Adamo Amet
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Chapter no.7 An Apology Without Words
🕑 Added 2025-02-14 17:52:19 +0000 UTCNaruto walked through the bustling market district of Konoha, his hands stuffed into his pockets, head held high. He could feel the eyes on him—sharp, lingering, hesitant. He knew that look. It was the same one they always gave him.
But today… today was different.
He wasn’t just Naruto anymore. He was Genin Naruto Uzumaki.
He adjusted his headband, making sure the metal plate caught the sunlight, and puffed out his chest. The moment he did, some of the villagers quickly averted their eyes, pretending they weren’t just staring.
He grinned to himself. That’s right, look away. I’m a ninja now.
The market district was lively as ever—stalls lined the streets, packed with fresh produce, weapons, fabrics, and everything in between. Merchants called out their wares, kids ran between their parents’ legs, and shinobi passed through, picking up supplies before heading out on missions.
Ebisu walked beside him, his pace steady, his hands folded neatly behind his back as he navigated the streets with practiced ease. Every so often, he glanced at Naruto, silently observing the way the boy took everything in. The excitement in his eyes, the way he bounced on the balls of his feet, barely able to contain his energy.
“Come along, Naruto,” Ebisu said. “We’re not here to sightsee.”
Naruto pouted but followed as Ebisu led him deeper into the market. They bypassed the busier stalls, heading towards the back where the crowds thinned.
Tucked between a blacksmith’s shop and a scroll vendor stood a shinobi outfitter. Unlike the flashier stores out front, this one had no bright signs or shouting merchants. Its wooden exterior was worn but sturdy, a simple banner hanging above the entrance with the kanji for Shinobi Supplies. The sliding door creaked slightly as Ebisu pushed it open.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of treated leather, metal, and ink from freshly made scrolls. The walls were lined with shelves stacked with everything a ninja could need—kunai, shuriken, sealing tags, wire, smoke bombs, and rows of protective gear. Behind the counter, a middle-aged woman in a dark blue kimono meticulously inspected a set of shin guards, her fingers brushing over the reinforced plating.
The moment she looked up and saw Naruto, her expression shifted—not hostile, but cautious. A quiet tension settled over the shop.
Naruto noticed. He always noticed.
But before he could say anything, Ebisu stepped forward, his posture unwavering. “We’re here for standard genin equipment,” he said smoothly, placing a list on the counter. “And perhaps a few extras.”
“Of course. Please wait a moment.”
Naruto wandered toward the gear, his fingers brushing over the hilts of kunai and the cool metal of throwing stars. Everything here was real. Not the blunt, half-rusted practice weapons from the Academy, but the kind that shinobi carried into battle.
He reached for a kunai, testing its weight in his palm.
“That jacket’s seen better days.”
Naruto’s head snapped up.
Two shinobi near the back of the shop were chatting, both throwing quick glances in his direction. Their voices were low, but Naruto had spent his whole life listening to people whisper about him.
“Look at that thing,” one of them murmured. “Looks like it barely fits him anymore.”
“Probably the only thing he’s got,” the other replied, shaking his head.
Naruto stiffened. His fingers clenched around the kunai handle.
He didn’t care.
…Except he did.
He liked his jacket. Yeah, it was a little worn out. Yeah, the sleeves were kinda short now. But it was his.
Still, the words stuck to him like burrs, irritating and impossible to ignore.
Ebisu’s eyes flickered toward the shinobi in the back. Then to Naruto. Then to the jacket.
He sighed.
“Come along, Naruto,” he said, leading him out of the store.
“Huh? What about the stuff—“
“We’ll return for it,” Ebisu assured him, already steering him towards another shop.
Naruto followed without protest, which in itself was unusual. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his head slightly lowered—not in the usual defiance, but something closer to… shame.
It was only when they stepped outside that Naruto muttered, “I’m sorry, sensei.”
Ebisu stopped.
His gaze flickered down to the boy, who wasn’t meeting his eyes.
“What are you talking about?”
Naruto swallowed. “Those two ninjas… I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”
Ebisu froze.
That wasn’t what he expected.
Naruto, for all his loudmouth antics and brash declarations, had noticed. He had picked up on the shift, the tension in the room, the way those shinobi had looked down on him. And even worse—he had internalized it.
For a moment, Ebisu didn’t know what to say.
Because, in all honesty? He had been affected by those comments.
He had let what those shinobi said get to him.
He had let his own pride—his own obsession with maintaining an image—dictate his actions. That was why he had dragged Naruto out of there. Not for Naruto’s sake, but for his own. Because a part of him—however small, however quiet—had worried about what he looked like, standing next to a boy in a ratty jacket.
And that wasn’t fair.
Ebisu exhaled slowly, then crouched down until he was at Naruto’s eye level.
“Listen to me, Naruto,” he said. “People will always have something to say. Because they have nothing better to do. But you didn’t embarrass me. If anything, those two idiots embarrassed themselves—commenting on a child’s clothes like that.”
Naruto looked up at him, eyes wide with surprise.
Ebisu adjusted his glasses, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Then again, I suppose some people never outgrow the need to gossip.”
“So… you’re not mad?”
“Not at you, no.”
Naruto furrowed his brows. “Then why are we outside?”
Ebisu opened his mouth—then hesitated.
Because the real answer wasn’t something he was particularly proud of.
He had intended to get Naruto new clothes because he had felt self-conscious. Because he had wanted to separate himself from the boy’s image.
But now, standing here, looking at Naruto—really looking at him—he realized that wasn’t the reason anymore.
The reason was simple.
Naruto deserved better.
Ebisu straightened, clearing his throat. “Well, I was…” He paused, considering his words carefully. “Going to surprise you with the fact that we are also buying civilian clothes.”
“Really?”
Ebisu nodded. “A shinobi’s wardrobe isn’t just about utility. You should have options—both for the field and for yourself.”
Naruto stared at him, processing the words. And then, for the first time in the conversation, a small, genuine smile broke across his face.
“…That’s pretty cool, sensei.”
Ebisu huffed. “I am a very competent instructor, you know.”
Naruto snickered. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.”
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The moment Naruto stepped into the clothing shop, he knew he didn’t belong.
It was too clean, too quiet—the kind of place where rich kids with parents came to buy clothes that actually fit them. The kind of place where someone like him—a loudmouthed orphan in a beat-up jacket—usually got the side-eye until he left.
And sure enough, the shopkeeper’s polite smile faltered the second he noticed Naruto. His eyes flickered to Ebisu, wary but still doubtful.
“Ah… may I help you?”
Ebisu didn’t hesitate. “Chūnin Ebisu, future jōnin,” he stated, his tone even and commanding. “This is my student, and we will be purchasing multiple outfits today. I assume a civilian shop would have no issue serving the protectors of this village?”
The shopkeeper hesitated. Naruto could see the moment the guy wanted to turn them away—but Ebisu’s presence made that impossible.
“Ah… of course, sir,” the man said, swallowing his reluctance. “Please, take your time.”
Naruto barely stopped himself from smirking. Yeah, that’s right. Now you gotta sell me stuff, old man.
Still, the moment they moved deeper into the store, Naruto’s bravado slipped away, replaced by something else entirely.
There were so many clothes.
Bright blues, deep reds, crisp whites—even softer shades of orange. Not the loud, neon kind, but richer tones, warmer hues. There were jackets lined with fur, high-collared hoodies, soft cotton shirts, pants that weren’t worn out or patched up like his. He had never seen this many options before—at least, not for him.
Ebisu, without hesitation, began selecting items. He pulled a practical blue hoodie with a high collar, a deep red jacket lined with black, simple yet comfortable shirts, and sturdy pants meant for movement. The kind of things a shinobi could wear both in and out of the field.
Naruto stared at it all, overwhelmed. He wanted this—he really wanted this. But then, guilt crept in. This is too much.
“Sensei… this is too much,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t even—“
“It’s not too much. It’s what you deserve.”
Naruto froze.
He had never heard those words before.
His throat tightened, and for a second, he didn’t know what to do with the feeling pressing against his chest. So, instead, he focused on something else—something important.
And then he saw it.
A frog wallet.
Bright green, with beady little eyes and a goofy stitched-on mouth.
“Sensei!” Naruto gasped, grabbing it. “Look! It’s a frog! It even has a little button for a tongue!” He clutched it to his chest, grinning wide. “Can I get this?”
Ebisu sighed through his nose, adjusting his glasses. “Yes, Naruto. You can get the frog wallet.”
Naruto cheered.
“Now listen closely,” Ebisu said, crossing his arms. “This will be your first lesson—the art of haggling.”
“Oh man, I’m gonna be so good at this.”
Ebisu exhaled, already bracing himself for what was about to happen.
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Ebisu walked at a steady pace, hands behind his back, the weight of the shopping bags barely noticeable. Naruto bounced beside him, grinning from ear to ear, the frog wallet clutched tightly in one hand.
“You’re the best sensei ever.”
That was what Naruto had said to him. So simple. So childishly sincere. And yet, it had lodged itself in Ebisu’s mind, lingering like a stubborn ember refusing to fade.
He wouldn’t deny it—before meeting the boy, he had his reservations. Whether it was due to the warnings passed down about the Kyuubi’s vessel or the countless rumors of Naruto’s antics, Ebisu had carried an internal bias. He had expected a nuisance, a problem child with no discipline, no patience, no future as a shinobi.
Someone who he needed to tolerate for the sake of his promotion.
And yet…
Naruto wasn’t any of those things.
Yes, he was loud, impatient, and prone to outbursts, but he was also sharp in ways people failed to notice. He picked up on things others assumed would fly over his head—the tension in a room, the meaning behind someone’s glance, the shift in someone’s tone. He might not always understand why people treated him differently, but he felt it. Every single time.
And that was why, when Naruto had lowered his head and apologized for embarrassing him earlier, it had struck Ebisu harder than he wanted to admit.
The boy had expected to be an inconvenience. He had expected disappointment.
That was his reality.
And Ebisu had fed into it, however unintentionally.
His grip tightened on the bag of Naruto’s new shinobi gear. He had initially bought so many civilian clothes as a silent apology, but now, he realized it was more than that.
It wasn’t just guilt. It wasn’t just duty.
It was something deeper.
Something that made Ebisu feel like more than just a chūnin following orders.
He looked down at Naruto, who was now talking animatedly to himself about what he was going to buy next with his mission money.
Ebisu had underestimated this boy. He had dismissed him before even meeting him.
That ended today.
From now on, Naruto wasn’t just a stepping stone in Ebisu’s career. He wasn’t just a way to prove himself to the higher-ups.
Naruto was his student.
And Ebisu… Ebisu was going to be the sensei he deserved.
Comments
Vick
This Naruto didn't even need to make a speech for the Talk-no-jutsu
