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The afternoon culture class was a standard affair—dry, repetitive, and entirely unchanged from the previous semester. Naruto found it difficult to maintain even a facade of interest.
After the final bell, he didn't head straight to the sanctuary of his apartment. Instead, he committed himself to his daily taijutsu ritual. He wasn't concerned about dinner; a Shadow Clone at home was already multi-tasking, translating sealing runes while simultaneously managing a simmering pot of stew.
By the time Naruto finished his drills, dusk had begun to claim the village. Sweat-soaked and breathing hard, he found himself sitting alone on the grassy bank of the Naka River. The setting sun bled an orange-red hue into the water, and the current murmured past with a rhythmic, indifferent grace.
Expressionless, he watched the water roll on. The bright, "Little Sun" grin of the morning had vanished, replaced by a calm far too heavy for his years. There was a weariness in his gaze—a fatigue so faint it was almost invisible, yet soul-deep.
People's attitudes are masks, he mused, watching a leaf drift downstream. Every attitude matches a mask, and every mask matches a life.
He turned the thought over with the detachment of a philosopher. Whether he was playing the sunny, upbeat protagonist or the modest, polite student, they were all roles meticulously chosen to navigate the political landscape and secure his long-term goals. The danger, he knew, was that if one wore a mask long enough, it became fused to the skin; eventually, you forgot the face beneath.
He exhaled slowly, feeling the evening breeze cool the salt on his skin.
Maintaining that smile every day... playing the role of the irrepressible hero... it's exhausting.
Only in these moments of absolute solitude could he drop the act and acknowledge the weight of his reality. In his previous life, he had learned to turn hardship into fuel, meeting every setback with genuine optimism. But since becoming Uzumaki Naruto, the talent for finding scraps of joy had withered. The malice of the villagers was too raw, the burden of the Jinchuriki too heavy, and the isolation of a transmigrator too profound.
He still smiled, but outside of his time with his small circle of friends, the grin felt more like a calculated performance than a heartfelt recovery.
Suffering is never praiseworthy, he thought coldly. It leaves only trauma and depletion. "Finding joy in hardship" is just a mental defense to keep the mind from shattering when the pain is unavoidable.
"Naruto?"
A girl's voice, tentative and soft, sounded behind him.
Reflexively, the weariness vanished. The trademark sunny smile snapped into place with a speed that was almost frightening as he turned toward the source.
In the glow of the sunset stood Ino Yamanaka, cradling a bunch of fresh wild blooms. She looked surprised to find him there.
"Oh! Hey, Ino!" he chirped, the lonely boy of a moment ago discarded like a used script. "What brings you out here so late?"
His smile was flawless, a perfect seal over his internal exhaustion.
"I came to see the daisies," she said, gesturing shyly to the untended wildflowers along the bank. "They try so hard to bloom out here with no one to look at them. I figured someone ought to appreciate them. I thought maybe you were flower-watching, too."
In truth, Ino preferred foraging for wild blossoms. Garden flowers were pampered with fertilizer, pruned to perfection, and shielded from the wind; they grew plump and spectacular, but their scent was often thin. Wildflowers, however, had to fight for their place in the soil. They were scraggly and small, but their fragrance was intensely sweet—a concentrated essence of survival.
She knelt by the river, breathing in the scent of the earth and petals. Naruto watched her profile, the silence between them reminding him of the seeds he'd given her that morning.
"Did your dad like the seeds?"
Ino's hands stilled, the tips of her ears reddening. "Dad said... they're a very rare variety. He was actually impressed." She sneaked a glance at him. "Where did you find them, anyway?"
"Bought them from some Grass Country traders during the New Year," Naruto lied smoothly. The itinerant merchants only cared about ryo, and Naruto preferred doing business with people who didn't know his name. He knew nothing about botany; he had simply asked for their most expensive stock.
He watched the light play off her golden hair. It was a rare moment of peace. Lately, his life had been a blur of Taijutsu, Sealing theory, and Wood Release experiments. He hadn't stopped to notice the scenery in months.
Suddenly, Ino straightened up, plucking a single, pale-purple bellflower from her bouquet. She thrust it into his hand, her face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and determination.
"For you," she blurted out. "Bellflowers can bloom in the poorest soil. They're tough. Just like..." She bit her lip, unable to finish the comparison. "Just like you! Stay tough!"
With that, she hugged her bouquet and bolted toward the village path.
Naruto stood alone in the deepening dusk, looking down at the small purple flower in his palm. Finally, he let out a soft, genuine laugh. This time, the smile wasn't practiced. It was warmed by a quiet reality he hadn't expected to encounter.
In two lifetimes, this was the first time anyone had ever given him a flower.
In the pragmatic, busy world he'd left behind—and in the blood-soaked strife of the Ninja World—such a small, pure-hearted gesture had never crossed his path. He'd once joked to himself that the first bouquet he'd receive would be the one laid on his grave.
Yet here was this living bellflower, carrying a girl's clumsy, fierce encouragement. The kindness skipped across his heart like a stone across a still lake, leaving ripples that reached into the dark.
Maybe this world isn't so bad after all, he thought.
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