Chapter 60 – Fish Soup
The early-morning sea breeze, briny and damp, tried to slip into Tazuna's rather run-down house, only to be driven away by a rich, mouth-watering fragrance.
The aroma seemed alive, flowing through every corner of the room and drifting into the nose of Asuma, who was dozing at Kurenai's bedside.
"Smells amazing!"
Asuma grunted himself awake, the enticing scent dispelling every trace of sleep.
He rubbed his tired eyes and, following the fragrance, shuffled unsteadily toward the kitchen.
At the kitchen doorway an unexpected scene met his eyes.
The boy Asuma remembered for his ever-bright smile—Uzumaki Naruto—was now focused at the crude stove.
In a simple clay pot atop it, creamy-white broth rolled and bubbled; freshly caught sea-fish and seasonings Naruto had brought bobbed in the soup, sending out a fragrance that made one's mouth water.
"It's Naruto!"
Asuma's voice was openly surprised.
He found it hard to reconcile this composed, homey teenager with the rumored "nine-tails incarnation" or the fierce fighter of the battlefield.
This rapidly growing kid actually possessed such culinary skill?
"Asuma-sensei."
Naruto greeted him while sprinkling in the last pinch of spices.
The aroma of the fish soup grew even richer.
"I stewed some fish soup—please take it to Kurenai-sensei to help her recover."
Naruto ladled a full bowl and held it out to Asuma.
Asuma started, warmth surging in his chest as he looked at the delicious soup.
"Thanks, I will."
He accepted the bowl solemnly, the steam clouding his sight.
The fragrance lingered; Naruto's smile stirred memories of years past.
He recalled returning to Konoha after resigning from the Twelve Guardian Ninja—how whispers and slander had trailed him like venomous snakes through the streets.
"That kid's a demon fox," "a monster," "stay away"… Though the Old Man—the Third Hokage—had crushed the rumors the moment they arose, the seeds of malice had already sprouted in the villagers' hearts.
Asuma lowered his head, staring into the milky broth, feelings churning: 'This child… growing up amid such slander and rejection, tasting only cold shoulders and loneliness, yet still keeping such pure kindness and sunshine…'
'His road has been anything but easy!'
"Naruto."
When Asuma spoke again his voice carried a faint rasp, moved by that kindness and resolve.
He inhaled and pledged, "When the mission ends, I'll treat you to barbecue."
Naruto hadn't expected it; he blinked, golden strands dancing in the morning light slipping through the cracked window.
Then a brilliant smile, bright as the rising sun, lit his face and swept the last gloom from the kitchen.
"It's a deal!"
His clear, lively voice rang out.
Asuma nodded, said no more, and carefully carried the bowl—filled with Naruto's kindness and his own emotions—hurrying toward Kurenai's room.
Watching the broad back disappear round the corner, Naruto's smile lingered; he turned to stir the remaining soup, letting the fragrance spread evenly.
Soon the enticing aroma acted like an alarm clock, rousing his sleeping teammates.
To their surprise, in the center of the formerly empty dining area now stood a brand-new table, smelling of fresh wood shavings.
Matching wooden bowls, plates and spoons were neatly laid out, edges polished silky-smooth—no splinters anywhere.
Even more striking, at Naruto's waist hung a sturdy wooden sword, its hilt carved with the red spiral pattern that adorned Kakashi's flak jacket.
Kakashi leaned against the doorframe, understanding and deeper curiosity flickering in his single visible eye.
He had sensed Naruto briefly slip beyond his perception at dawn; he hadn't expected this short outing to produce all this.
Superb woodworking plus that amazing culinary talent… the secrets and skills of this student never ended.
"Naruto, you made all this this morning?"
Ino exclaimed, fingers gliding over the flawlessly smooth tabletop.
"Mm."
Naruto nodded, sounding as if it were nothing special.
"There wasn't even a decent table, so I knocked together some furniture."
Sasuke silently hefted a bowl—its weight and feel were perfect; such craftsmanship was hardly "knocked together."
Hinata, cheeks pink, whispered, "Naruto-kun… amazing…"
Even the usually calm Shino nudged his glasses and murmured to Kiba, "Though it may sound improper, I really wish Naruto had been in our squad."
The remark drew agreement from Shikamaru, Ino and the rest—who wouldn't want such a reliable, all-capable teammate?
Naruto cheerfully invited everyone to sit; sunlight streamed through the window and crowned his blond hair with a warm halo.
In that misty dawn, a simple breakfast warmed them all from the bottom of their hearts.
"Smells great!"
A child's voice piped up: a skinny seven- or eight-year-old boy stood at the door, eyes fixed on the food; his clothes were not old.
Before anyone could answer, Tazuna rushed over white-faced, yanked the boy into his arms and hissed in panic, "Inari! Who told you to come out? Don't disturb the adults while they eat!"
His terrified gaze swept across the Ninjas at the table, especially the silver-haired Jonin Kakashi whose icy stare yesterday still haunted him.
These people were not ones a mere civilian could offend.
Inari, held by his grandfather, pouted, tears brimming, yet his eyes stayed on the fish soup.
Naruto watched silently, saying nothing.
He deftly took a new wooden bowl, ladled fish soup, then walked calmly toward the child by the door.
Seeing Naruto approach, Tazuna backed away in fright, stammering, "N-Ninja-sama…"
"Let the child have it."
Naruto handed the bowl to Inari, tone calm and gentle.
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