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[NNSS] Chapter : 22
🕑 Added 2025-09-28 09:26:59 +0000 UTCKonoha’s streets glowed softly in the embrace of twilight.
The air was thick with the aromas of dinner drifting from countless homes, mingling with the fresh scent of greenery carried on the evening breeze. Roshi led the two down a quieter alley, stopping before a shop marked by an indigo-blue curtain.
The fabric bore an old-style character for “pot,” embroidered in white thread. From within came a warm yellow glow and faint, sweet steam that curled lazily into the night air.
When Roshi pushed the curtain aside, a rich fragrance—soy sauce, sugar, mirin, and the savory fat of prime beef—washed over them like a welcoming embrace.
The dining area inside was small, its natural wood furnishings softened by cushions around low tables. Only a handful of customers spoke in subdued tones, giving the room a hushed, intimate atmosphere. Unlike the noisy bustle of a yakiniku joint, this place radiated the simple, homely comfort of hot pot cuisine.
“Welcome.” The proprietress, clad in a plain kimono, greeted them with a gentle smile before leading them to a table tucked at the back. Embedded in its center was a black clay pot atop a small gas stove.
“Sukiyaki for three,” Roshi ordered smoothly, his eyes sliding to Anko and Itachi. “That alright?” He already knew their taste for sweeter flavors.
Anko’s eager nod came instantly, her eyes locked on the menu. “Yes, yes, of course!” she exclaimed.
Itachi only offered a quiet “hmm,” though the faint anticipation in his eyes betrayed his calm front. The homely air of the shop gave him an unusual sense of ease.
“Special selection beef, tofu, konjac noodles, shiitake and enoki mushrooms, shungiku, leeks, and Ise Udon,” Roshi continued, rattling off the sides without hesitation. “One raw egg each for dipping.”
The proprietress nodded cheerfully and disappeared toward the kitchen.
Soon, the clay pot was set before them, filled with a glossy dark-brown broth. The stove hissed to life, blue flames licking the bottom as tiny bubbles broke the surface. The sweet aroma thickened, curling upward in steamy tendrils.
Then came the side dishes: thin slices of marbled wagyu, frosted with veins of fat; soft white cubes of tofu; translucent-gray konjac noodles; plump shiitake caps, slender enoki, crisp greens, and diagonally cut leeks. Alongside them, three bowls of beaten raw egg gleamed pale gold.
As the broth reached a rolling boil, Roshi used long chopsticks to lower several slices of beef into the pot. The meat curled almost instantly, pink giving way to a deeper shade as fat melted into the broth, layering the air with an even richer aroma.
“Eat the meat first,” Roshi instructed.
Anko hardly needed telling. She snatched up a glistening slice, dipped it swiftly into the egg, and popped it into her mouth. The tender beef melted across her tongue, the silky egg mellowing the sweetness of the broth into something decadent. She closed her eyes with a muffled sigh.
“Mmm… this sweetness is amazing! And the beef—unbelievably tender!”
Itachi followed, slower but precise. He dipped his beef, then tasted. The umami of the meat, the smooth egg, and the sweet-savory broth blended seamlessly, warmth spreading through him. He chewed with quiet focus, though his pace betrayed enjoyment. Behind the rising steam, his eyes softened.
Roshi watched their satisfaction before tasting for himself. The meat was rich, its sweetness drawn out by mirin—but his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He washed it down with a sip of tea. For hot pot, he still preferred a clear broth… or something with spice.
The proprietress returned with the last of the vegetables and the thick strands of Ise Udon. Her smile deepened at the sight of them leaning into the bubbling pot.
“Three guests, all dishes are here. Please enjoy.”
“Thank you.” Roshi inclined his head, then asked casually, “You seem busy tonight. Is something special happening?”
The woman’s smile grew warmer. “Thanks to customers like you, business is steady. But these past few days—yes, the mood in the village is lighter.”
She lowered her voice, sharing the news as if it were a gift. “Everyone’s saying Kumogakure is finally sending an official delegation… for peace talks.”
Her eyes shone. “After so many years of fighting, people finally feel there’s hope. Families are coming out again, eating together.” She gestured toward several tables where children laughed quietly beside their parents.
Peace talks? Roshi’s chopsticks stilled in midair. That such news had already reached ordinary shopkeepers…
“Delegation?” Anko mumbled around a mouthful of broth-soaked shiitake, her words muffled. “Is that news really true? Those Kumogakure shinobi weren’t exactly the gentle type before.”
“True, true!” A woman seated nearby, dining with her child, couldn’t resist joining in. Her expression brimmed with hopeful anticipation.
“My husband does odd jobs in the administration office—he heard it firsthand! They say the delegation is high-ranking, led by one of the Raikage’s closest confidants. With someone like that heading the group, they can’t possibly be coming to fight. They must truly want peace!”
She gently patted her child’s head, voice softening. “If the war could really end… children might grow up in peace.”
“Yes… peace is worth more than anything.” An elderly diner at another table gave a weary sigh. “Too much blood has already been spilled on the border.”
For a moment, the small dining room filled with quiet hopes and wistful murmurs, the clinking of chopsticks softened by the rising steam from simmering broth. Then, like smoke dispersing, the conversations shifted back to food and family, and the proprietress returned to her other customers.
“Kumogakure…” Anko swallowed, licking sweet sauce from the corner of her lips. Her playful expression faded, replaced by the sharp scrutiny of a kunoichi. “The Raikage’s confidant leading the talks? That’s a bold move. Makes me wonder what their real game is.”
“It’s the natural course,” Roshi replied evenly, dropping a perfectly soaked tofu cube onto Itachi’s plate. “Kumogakure can’t win outright. Peace talks are their only road forward. As for sincerity…” His gaze lingered on the bubbling pot. “Words don’t matter. It’s what they do after—and the price they’re willing to pay—that tells the truth.”
Itachi quietly ate the tofu, tender and saturated with sweet-savory broth. His dark eyes studied Roshi’s calm profile. Despite losing comrades in border skirmishes, Roshi’s voice carried no particular bitterness toward the Hidden Cloud.
Anko puffed her cheeks, uninterested in such practical talk. “Bah, forget it. Why think so hard?” Her attention darted back to the pot. “These konjac noodles—after soaking in the broth—they’re heavenly! Owner, another order of konjac noodles!”
“And four more plates of beef,” Roshi added, matter-of-fact. Shinobi appetites were not to be underestimated.
Outside, the lamps of Konoha glowed against the deepening blue of twilight. Inside, warmth radiated from the clay pot, filling the shop with the sweet comfort of simmering broth. The three sat together, sharing food and silence, the rich flavors easing the day’s fatigue and washing away the tension of training.
Anko leaned back at last, sighing in contentment, one hand on her stomach. Itachi set down his chopsticks and sipped his tea, his movements quiet, composed.
Roshi took a long sip from his own cup. His eyes drifted, noting Anko’s faded mesh top, its black almost gray at the seams, the cuffs fraying from use. Beside her, Itachi wore a neat dark-blue uniform—plain, functional, the standard attire of his clan.
“Full?” Roshi set his teacup down, his voice cutting through the post-meal quiet. “Good. While we still have time.” He rose to his feet.
“The team just formed. As captain, I should make some kind of gesture.”
Anko and Itachi exchanged puzzled glances.
“Let’s go buy a few things,” Roshi said casually, as though he were planning their next training exercise. His lips curved faintly. “Captain’s gifts. No refusing allowed.”
