Chapter 372: Traditions That Bite Back
The Hyūga sitting room felt warmer than the corridors outside, more than just another layer against the cold past the walls, offering a kind of comfort that didn't just touch the skin but seeped deeper into muscles and bones, gently easing tensions people hadn't realized they'd been holding. It also might have helped that Malik was there. Outside, winter still clung stubbornly to the edges of the compound, but inside and behind layered walls, delicate paper screens, and large but quiet halls, the harsh cold had become a distant memory, something to complain about rather than a hardship to endure.
Neji was the first to relax into it.
She moved with a practiced, almost meditative efficiency, carefully unwrapping her scarf and outer layers in a deliberate, composed manner. She folded them neatly, placing each piece with care rather than tossing them aside in a heap. Even in moments of genuine ease, her movements remained precise. Even when she appeared at ease, there was an underlying sense of control. Malik, however, had never quite mastered the art of restraint; to him, it often seemed more like a moral obligation than a natural habit.
He watched her like a man enjoying a private joke with the universe, eyes soft and openly appreciative, posture slack with contentment now that he was warm and fed, with good company and firmly within reach of the woman he loved. When Neji finally tugged the last layer free and adjusted the sweater beneath, Malik let out a low, pleased hum.
"That sweater," he said, entirely too satisfied, "is doing amazing work on your Big boo—"
He stopped.
Not because he had suddenly learned discretion, but because Neji's fist had already found his ribs in a sharp, precise jab that knocked the rest of the sentence clean out of his body. Malik folded immediately, a wheeze escaping him as he crumpled sideways like a man whose internal organs had briefly reconsidered their loyalty.
Hanabi stared.
Neji, unfazed, finished adjusting her sleeves as Malik writhed on the tatami, clutching his side and making deeply undignified noises. When she was satisfied with her appearance, she reached down, grabbed one of Malik's legs in a firm grip, and dragged him across the floor with all the ceremony of someone relocating a stubborn piece of furniture.
She hauled him inside the room proper and let the door slide shut behind them with a quiet finality.
Hanabi blinked once. Then again. "…What?"
Hinata, who had watched the entire exchange with the calm acceptance of someone deeply familiar with this particular brand of chaos, offered her younger sister a small, apologetic smile. "It's… their secret love language," she said gently. "Try not to think too deeply about it."
Hanabi stared at the door as if it might explain itself. After they both finished and entered the room, it took only a few minutes for Malik to reappear from his body in the shade of a ball beside Neji, alive, smiling, and clearly unrepentant.
Time, as it turned out, moved differently once everyone had settled.
Malik was no longer pretending to be anything other than comfortable. He sprawled in the sitting area with a level of ease that suggested he'd been doing this his entire life, snuggled up against Neji as if her presence was gravity itself. His head rested shamelessly against her chest, tucked into the space she pretended not to guard while one arm curled loosely around him, fingers occasionally tightening in warning when he shifted too much.
He munched on snacks with unearned cheer, crumbs narrowly avoided by the simple miracle of Neji's constant vigilance.
Hinata sat across from them, hands folded neatly in her lap, cheeks warm but eyes bright as she spoke. The conversation had drifted somehow, inevitably, toward her and Naruto, and Malik listened with the same enthusiasm he brought to everything involving people he cared about.
"So you've been together for a while now," Malik said, tone warm and genuinely curious. "Long enough that you've stopped pretending it's a coincidence when you end up in the same places."
Hinata laughed softly, embarrassed but pleased. "We've… grown into it," she said. "He's still loud. And impulsive. But he tries very hard."
"That's Naruto," Malik agreed cheerfully. "Trying very hard is his primary skill."
Neji made a faint noise of agreement, though her attention was clearly divided between maintaining composure and deciding whether Malik deserved immediate consequences for existing this comfortably in front of her family.
Hanabi watched from the side, expression carefully neutral, but her mind was working overtime. Malik's familiarity with Neji still startled her, not because it felt disrespectful, but because it was so obviously earned. Neji did not allow closeness lightly. She did not tolerate foolishness without cause. And yet here she was, allowing Malik to drape himself across her like a satisfied cat, occasionally cooling her own rising irritation with nothing more than a quick kiss to her cheek when his teasing edged too close to public embarrassment.
Each time, Neji melted just enough to make it seem as if he were behaving.
It was… impressive.
As the conversation deepened, Malik and Hinata drifted into something quieter, more practical, recipes, of all things. Malik offered ideas with an ease that suggested he enjoyed sharing knowledge more than hoarding it, promising to write things down, to visit again, to bring ingredients Hinata might not normally use.
Neji, meanwhile, was utterly compromised.
The snuggling had disarmed her. Entirely. She sat rigid at first, spine straight, jaw tight, but over time the tension eased despite her best efforts. Malik's presence was warm and grounding, his weight familiar, his affection consistent in a way that chipped at her defenses rather than smashing through them. She rested her chin briefly against the top of his head, then immediately scowled at herself for doing it.
Hanabi noticed.
Of course she did.
The door slid open without warning.
Hiashi Hyūga stood in the doorway, posture straight, presence commanding in that quiet, terrifying way that made rooms behave themselves. His pale eyes swept the scene in one practiced glance—Neji with Malik attached to her, Hinata mid-conversation, Hanabi watching like she was trying to catalog everything for later analysis.
They greeted him immediately, Malik scrambling upright just enough to be respectful without fully disengaging.
Hiashi inclined his head once, acknowledging them all before his gaze settled on Malik. "Are you staying?" he asked, voice even.
"Yes," Malik replied easily. "A few days, if that's acceptable. I'd like to cook for the clan while I'm here."
Hiashi's brows lifted by a fraction, approval, surprise, perhaps both. Malik continued, tone still respectful. "And Neji and I need to meet with the elders. To receive their blessing."
The room stilled.
Even Neji straightened at that, expression composed but alert.
Hiashi considered this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "You already have my blessing," he said. "And my Niece's. But tradition matters. If you are willing to follow it, the elders will listen."
Malik smiled, genuine and untroubled. "Then I'll follow it."
Hiashi held his gaze for another heartbeat, then turned and left as quietly as he had arrived.
The silence he left behind was thick with implication.
Hanabi broke it first, eyes narrowed as she looked between Neji and Hinata. "Hyūga marriage tradition?"
Hinata laughed softly and reached over to pat her sister's head, affectionate and indulgent. "You're still a long way from needing to know all of it."
Hanabi scowled. "That's not an answer."
Neji exhaled slowly, gathering herself. "Most of the rules," she said calmly, "apply when a Hyūga marries outside the clan."
Malik perked up slightly. "Which would be me."
Hinata nodded. "The traditions are meant to protect the clan's bloodline, yes—but also its balance. Outsiders must understand the weight of joining us. The expectations. The responsibility."
Neji's gaze was steady as she spoke, voice firm but not cold. "It means formal acknowledgment by the elders. Acceptance of the clan's values. A vow that the marriage will not endanger the family, politically, socially, or otherwise."
Malik listened without interrupting, expression serious now. When Neji finished, he nodded. "That's reasonable."
Hanabi blinked. "That's it?"
Neji's mouth twitched faintly. "There are… additional rituals."
Malik grinned. "Some of which involve me being judged very intensely in a very quiet room."
Hinata smiled, amused. "Yes."
Hanabi looked between them, suspicious. "And you're just… fine with this."
Malik reached up and laced his fingers with Neji's, squeezing gently. "I'm marrying her," he said simply. "Of course I'm fine with it."
Neji looked down at their joined hands, then back up, eyes sharp but warm. "He understands," she said. "That's why I allow him to stay."
Hanabi scoffed, but there was no real bite in it. She leaned back, arms folded, watching the strange, warm tableau before her, her sister, her cousin, and a man who should not fit into the Hyūga world and yet somehow already did.
Outside, winter pressed on.
Inside, the room held laughter, warmth, and traditions that, once upon a time, had only felt like heavy chains.
Now, they felt like something was being chosen rather than being forced onto someone.
Neji allowed it to go on longer than she should have.
She knew that. She was aware of the clock in her head ticking steadily toward obligation, toward discipline, toward the part of her that did not indulge softness for long. Hanabi needed correction, not coddling. The younger girl's energy had been sharp all morning, restless in that familiar way that came from being strong enough to know you were holding back and proud enough to resent it. Sparring would ground her. It always did.
And yet Malik was still there.
Still warm. Still heavy in that comfortable, irritating way. Still pressed against her like he belonged in the space between her breath and her heartbeat.
Neji shifted, intending to stand.
Malik did not.
He made a small sound instead, content and unrepentant, and tightened his hold just enough to be unmistakable. Not as a grab but Just as a refusal to move.
"No," he murmured into the fabric of her sweater, voice lazy and pleased. "I'm good right here."
Neji's brow twitched. "I've given you plenty of time, now it's time for me to get up," then she added, looking over at Hanabi, "We are sparring."
"Yes," Malik agreed immediately. "You are. I am snuggling."
Hanabi's eye twitched from across the room.
Neji placed a hand on Malik's shoulder and applied pressure, the kind that would make most people rethink their life choices. Malik merely sighed, adjusted his weight, and settled more comfortably.
"Malik," Neji said, tone even, warning threaded carefully through it, "get up."
He tilted his head just enough to look at her, eyes soft, pink-gold gleaming with entirely too much affection. "But you're warm."
"That is not a reason."
"It is an excellent reason."
Neji exhaled slowly through her nose, the way she did when restraining herself from making a scene in front of family. Hanabi crossed her arms tighter, posture stiff, bracing herself for humiliation by association. Hinata, seated quietly nearby, watched with gentle curiosity, already resigned to the idea that whatever happened next would be… unusual.
Neji straightened her spine and spoke with deliberate calm. "If you do not move, I will remove you."
Malik smiled dreamily. "You already tried that."
Hanabi scowled. "Just throw him."
"I could," Neji replied, not taking her eyes off Malik. "But then he'd enjoy it."
"That's true," Malik added cheerfully, "I would love that."
Neji closed her eyes for half a second. When she opened them, she shifted tactics.
"We can snuggle later," she said, precise, measured. "After training."
Malik's expression sharpened immediately. "Promise?"
Neji hesitated. Just barely. Then she leaned down, pressed a brief, deliberate kiss to his forehead, and nodded once. "Yes."
The effect was immediate and catastrophic.
Malik made a small, helpless sound, something between surprise and delight, and went completely slack. His limbs gave out like he'd been unplugged from whatever was keeping him upright, and he slid off her lap in an undignified heap, landing on the tatami with a soft thump and a satisfied grin.
"Worth it," he muttered, eyes half-lidded.
Hanabi stared. "That worked."
Hinata smiled softly, her eyes gentle and understanding. "It usually works and happens that same way every time, and she knows it. Malik's price is simple but... Neji is just too shy to do it in front of others," she explained softly, her voice warm and comforting.
Neji stood smoothly, adjusted her sleeves, and looked down at Malik with the faintest hint of triumph. "Stay," she instructed.
Malik saluted weakly from the floor. "Yes, ma'am."
Hanabi did not comment. She had already lost this battle, and it had nothing to do with sparring.
When Malik asked, a moment later, if Hinata was planning to watch, her answer came easily. Of course she was. She always watched when Neji trained Hanabi, not as an overseer, but as someone who understood the language being spoken through movement and impact. Malik stretched languidly across the floor, joints popping in exaggerated satisfaction, then rose and followed them with the unbothered confidence of someone who assumed he belonged wherever he decided to stand.
The dojo welcomed them with familiar quiet. Polished floors. Open space. The faint, lingering smell of sweaty discipline etched into the air. Malik paused only long enough to summon two large pillows into existence, setting them down side by side near the edge of the mat, then added snacks and warm drinks without comment, already knowing Hinata's preferences. She noticed, of course. She always noticed.
Neji and Hanabi faced each other at the center.
The shift was immediate.
Hanabi's posture straightened, shoulders settling, breath controlled. Neji's presence sharpened, all warmth pulled inward and refined into focus. When Neji nodded once, the signal to begin, Hanabi moved first, fast and direct, palms slicing forward with intent.
Neji deflected without effort, her body rotating smoothly, footwork precise, her counter coming not as punishment but correction. Hanabi adjusted, pushed harder, faster, her strikes crisp, aggressive, driven by pride and frustration both. Neji met her blow for blow, shutting down openings with barely visible taps to Hanabi's arms and legs, forcing Hanabi to rethink every approach.
From the sidelines, Hinata explained quietly, her voice calm and steady, pointing out the flow of chakra, the way Neji anticipated Hanabi's rhythm rather than reacting to it. Malik listened intently, eyes tracking movement with fascination.
"She's very offensive," he murmured, impressed. "Everything is forward. No hesitation."
Hinata nodded. "Hanabi's timing is excellent. She presses. Forces mistakes."
Malik tilted his head as Neji spun, redirected, and landed a clean palm strike that halted Hanabi's momentum completely. "And Neji punishes overcommitment."
"Yes," Hinata said softly. "But… Neji's offense is sharp. Mine is quieter."
Malik glanced at her. "Your defense is better."
Hinata blinked. "Better?"
"You protect," Malik said simply. "You redirect harm away from others. That's harder. And rarer."
Hinata's cheeks warmed faintly. She did not argue.
The spar intensified.
Hanabi stopped holding back.
Her strikes came faster, heavier with chakra, her movements tightening as she pushed her limits. Neji met her with calm authority, correcting, punishing, guiding all at once. It was not cruelty. It was precision. A lesson delivered through impact.
Hiashi arrived midway through, drawn by sound and presence both. Malik greeted him with an easy grin, joking about seeing him twice in one day, earning a look that reminded Malik exactly who he was speaking to. Unfazed, Malik conjured another pillow, asked politely about preferences, and settled the head of the clan beside them like this was the most natural thing in the world.
As the spar reached its peak, Hanabi lunged with everything she had, frustration and pride burning bright. Neji ended it cleanly, a swift sequence of strikes that left Hanabi breathless, off-balance, and kneeling, chest heaving, sweat clinging to her brow.
Malik stood immediately, concern already forming, magic stirring to heal.
Neji caught his wrist.
"No," she said firmly.
Malik paused. "She's hurt."
"She's trained," Neji corrected. "She earned this."
Hanabi looked up, eyes sharp despite exhaustion, and nodded once in agreement.
Neji released Malik's hand, turned back to Hanabi, and gave her a single, approving nod. No praise. No softness. Just acknowledgment.
Then Neji straightened, took Malik's hand again, and addressed the room with calm authority. "We're going to the bathhouse. Do not interrupt us. You'll see us again at dinner."
She glanced at Malik, already half-dragging him away. "You're cooking."
Malik smiled, completely unbothered. "Always."
As they stepped away, Hanabi watched them go, her chest rising and falling, bruised and weary but quietly content. Malik's presence still lingered like a warm glow in the room, and for the first time, she didn't resent it. She understood it. Some traditions bind you, while others, when chosen, hold you together.