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[NUT] Chapter : 25
🕑 Added 2025-05-30 11:24:23 +0000 UTCThis time, their pace was noticeably slower than usual.
It was as if they were trying to savor the dwindling time they had left.
“Kid, let me grill the meat tonight,” Juzo said, flashing a rare, almost boyish smile as he clenched his teeth and reached for the skewer.
Itachi, who had been preparing to handle the cooking as usual, paused and looked over.
That smile—carefree yet slightly offbeat—made him think to himself:
If Juzo weren’t so obsessed with his rebellious image, he might actually be a good looking guy.
It quickly became clear that cooking wasn’t Juzo’s strong suit.
No wonder, Itachi thought, that on their first mission outside the village, Juzo had insisted on eating soldier pills instead of preparing real food...
Still, as he took a bite of the blackened, unevenly grilled meat—burnt in places, oddly seasoned in others—Itachi didn’t complain.
In fact, he found it strangely… delicious.
The smoky char mixed with the hint of spice created something entirely new.
Unexpected. Memorable.
“You did well with the meat,” Itachi said, polishing off the last bite. Bones littered the ground, clean and picked bare.
“Heh, really?”
Juzo brightened at the praise, flipping another piece with pride.
“Yeah, really,” Itachi nodded, his tone sincere. “What if… I never get to eat meat like this again?”
His words were casual on the surface, but laced with an undertone—an attempt to chip away at Juzo’s quiet resolve.
Because when someone is truly set on dying, even the strongest can’t stop them.
“Tch, brat.”
Juzo caught the meaning immediately but didn’t respond. He simply smiled and muttered the word affectionately under his breath.
“To be honest, you’ve got chef potential,” Itachi went on, trying to keep things light. “Forget being a ninja—open a barbecue shop. I’ll hire you.”
“Come on, don’t do this,” Juzo groaned, half-laughing. “Go back to being sarcastic. That fake sweetness you’re forcing out—it’s giving me goosebumps.”
“Uh…”
Itachi was momentarily speechless. His brain scrambled.
“Actually… your barbecue sucks. It’s the worst I’ve ever had. Can’t you just learn from me and make a decent meal for once?”
“…”
“Wait, do you have a split personality?” Juzo shot him a look. “You were just singing my praises a second ago, and now you're roasting me—no pun intended.”
Still holding half a scorched skewer, Juzo hesitated, then took a big bite of the burnt end.
The bitter, acrid flavor hit immediately.
He froze.
He remembered now—Itachi’s meat had been just as charred. Yet the boy had eaten it all, never flinching.
Juzo looked at him—this stoic, strangely mature child.
“Kid…”
His voice cracked ever so slightly. His eyes stung, though he couldn’t explain why.
Maybe it was the mood. Maybe it was something tender he hadn’t felt in years.
He reached out and gently wiped a black smudge from the corner of Itachi’s mouth with his thumb.
“If it tastes bad, just say so. I’ll make you another one,” he murmured. “Kids who bottle everything up only end up hurting. You’ve gotta cry, complain, demand candy sometimes—otherwise you’ll never get it.”
There was a complexity in his tone, a softness rarely seen.
“Being happy… it’s just too hard,” Itachi replied quietly, not moving away.
“Then I hope,” Juzo said, breaking into a grin, “that you’ll at least live in peace and good health, every day from now on.”
“Still hungry? I’ll make you another one,” Juzo offered, brushing off his hands.
But when he realized he had wiped grease on his robe, he paused. Then, without thinking, he began unbuttoning his coat to take it off for cleaning.
“Don’t.”
Itachi acted fast, stepping over the fire to grab his arm.
“You look good in that robe,” he said hurriedly, eyes serious. “It’s late. Don’t bother with chores—just rest.”
Juzo blinked at him, surprised.
“I stained it by accident. I was just going to wash it…”
His voice softened.
“You’re about to die. Why do you care about a little stain?”
Itachi’s words were sharp, frustrated. But his eyes betrayed the fear underneath—fear that Juzo would slip away.
He didn’t want to lose this man. Not yet.
Even if he had to die, Juzo was determined to do so on his own terms—in his homeland.
Dying a "hero" here meant nothing to him. Besides, the rules of the Akatsuki were clear: their cloaks were not to be removed, not even in death.
“Go get some sleep. I’ll rest later.”
Juzo dismissed Itachi’s concern with a quiet firmness as he walked over to the fire and sat down, the flames casting shadows across his face.
Itachi said nothing. He simply watched Juzo for a moment, pulling out a small block of wood and began carving, as he often did in the quiet moments between battles.
“What are you working on?”
Itachi’s voice broke the silence, laced with a rare hint of curiosity.
Juzo blinked, momentarily stunned. After all this time, Itachi had never once asked about his carvings—just glanced at them indifferently. The sudden interest caught him off guard.
Still, a strange warmth bloomed in his chest.
“Since you’re asking so sincerely… I guess I’ll be generous and tell you.”
Juzo struck a theatrical pose, hoping to earn a laugh from the ever-stoic boy.
But Itachi just stared at him blankly, and the moment fell flat.
Embarrassed, Juzo felt like crawling into a hole. The secondhand awkwardness was unbearable.
To cover it up, he reached into his cloak, pulled out a small wooden sculpture, and tossed it over to Itachi.
“I started out carving my mother,” he said softly. “She died when I was still little. Honestly, I don’t remember her face anymore. I just carve what I can.”
Itachi held the sculpture gently, running a finger along its smooth edges.
“I made this one while you were sleeping,” Juzo continued. “I was trying to figure out your birthday. I was going to surprise you with it when the time came… but I guess there’s no point in waiting now.”
The carving was of Itachi himself—sleeping, head tilted slightly upward, with tiny wooden bubbles at his mouth to mimic soft snoring.
Itachi stared at it, stunned into silence.
“I wanted to carve you smiling,” Juzo said quietly, his voice thick with regret. “But I’ve never seen it. Not once. Even in your sleep, your brow never relaxes.”
He looked at Itachi with something close to sorrow.
“You once said you wanted to leave behind a relic…”
Itachi’s voice was steady, but heavy.
“I’ll treasure this. Thank you.”
He didn’t want to sink into sadness—but it was there, between them, hanging like a fog they couldn’t shake.
Though their pace had been slow, they finally crossed into the Land of Water.
Kirigakure lay ahead—Juzo’s homeland, soaked in memories and meaning.
Juzo led the way silently. His steps were quiet but purposeful, reverent even.
They immediately sensed they weren’t alone. The area was crawling with chakra—many shinobi had gathered in the shadows.
But Juzo, once a member of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen, knew these grounds like the back of his hand.
Effortlessly, he slipped past the encirclement, moving like a ghost through the mists.
Meanwhile, in the Mizukage’s office, Yagura stood at his desk, opposite a man wearing a swirling orange mask.
The masked man silently perused a stack of documents, ignoring the Mizukage completely. The tension was thick—no words, no movement, just a suffocating silence.
Then, without warning, the air distorted. A vortex spiraled around the masked man, warping space itself.
In a blink, he vanished.
Left behind was Yagura, his youthful face marked by green hair, violet eyes, and a jagged scar beneath his left eye.
He clutched a bizarre weapon—half staff, half hook—adorned with green flowers.
For a moment, he stood frozen.
Then something shifted. The Mangekyō Sharingan pattern flashed across his eyes.
Like a puppet triggered by command, Yagura snapped to action.
He moved with unnatural precision, immediately summoning the elite forces of Kiri.
From the rooftop above, Obito stood still, watching the mist-shrouded village below as space twisted faintly around him.
He admired the chaos like an artist stepping back from his canvas.
“How far can your Mangekyō Sharingan see, Uchiha Itachi?”
His voice was cold, distant—like a monarch overseeing the game board.
This was a test, and a trap. Obito wanted to see how much of a threat Itachi had become.
If he was slipping out of control, now was the time to eliminate him.
Back near the village outskirts, Juzo suddenly halted, his senses alert.
From the shadows, an army of shinobi was pouring out.
“Kid, turn back. A whole battalion is coming. Let me handle this alone.”
His tone was resolute, the decision final.
But Itachi stepped forward.
“If you want to throw your life away, I can’t stop you,” he said, voice fierce for once.
“But I’m not letting you fight alone. I’ll be with you until the very end.”
For the first time, Itachi chose recklessness—chose emotion—over logic.
And in that moment, the two of them stood side by side, ready to face what came next.
