With this new power he doesn't have to

Naruto watched the subtle shift of her posture—the way her weight transferred forward, ready to melt back into the crowd like smoke—and something stubborn sparked in his chest. He wasn’t done. Not with the conversation, not with the strange pull he couldn’t quite name, not with the way her quiet words had landed heavier than any lecture Kakashi ever gave him.

“Hey, wait,” he called, voice carrying just enough to reach her without shouting.

Yūgao paused mid-step. She didn’t turn immediately, but her head tilted slightly, dark ponytail swaying once before settling. When she finally looked back over her shoulder, chocolate eyes were calm, expectant—waiting for him to justify stopping her.

Naruto rubbed the back of his neck again, grin flashing sheepish but determined. “Look, I know you’re probably busy—missions, fruit shopping, whatever—but I’ve got nothing on the schedule for the next couple days. And honestly?” He shrugged, broad shoulders rolling under the jacket. “I’m terrible at the whole ‘relaxing’ thing by myself. You seem like you get it. You wanna hang out with me. Grab something to eat, walk around, whatever. No pressure.”

Yūgao regarded him steadily. No flicker of surprise crossed her face, no instinctive recoil at the casual invitation from the village’s loudest jinchūriki. She simply weighed the words the same way she’d weighed the persimmon earlier—careful, deliberate.

Before she could answer, Naruto added, softer but firm, the words slipping out under his breath like an afterthought: “No one will notice or ask questions about you spending time with me. It’ll just be… normal.”

Reality rippled once, invisible and gentle. The market noise didn’t change, the vendors didn’t glance twice, the civilians flowing past them continued on without a single lingering stare. To the rest of Konoha, this was already an ordinary Tuesday afternoon conversation between two shinobi who happened to know each other.

Yūgao blinked once—slow, almost imperceptibly—then let out a quiet breath that might have been amusement or resignation. When she spoke, her voice stayed low and even.

“You’re not used to hearing no, are you, Uzumaki?”

Naruto’s grin widened, bright and unrepentant. “I hear it plenty. Just don’t always listen.”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips—small, fleeting, but real. She glanced down at the small paper bag in her hand, then back up at him.

“Fine,” she said simply. “I was going to drop this off and head back to the barracks anyway. Might as well kill time with someone who can’t sit still.”

She fell into step beside him without ceremony, matching his loose, easy stride as though they’d walked together a hundred times before. The Fūka who’d been shadowing Naruto the whole time gave Yūgao a single, polite nod—blue eyes calm and unreadable—then drifted to Naruto’s other side, maintaining that perfect half-step distance. If Yūgao noticed anything unusual about the maroon-haired kunoichi’s presence, she gave no sign. Thanks to Naruto’s earlier adjustment, the sight of them together registered as nothing more than three shinobi walking in companionable silence.

The trio moved through the market without drawing eyes. Vendors called out offers, children darted underfoot, but no one stared, no one whispered. It was as though the three of them had always belonged in this exact formation.

Naruto glanced sideways at Yūgao. “So… you come here a lot? Fruit shopping, I mean.”

“Occasionally,” she answered. “Persimmons are in season. And the vendor doesn’t ask stupid questions.” A beat. “Unlike some people.”

He laughed—bright, unrestrained, the sound bouncing off nearby stalls. “Guilty. But hey, at least I’m honest about it.”

Yūgao’s mouth curved again, just the tiniest fraction. “Honest is one word for it.”

They walked in easy quiet for a while, weaving past stalls of steaming buns and racks of drying herbs. Naruto’s restlessness eased a notch—not gone, never gone, but dulled by the simple act of moving with purpose instead of aimless circling. Every so often his arm brushed Yūgao’s, accidental at first, then not quite so accidental. She didn’t pull away.

Eventually the crowded market gave way to quieter residential streets, the apartment district coming into view. Naruto slowed as they approached the familiar building, scratching the back of his head again.

“Uh… my place is right up there,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the third-floor window. “Nothing fancy, but it’s got a decent view of the monument if the clouds stay away. Figured we could hang out, maybe eat whatever’s in the fridge—ramen’s a guarantee—and just… not do mission stuff for a couple hours.”

Yūgao studied the building for a long moment, then looked back at him. Her expression remained unreadable, but there was a faint warmth in her eyes that hadn’t been there at the fruit stall.

“Lead the way, Uzumaki.”

The Fūka at his side offered another small, knowing smile—silent approval—before slipping ahead to unlock the door with a key she’d somehow acquired. Yūgao followed without hesitation, ponytail swaying, paper bag still tucked under one arm.

Naruto stepped inside last, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel. The apartment smelled faintly of instant broth and clean laundry, sunlight slanting through the half-open window in warm bars across the floor.