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***
**Chapter 29: Drunk**
Kakashi picked up the potatoes again, silently and efficiently peeling and chopping them, as if that heavy promise in the kitchen had never happened. Rubik returned to his usual brisk efficiency, flipping the spatula deftly as an enticing aroma soon filled the entire house.
"Dinner's ready!" Rubik called out, and the lively chatter in the living room immediately shifted to the table.
Naruto was the first to charge over, his eyes sparkling at the colorful, mouthwatering dishes:
"Wow! It smells amazing! Rubik bro is the best!"
Sasuke, though still silent, put away his training stance and quietly sat at the table. Sakura followed close behind, her gaze flickering between Sasuke and the food. Jiraiya stroked his chin with an approving nod:
"Hmm, not bad, kid. You've got a bit of my style."
"Old perv, quit patting yourself on the back. Every time we've traveled together, who's the one cooking? And now you're bragging here!"
"Brat, give your master some face..."
Kakashi sauntered over leisurely, his copy of *Icha Icha Paradise* already open in hand, as if the kitchen moment had been nothing but an illusion.
The dinner table buzzed with energy. Naruto shoveled food into his mouth while still obsessing over his goal, mumbling through a stuffed cheeks:
"Perverted sage! Burp... You promised to teach me some super awesome ninjutsu! The Chunin Exams are coming up—I gotta beat Sasuke! Burp... And that guy with the gourd!"
Jiraiya rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Brat, can't you shut up while eating? We'll talk about ninjutsu after dinner!"
"No way! Tell me now!" Naruto kept up his relentless pestering.
Sasuke, sitting across from him, set down his chopsticks and fixed Kakashi with a sharp gaze. "Kakashi."
His voice was calm but carried an undeniable seriousness. "I need special training too. Not just to pass the Chunin Exams—I have to get stronger."
His goal was always that man.
Kakashi peered over his book with dead-fish eyes:
"Hm? Oh, got it. After dinner."
Sakura sat beside Sasuke, watching both boys push to grow stronger. Her eyes dimmed for a moment as she silently picked at her rice. She wanted to get stronger too, to stop being the one protected—but seeing Naruto and Sasuke's drive made her feel a twinge of helplessness.
Rubik ate quietly, taking in everyone's reactions: Naruto's noisiness, Sasuke's determination, Sakura's disappointment, Jiraiya's exasperation, Kakashi's nonchalance. He finished his portion quickly yet elegantly, then headed to the kitchen.
Moments later, he returned with a neatly packed bento box.
"I'm stepping out for a bit," he said casually to the group at the table.
"Huh? Where are you going, Rubik bro? Is there dessert?" Naruto popped his head up from the food.
"Meeting a friend." Rubik waved it off without further explanation and left the Naruto household, leaving the noisy bunch behind.
Konoha's night had deepened, the moonlight cold and clear. Rubik carried the bento box, following the note's directions to a courtyard—the home of Senju Momoki. He knocked.
After a moment, the door opened. Senju Momoki stood there, fresh from a bath, wearing a loosely tied bathrobe. Her damp black hair cascaded freely, strands clinging to her pale neck.
The robe's collar gaped slightly, revealing delicate collarbones and faint curves. She exuded a lazy, aloof aura, mingled with post-bath steam and a subtle, unique fragrance. Under the dim entryway light, she seemed distant yet silently alluring.
Leaning against the doorframe, her striking eyes flicked over the warm bento in Rubik's hand before settling on his face. Her voice carried a faint huskiness from the bath:
"Have you decided? If you want to... you can come in now."
She stepped aside, her gaze drifting meaningfully toward the bedroom, her posture lazy and direct.
Rubik didn't enter right away. Instead, he stood at the threshold and thrust the warm bento box into her arms.
Momoki caught it instinctively, the heat seeping through her thin silk robe, making her pause. She glanced down at the box, then back up at him. A rare flicker of genuine confusion crossed her usually distant, cool eyes:
"...A bento? What's this mean?"
She couldn't figure out what this unpredictable, enigmatic guy wanted, showing up late at night with food.
Rubik shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged, his tone casual as ever but minus the usual playfulness:
"Nothing much. You're one of the few in Konoha I can call an 'acquaintance.'" He paused, glancing past her into the quiet house.
"The house was full of rowdy folks today—pretty lively. I just thought..."
He met her eyes. "If you're eating alone, no one's keeping you company, right? So I came to join you."
Without waiting for her response—or minding the stunned bewilderment freezing her face—Rubik brushed past her as if it were the most natural thing, heading straight for the dining table. "What're you standing there for? Come eat before it gets cold."
Momoki stood rooted, clutching the still-warm bento that carried the heat of Rubik's palm. Her body stiffened under the bathrobe. She watched his back as moonlight and lamplight intertwined on him.
"No one's keeping you company" and "came to join you" echoed in her ears—a plain, almost simple kindness she hadn't felt in ages.
This hit her harder than his sudden advances before. A crack formed in her cool, seductive mask. She stared down at the bento, fingers absently tracing its smooth surface, speechless.
After a few dazed seconds, Momoki closed the door softly and followed him to the table, where he'd already sat. She set the bento down, untied it to reveal neatly arranged home-cooked dishes, steam rising with an inviting aroma.
Rubik had set out two place settings and gestured for her to sit. They ate facing each other in silence. The mood felt delicate—lacking her usual probing distance or his typical irreverence. Only the soft clink of chopsticks echoed in the quiet dining room.
"How's the taste?" Rubik asked casually after a while, breaking the quiet as he picked up some food.
Momoki chewed slowly, glanced at him, then looked down. Her voice was flat:
"Not bad."
Rubik's lips curved faintly. He said nothing more. When they'd nearly finished, he pulled a small, elegant porcelain bottle from a sealed scroll like a magician, its surface adorned with refined floral patterns.
"After-dinner sip. Helps with sleep." He slid it across the table.
Momoki's eyes landed on it, her brows furrowing in undisguised disdain:
"Alcohol? One of the ninja's three prohibitions. I don't drink."
Her tone held a shinobi's rigid caution, as if the bottle contained poison.
"Relax," Rubik said leisurely, pouring himself a cup. The pale pink liquid swirled, releasing a sweet fruity scent. "It's fruit wine I brewed—low alcohol, basically juice. Besides..."
He raised his glass, peering at her through the misty vapor with a mischievous glint:
"Don't forget your 'mission.' What if... you get me drunk? Easy win for you. Perfect chance."
He emphasized "mission." Momoki tensed almost imperceptibly. She eyed the tempting pink liquid and his confident smile. He was goading her, offering a convenient excuse. Alcohol *was* a tool for certain missions.
She wavered inwardly. Logic screamed refusal, but his words tempted her—"get him drunk," "complete the mission." And that fruity aroma was irresistible...
Professional instinct and a flicker of curiosity won out over rigid rules. She pressed her lips, grabbed the bottle, and poured herself a cup with a touch of reckless abandon:
"...Just one."
Rubik raised his glass with a grin. "As you like."
At first, Momoki sipped warily. The fruit wine was sweet and refreshing, bursting with floral-fruit notes—no real burn. But after a few cups, she felt it: a warm glow rising from her stomach, spreading through her limbs, her head growing fuzzy as the world softened with a hazy glow. Red flush bloomed on her pale cheeks, creeping to her delicate earlobes.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe she thought the moment was "ripe." Under the table, her legs—pale and faintly visible beneath the white floral bathrobe—grew restless.
Her dainty toes curled and uncurled on the wooden floor. Then, one silk-sheathed foot extended lazily, like a curious kitten, gently nudging Rubik's calf.
Rubik's hand holding the cup didn't waver, as if oblivious. Emboldened, the foot slid up his inner calf with clumsy, feigned-drunk teasing, aiming higher toward his sensitive thigh.
Just as the cool, impossibly soft toe neared the danger zone, Rubik's free hand shot down like lightning, clamping her ankle!
"Ah—!" A sharp yelp shattered the drunken, flirtatious haze. Momoki jerked back like she'd been scalded, but his grip was ironclad. With wicked amusement, he even rubbed his thumb against the tenderest spot on her inner ankle.
The sudden jolt mixed with the shame of being caught made her shudder, sobering her a bit as her blush deepened. She met his eyes—full of playful mischief, screaming: "Nice act, but your performance sucks."
Her calculated seduction froze. The ruse was up.
Momoki's face shifted from shocked embarrassment to icy detachment. She yanked her foot free, stuffing it awkwardly back under her robe as if it had never happened.
Avoiding his gaze, she grabbed her cup to hide her fluster, downed the rest in one go, and slammed it down with a "thunk." She refilled it from the bottle and chugged again, like she had a grudge against the wine.
Rubik watched her "screw it all" drinking with a raised brow but didn't call her out. He topped off his own cup and sipped slowly.
The sharp (to her) liquid mixed with fruit notes burned down her throat, cup after cup. She'd meant to drown the awkwardness, steel her nerves, or dull him—but she'd underestimated the "juice's" kick and overestimated her tolerance.
As the small bottle neared empty, a fierce dizziness hit. Rubik doubled into blurry shadows; her head felt stuffed with warm cotton, thoughts sluggish and heavy.
*Oh no...* Momoki's heart sank, her fingers trembling on the table. This time, she knew: she was *really* drunk.
***