lower, smiling and calling, "Good morning, Obaa-chan. Don't slip now." She laughed, bowing slightly before swatting at him with her broom like he was her grandson caught skipping chores.
A pair of kids bundled in oversized coats pointed at him, shouting, "Look, look—it's Malik-sama! He's glowing again!" He gave them a wink and a lazy salute, earning twin squeals before darting on.
But even as he waved, Malik kept his focus. There was a meeting this morning. A promise. His mornings might normally be chaos, but today he had things to finish before returning to Sakura.
His path carried him to one of the quieter edges of the village, where the rooftops climbed higher and the snow drifted thicker. There, nestled between two tall stone towers, was an old balcony half-forgotten, perched above the waking streets.
Malik descended in a slow spiral, boots crunching into fresh powder as he landed.
The balcony was coated in snow, untouched since the storm the night before. The railings were sculpted in perfect ridges of frost, icicles hanging like crystal ornaments. Malik paused, smiling to himself, and crouched to trace a hand through the powder. He liked the patterns snow made when no one disturbed it—smooth, clean waves, like ripples on white silk.
Then, with a flick of his fingers, he swept the whole balcony clean. Pink light shimmered from his palm, rolling across the stones like a tide, brushing snow away until the space was clear and neat.
He clapped once, satisfied. "There we go. Perfect."
A low wooden table stood near the railing. Malik brushed it off with a swirl of his magic, then reached into the air. A kettle appeared first, its bronze sides etched with faint foxfire runes—one of Inariko's gifts, still warm from the night before. He set it down, steam curling instantly from the spout. A tray followed, carrying cups of delicate porcelain glazed in pale jade. And then, because Malik believed in hospitality, he conjured a plate of sweet rice crackers and a small basket of steamed buns, the surface still glistening.
"Snacks, tea, warm fingers," Malik murmured, arranging everything with practiced ease. "If that's not diplomacy, I don't know what is. Now the Waiting begins."
Once the spread was perfect, he settled into his seat. Not slouched. Not flamboyant. Just… smooth. He folded himself into the cushions with quiet dignity, robes flowing around him like liquid light. The tea steamed gently at his elbow, the village spread out below.
From here, Malik could see rooftops dotted with frost, the Hokage's tower, building, or whatever they called it, standing tall in the distance, and the people of Konoha slowly multiplying on the streets as the sun broke higher. It was like watching a painting fill itself in, brushstroke by brushstroke.
He let his eyes soften, his breathing steady. Malik again found himself in peace; there was no need to joke. No chaos to tame. Just the sound of distant chatter, the hiss of tea, and the steady heartbeat of a village he had come to love.
He smiled faintly, lifting his cup to his lips.
"Not a bad morning, old boy," he murmured to himself.
And then he leaned back, waiting for whoever was about to arrive.
- some time later -
The tea had cooled just enough to sip when Malik felt it—a presence in the snow, deliberate and measured. Not heavy-footed like Raijin, not restless like Ranke, but a steady tread that announced itself without apology.
Malik set his cup down, steam curling between his fingers, and looked toward the balcony entrance.
Mizuki.
The man stepped into view with the faint crunch of boots on stone. His hair, pale silver streaked darker at the roots, was tied back neatly, though the scars beneath his collar betrayed a body long-forged in shadows and regrets. Wrapped in a heavy dark cloak, he looked like the winter belonged to him.
Malik smiled faintly, gesturing toward the tea. "You're late. I almost finished the buns myself."
Mizuki raised an eyebrow, but there was the smallest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth as he crossed the balcony. "You'd eat your own bribe before I got here?"
"Bribe? Please," Malik said smoothly, pouring him a cup. "This is hospitality. Bribes are for people I don't like. And last I checked, you and I are way past that stage."
Mizuki accepted the cup, fingers brushing the porcelain with care. He didn't sit immediately. He stood by the railing first, scanning the village below like a man forever keeping count of where he didn't belong. Only then did he lower himself onto the cushions across from Malik.
For a time, they simply drank. Tea. Snow. Quiet.
Then Malik leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hot pink and gold eyes catching Mizuki's cool green ones.
"I have a task for you," Malik said.
Mizuki sipped once, set the cup down, and waited.
"The Land of the Sea," Malik continued. "There's a team being sent out. Anko Mitarashi, leading three genin—Naruto, Shino, and Ino. Their orders are simple: scout, retrieve, report. But I need you there too. Quietly."
Mizuki's brow furrowed. "Why?"
Malik didn't dance around it. "Because Orochimaru leaves stains, and one of them is named Amachi. A medical-nin, scientist, accomplice. He and Orochimaru terrorized the Land of the Sea. Kidnapped villagers. Experimented on them. Tried to build an army of underwater weapons. Anko might even recognize him—she was under Orochimaru's wing at a time."
He let that hang in the air for a moment.
Mizuki's jaw flexed. The shadows beneath his eyes seemed to deepen.
Malik pressed on. "Bring him to me. Alive. Call it retrieval, call it capture—kidnap if you need to sugarcoat it. I don't care about the word. I care about his knowledge. His research. What he still carries in that snake-riddled skull of his."
Mizuki leaned back slowly. "You're asking me to shadow Anko Mitarashi. To work alongside her."
"You say that like it's a punishment," Malik replied softly, almost teasing. "But tell me—don't you two have more in common than either of you admit?"
Mizuki's gaze darkened, but Malik's tone didn't shift.
"You were both pulled into Orochimaru's orbit. Both experimented on. Both scarred by it. The difference is you walked toward it, and she was dragged. She had the curse mark eating at her. You had ambition blinding you. And when it all burned down, you both got left behind."
Mizuki's fist clenched briefly against his knee. Malik caught it, but didn't push further.
"Talk to her," Malik said gently. "Or don't. But fight beside her. Learn something from her. Let her learn something from you. You'll find… you might not be as different as you think."
Mizuki was silent for a long while. The snow outside drifted sideways, caught in a sudden breeze. He finally broke the silence, his voice quieter than before.
"And if I fail?"
Malik leaned back, spreading his arms with a smile that was both warm and gentle. "Then you'll have failed. Never worry about disappointing me, Mizuki. And you know I don't get disappointed often. Do your best—that's all I ever ask."
Something flickered across Mizuki's face at that. Not quite pride. Not quite shame. But weight. The kind only a man with a dark past could put on himself.
Mizuki nodded once. "I'll bring him."
Malik's smile softened even more. He reached for another bun, broke it in half, and slid it across the table. "Good. Because I don't trust anyone else to. And Mizuki…"
Mizuki looked up.
Malik's tone dropped lower, steadier. "I trust you."
For not the first time, when Mizuki talked to Malik, Mizuki looked caught off guard. But he accepted the half-bun anyway, chewing in silence as Malik sipped his tea, the snow falling steadily between them.
The Land of the Sea would be waitinh.
The snow had grown heavier now, brushing soft lines against the balcony railings, but none of it landed on Malik or Mizuki. Malik's aura—warm, steady, threaded with pink and gold light—kept their little circle untouched, a bubble of heat and calm amid winter's bite.
Malik refilled both their cups, the steam curling and rising into the air. He let Mizuki finish half his before speaking again, voice low and easy.
"So," Malik said, tearing a rice cracker in half. "How do you feel about being on a team with Naruto?"
The words hung in the air like baited hooks, though Malik's smile was soft enough to take the edge off.
Mizuki froze mid-bite, his scarred fingers tightening around the porcelain cup. The crunch of snow outside filled the pause before he finally set it down.
"You'd really put me with him?" Mizuki asked, his tone caught between incredulity and bitterness.
"Anko leads," Malik replied evenly, plucking a steamed bun from the basket and sliding another toward Mizuki. "Shino and Ino are sharp. They'll watch every angle. But yes, Naruto is there. And you'll be there too." He leaned forward slightly, eyes hot-pink and gold glimmering in the steam. "So I want to know how you'll feel about it."
Mizuki didn't answer right away. His jaw worked, his throat flexing like he had words he didn't want to give voice to. Malik didn't press. He simply laid out more food—sliced fruit, sesame crackers, another kettle of tea summoned with a flick of his fingers. The little table looked more like a banquet now, the kind of spread meant to make talking feel natural.
Finally, Mizuki spoke.
"…He was just a kid," Mizuki muttered. "Loud. Stubborn. Always charging in without thinking. And I—" His hand tightened, his voice dropping lower. "—I tried to use that against him. Tried to twist him, break him, drag him down with me."
Malik's gaze stayed steady.
"I thought he was naïve. That his optimism was weakness. That he'd never understand what the world really was. But…" Mizuki's lips pressed into a thin line. "…he beat me. Not just with fists. He beat me by being him. He didn't give up. Didn't stop believing in himself—or others. And he…"
Mizuki trailed off, looking out over the rooftops dusted in snow. His eyes narrowed, but there was something brittle in them. "…he made me see everything I wasn't."
Malik tilted his head, his tone quiet but firm. "So? How do you feel about working with him now?"
Mizuki let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Like standing next to a ghost of my own mistakes."
Malik smiled faintly, not mocking—understanding. He broke another rice cracker and slid it across.
"Good," Malik said softly. "Because ghosts remind us of what not to become. You don't have to like it. You don't even have to like him. But I think you'll respect him. And maybe… you'll learn something from him. Just like he already learned something from you."
Mizuki scoffed, shaking his head. "Learned from me? He's the one who exposed me. Who knocked me down. Who—"
"—who showed you you weren't as far gone as you thought," Malik interrupted gently. His eyes glowed brighter, his voice slow and deliberate. "If Naruto hadn't believed he could stop you… would you even be sitting here right now? Drinking tea. Planning to walk into the Land of the Sea like a shinobi with purpose?"
Mizuki froze. His breath hitched, barely audible.
Malik leaned back, sipping his tea. He didn't gloat. He didn't press. He just let the weight of truth settle like falling snow.
The silence stretched long enough for the kettle to whistle softly again. Then Mizuki exhaled, shoulders lowering slightly.
"…Working with him won't be easy," Mizuki admitted, voice rough. "But I'll do it. Not because I want to. Because…" His eyes flicked up, sharp green catching Malik's gold-pink glow. "…because you asked."
Malik smiled warmly, setting his cup down. "That's all I needed to hear."
For a while, they didn't speak. They just ate quietly—Malik reaching for another bun, Mizuki taking slow sips of tea, the village waking below them.
Finally, Malik chuckled softly. "You know… I could've pushed harder. Could've forced you to answer right away. But I like giving you space. You're at your best when you choose your own words."
Mizuki gave him a sidelong look, mouth twitching like he wanted to argue but couldn't.
"…You're infuriating," Mizuki muttered.
"I get that a lot, and yet," Malik said with a grin, raising his cup, "you're still here."
Mizuki clinked his porcelain lightly against Malik's. "…Still here."
The snow kept falling. The tea stayed warm. And the mission ahead loomed larger with every heartbeat.