NoviceAuthor
patreon
[NNSS] Chapter : 60
🕑 Added 2025-10-12 10:55:38 +0000 UTCOf course, claiming he had no opinion would’ve been a lie.
If he truly didn’t care, he wouldn’t have spent nights studying the Uchiha’s predicament.
But Roshi lived by one rule—anything gained too easily was rarely worth much.
He wanted to help, yes.
But that didn’t mean he would go out of his way to curry favor.
It would only hold meaning if the Uchiha sought him out of their own will.
He walked home under the quiet wash of evening.
Grandma Momoka had also returned. But tonight, she wasn’t sitting on the porch sipping tea, nor tending to her flowers. She simply stood under the old tree in the yard, motionless, as though lost in thought.
“Grandma.”
“Roshi.” She didn’t turn around. “You’re back.”
“Yes.”
“Today,” Momoka’s voice was soft and faint, “I went to visit Kaji, Hayami, and the others. Torii from the Mission Center mentioned that your Team 5 completed an S-rank mission—and performed brilliantly.”
Roshi blinked, puzzled for a moment, then the meaning settled in.
“You still can’t let go?”
Tsunade had asked him the same question once. He hadn’t answered her then either.
“There’s nothing to let go of, Grandma,” Roshi said quietly, stepping up beside her. “It’s just… not the time to stand still.”
He wasn’t the original Roshi—the one who valued the Senju name and wanted to restore its glory. He was simply reacting to circumstance.
If he’d been reborn in Boruto’s era, he probably would’ve taken it easy — sleep, snack, and wait for the next generation of demigods to fix everything.
Ōtsutsuki? Gods? That was above his pay grade.
At most, maybe he’d try to become Naruto’s brother-in-law. A sister-in-law like Hinata sounded like a pleasant bonus.
But now… there was still something left to do. A chance, however small, to matter.
Momoka lowered her head, her wrinkled fingers brushing the coarse bark of the tree. When she’d received the mission reports about Roshi, she had understood.
The quiet flame in the boy’s eyes—it hadn’t gone out.
Despite everything she had wished for him, he had chosen not to stay out of the storm.
Wouldn’t it be better to just live peacefully? To find a simple job in the village, stay close to her—the only family she had left?
The courtyard sank into silence. Only the chirping of autumn insects filled the night.
After a long pause, Momoka finally said, “Tomorrow, Kaji and Hayami will return. You should go see them. They were the ones who wrote your recommendation letter last time.”
With that, she turned slowly and made her way toward the softly lit room. Her back, framed by the shadows of the porch, looked smaller than ever.
Roshi remained still, his throat tightening. He couldn’t even manage a simple, “Please rest early.”
—
At the edge of the Uchiha compound.
“Itachi, what’s wrong? You look… shaken.”
Itachi didn’t answer. He stood just beyond the entrance, gazing up at the familiar rooftops outlined by lantern light—so close, yet impossibly distant.
This was his home.
And his prison.
Another presence appeared beside him. Shisui didn’t speak. He simply joined Itachi, both of them staring into the silent compound.
The sounds of life drifted faintly from within—children's laughter, muffled voices—only making the stillness outside more unbearable.
Time stretched. Just when Shisui thought Itachi wouldn’t speak again, a low, hoarse whisper broke through the night breeze.
“Shisui… I can’t see any hope.”
Shisui’s chest tightened. He turned sharply to look at his friend—and froze.
In Itachi’s eyes, three tomoe gleamed.
'Three-tomoe Sharingan…!'
But hadn’t his mission gone smoothly? The whole village had been celebrating the “eight-year-old Uchiha who completed an S-rank mission.”
Had someone died?
“Did something happen?” Shisui’s voice was taut.
“Father wanted me to learn Roshi-senpai’s views as soon as possible,” Itachi murmured. “I asked him for his opinion just now.”
The result, clearly, hadn’t been what Fugaku hoped for.
Shisui sighed quietly. The Uchiha’s search for understanding—for recognition—was a long and painful road.
“It’s alright, Itachi.” Shisui gripped his shoulder firmly. “Roshi-kun is open-minded. Give it time. Things will change.”
“It’s not like that, Shisui.”
Itachi’s interruption was soft but heavy.
“Senpai wasn’t malicious. He only… revealed the truth.”
He closed his eyes. “He wants me to find a path. But I can’t see one, Shisui.”
He realized now that Roshi had already warned him—back at the BBQ restaurant. He just hadn’t understood then.
Maybe it was too late. Maybe understanding didn’t matter anymore.
He hadn’t told his father what he’d learned tonight. What would be the point?
Fugaku couldn’t change anything.
At every clan meeting, Itachi had seen it—his father’s helpless silence before the furious voices of his kin.
He had long since realized that his father wasn’t omnipotent. Fugaku was a strong, capable ninja—calm and disciplined—but not the kind of leader who could overturn fate.
Shisui knew it too. That was why he kept his distance, preferring to act alone rather than get tangled in the clan’s internal politics.
But now, seeing the despair hollowing Itachi’s eyes, Shisui made a decision.
This couldn’t go on.
He grabbed Itachi’s cold wrist and turned toward the compound. “Let’s go. You need to rest—and I need to talk to your father.”
Itachi didn’t resist. He let himself be led through the familiar alleys, avoiding the few Uchiha still awake. Shisui moved fast.
They reached the clan head’s mansion.
“Brother—!”
A small figure darted from the doorway—Sasuke. His face lit up, but he froze the instant he saw Itachi’s expression.
Before he could reach him, Mikoto appeared and caught him gently by the shoulders.
“Mom, Brother’s back—”
“Sasuke, be good.” Her voice was calm, but her eyes never left Itachi. “Your brother’s very tired. Go to your room, alright?”
“But—”
Mikoto’s hand was firm but gentle as she led Sasuke away.
Then only Fugaku remained.
He glanced at Shisui, then at Itachi. Without a word, he turned and walked into the inner room, settling cross-legged on the tatami.
Shisui led Itachi in and quietly shut the paper door behind them.
He didn’t ask what had happened. He could feel it in the air—the weight of something irreversible.
Silence thickened until Itachi finally looked up.
In his crimson eyes, three tomoe swirled slowly, like a storm restrained by will.
“I have understood Roshi-senpai’s stance, as Father wished,” he said quietly.
Then he met Fugaku’s gaze—Sharingan to Sharingan.
“And this… is his answer.”
