Days later, when they crossed paths in the quiet corridor of the Hokage Building, Itachi's gaze lingered on Roshi.
"Your complexion isn't very good, Senpai," he said softly, eyes noting the faint shadows beneath Roshi's eyes.
"Yeah… training." Roshi rubbed his temples, barely stifling a yawn. "The money's in. Let's head to Yakiniku Q—we can eat and split it there."
Itachi, already used to Roshi's ways, had told his mother beforehand and followed without hesitation.
The pair slipped into the evening bustle, the streets alive with chatter and the warm glow of lanterns. The smell of grilled meat wafted from nearby stalls. Roshi hummed an off-key tune as he walked ahead, Itachi trailing half a step behind.
For Itachi, there was something oddly soothing in these moments. Around Roshi, there were no probing eyes dissecting him as a "genius," no suffocating weight of expectation—just the simple feeling of being an ordinary kid.
The barbecue shop was overflowing with energy.
Pork belly hit the grill with a sharp sizzle, fat dripping onto hot coals, sending up sparks. Roshi snatched a slice as its edges charred to golden crispness, dunked it in dark sauce, and popped it into his mouth without hesitation.
The hot juices burst across his tongue, mingling with savory richness. For a moment, the exhaustion of days of training melted away in that taste.
"Hoo…" He exhaled with satisfaction, eyes narrowing in pleasure. Then, without thinking, he dropped another perfectly grilled slice onto Itachi's plate. "Eat more—you're still growing."
"Are you working on a new Ninjutsu, Senpai?" Itachi asked, glancing at the steaming meat before him.
"Something like that. But it's not going too well," Roshi admitted vaguely, picking up another piece for himself. "What about you? What've you been practicing?"
"Taijutsu, Ninjutsu, shuriken training." Itachi lifted his chopsticks. "With a senpai from the clan."
"Uchiha Shisui?"
Itachi's chopsticks paused almost imperceptibly. His dark eyes flicked up to Roshi. "you know Shisui?"
"Besides you—the fastest graduate in a generation—his name is the most prominent in the Uchiha," Roshi replied calmly, sipping his barley tea. "I've heard of him, though we've never met."
Several rounds of meat later, the gnawing emptiness in their stomachs was replaced by warmth and satisfaction. Roshi dabbed his mouth with a napkin and leaned forward.
"The reward's confirmed. That Sand shinobi's scroll contained about ten million ryō…"
The number hung heavy in the air. For an ordinary Chūnin, that sum was more than a lifetime's earnings.
"Senpai," Itachi set down his chopsticks, eyes clear and steady, "why did that Sand Ninja betray his village?"
Roshi didn't answer immediately. Instead, he countered: "What do you think a village is?"
Itachi considered carefully before giving the academy answer. "A place where shinobi live, take missions, and protect each other."
Roshi nodded, though his gaze shifted to the city lights beyond the window. "At first, Konoha was nothing more than a settlement—born when Senju and Uchiha set aside their blood feud."
"When the two strongest clans in the world clasped hands, side by side…" He tapped the table lightly with his chopsticks. "The other families in the Land of Fire had no choice. No clan could stand alone against such an alliance. For survival, they had to join Konoha."
Itachi straightened unconsciously, listening intently.
The glorious history he'd heard in the academy now sounded stripped bare. Through Roshi's calm words, the founding of Konoha wasn't a tale of ideals—it was survival, driven by power and necessity.
"When most of the Land of Fire's clans gathered under one banner," Roshi continued, "the village naturally became the nation's strongest military force. Even the Daimyō's court couldn't play shinobi against each other as easily as during the Warring Clans era."
A thick cut of meat dripped fat onto the coals, sizzling loudly, smoke curling upward.
"So, at its beginning," Roshi's gaze returned to Itachi, "the village was a platform. A way for clans to work together under rules that offered protection… and competition."
"Back then, Konoha was nothing more than a fragile alliance—a dozen families huddled together against the cold."
His eyes sharpened. "Until the Senju Clan voluntarily disbanded. Until the village began drawing in orphans, wanderers, and shinobi without clan ties. And when the Second Hokage founded the ANBU…" He paused, weighing his words. "That's when the Village gained power of its own. Power no longer tied entirely to the clans. Power that belonged only to the Village."
Outside the private room, the footsteps of a server carrying a tray faded into the distance, leaving a brief silence in their wake.
"This transition was crucial." Roshi's voice dropped, steady and deliberate. "The Village was no longer just a gathering of clans. Once the pressure of survival eased, suppressed desires began to surface. Individual pursuits, hidden beneath the collective, emerged—and some of those…" He lifted his teacup, gazing at the amber liquid inside, "…were bound to clash with the Village as a whole."
The rising smoke from the grill curled between them, half-hiding their faces.
"Senpai, you once said being a shinobi is just a job," Itachi pressed quietly. "Then… how do you view rogue ninja?"
Roshi's expression did not waver. "Under normal circumstances? Enemies. Because within the system of the Hidden Villages, shinobi are restrained. They cannot casually slaughter civilians."
He dipped a piece of charred meat into the sauce, the oil shimmering under the light. "That restraint allows farmers to till their fields, merchants to run shops, families to live their lives. It keeps violence contained, lets economies grow, and makes simple pleasures like this—" he gestured at the table full of food and the sizzling grill, "—possible."
"As for rogue ninja, like that one from Suna…" Roshi's tone hardened. "He left his village for what he thought was a better life. On the surface, it sounds harmless. But in truth—" a dry chuckle escaped him, the smile not reaching his eyes.
"That was just a cautious Chūnin, too wary of the Village's strength to go wild. But if we faced someone without restraint, who trampled human lives without a second thought…"
He paused, taking a sip of tea. His Adam's apple rose and fell as he swallowed.
"I only want to eat in peace," he said evenly, setting the cup down with a crisp tap. "If anyone insists on ruining that… then, within my limits, I will stop them."
Itachi listened without a word, his small fingers absently tracing the rim of his teacup, feeling the faint ridges of the ceramic.
"Senpai," he finally spoke, voice softer still, "do you think the village system can maintain this order… forever?"
Roshi's gaze shifted toward the window.
Outside, dusk had settled. The streets of Konoha glowed under lantern light, shadows of families and shopkeepers moving across the roads. "No system is perfect, Itachi," he said at last.
"What matters is whether it creates something better than what came before. And the Hidden Village system…"
He drew his eyes back to the boy across from him. "It ended the Warring Clans era. It stopped clans from tearing each other apart without end. In that sense, it is better."
Roshi tapped his chopsticks against the table, slow and deliberate. "The Village gave shinobi something new—a sense of belonging, a place they could call 'home.' But with that came new restrictions… and new contradictions."
"Every system carries contradictions. Some can't ever be erased. A shinobi's personal ambitions will always clash with the village's needs. Clan traditions will always rub against the village's unified will. These conflicts can't be avoided. They can only be balanced—generation after generation."
"Then… Senpai," Itachi asked cautiously, "does that mean a powerful clan should not exist within the Village?"
"Not exactly." Roshi shook his head. "The village still needs clans. Especially those with unique bloodline limits. Families like that are the most effective way to protect and pass down those powers."
He reached for a lettuce leaf, wrapping it around a piece of grilled meat. "In fact, clans lighten the village's burden. They nurture special talents, safeguard secret techniques, and act as buffers. Without them, gifted shinobi might come into sharper conflict with the village's rules."
His voice dropped, calm yet firm. "But a clan's power must never grow greater than the village's. Never above it. Because…"
He glanced at the glowing coals, at the hiss of fat dripping into fire. "In the mountains of corpses and seas of blood of the last three wars, it wasn't only the great clans who carried the Village. Many of its saviors were nameless shinobi, born without any bloodline or legacy. It was their sacrifices—the countless, ordinary lives—that allowed Konoha to stand and endure."
Itachi lowered his head. On his plate lay the slice of grilled meat Roshi had placed there earlier, now cooled, its sheen dulled under the warm yellow light.
In the silence that followed, only the faint crackle of burning charcoal filled the private room, blending with distant laughter and chatter from beyond the walls.