It had been a month since Ryosuke was placed on a team.
He walked the streets of Konoha with a wrapped package tucked under his arm—the manuscript of his second book, just dropped off at the publisher's office. The sun filtered through the trees above, casting dappled shadows along the stone road. He barely noticed.
This one felt different. Not because it was better written—though it was. Not because it was bolder—though it was that too. No, it felt different because it carried a weight. A truth that wouldn't sit quietly on the shelf. A story not meant to comfort, but to confront.
He could still remember the handler's face after reading the last chapter. That flicker of discomfort. That subtle tension in the jaw before he smiled and said, "We'll get it printed right away."
Ryosuke knew what that meant. They hadn't been told the whole truth, but that didn't mean they're stupid, in fact, it is not so hard to find what happened to the Uzumaki's since it is so recent, They're probably not sure if they should be scared or impressed. He hadn't even needed to change to much in his new book Dune.
He hadn't named Konoha. He hadn't needed to.
He'd changed names, bent settings, altered timelines—just enough. But the anger between the lines hadn't gone anywhere. It pulsed under the surface, raw and obvious to anyone who had lived long enough to know what had been lost. What had been betrayed.
Will they understand it? Or just pretend not to?
He turned a corner, the Hokage Monument watching from the distance like silent judges carved in stone. The thought crossed his mind—Will this one make enemies?
He wouldn't mind. The people who needed to understand never did unless it hurt. And the people it would hurt… maybe they deserved to feel it.
He was already thinking about the future, about how far he would be allowed to go before he would be asked to stop.
He had also barely noticed the eyes that were following him, his move, ever since Kushina, the future jinchuuriki slept at his house.
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The scent of incense lingered in the Hokage's office, curling through the air in delicate spirals. Sunlight filtered through the window behind Hiruzen, casting long shadows over the scrolls stacked on his desk.
He didn't look up when the door opened. He already knew who it was.
Danzo stepped in with measured footsteps, hand clasped behind his back, the faint click of his cane tapping the wooden floor.
Hiruzen looked up to meet his gaze. "What is it, Danzo?"
Danzo didn't waste words. "The boy. Ryosuke Uzumaki. I want him under my command."
Silence settled in the room like a second presence.
Hiruzen leaned back in his chair. "He's already been placed on a team."
"That was a mistake," Danzo said. "He has potential—raw, untapped, and dangerous. He won't be swayed by sentiment. Not like the others."
Hiruzen frowned. "He's still a boy. One trying to find his place here."
Danzo said without pause. " He's not trying to belong here, He's not built for camaraderie. He's too cold. Too detached. That kind of mind doesn't belong in standard formations. It belongs under discipline."
At that, Hiruzen's fingers tapped lightly on the desk. "He has already formed a connected with Kushina and Minato, even ino-shika have formed a friendship with him."
Danzo shook his head once. "Hiruzen! I will sharpen him. Under Root, he'll learn restraint. Discipline. Purpose. There will actually be some substance to it than just fleeting relationships and shallow bonds. "
Hiruzen studied him for a long moment, the silence now cold. "You want another weapon."
Danzo's voice was quiet. "I want to prevent another disaster."
A pause.
Then Hiruzen spoke, calmly: "He's on an escort mission. With Minato and Kushina. When he returns… we'll speak again."
Danzo didn't argue. He only nodded once, turned, and left without another word.
But as the door closed behind him, Hiruzen exhaled and murmured to no one in particular—
"He's watching us both, you know."
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Meanwhile, far beyond the gates of Konoha, a trio of young shinobi escorted a merchant along the winding roads toward the Land of Rivers.
The mission was a simple C-rank assignment: ensure the safe delivery of a trader and his goods to a border settlement. Bandits were the most likely threat—nothing a well-balanced team of genin couldn't handle, especially one like this.
Minato led at the front, his pace steady, his senses sharp beneath the calm smile he wore. Beside their client, a rotund man who wheezed more with every hill, Kushina was walking casually.
At the rear, Ryosuke kept a silent watch. He wasn't there by chance—he had chosen the position, just as he always did. He liked the space, the quietness.
It had been three days since they left the village.
They traveled through patches of farmland and stretches of dense woodland, where shadows crawled under the trees even in daylight. The merchant had stopped trying to make conversation by the end of the first day, unnerved by the silence that settled between the shinobi like fog.
Jiraiya trailed them at a distance, far enough to give his students room to breathe, but close enough that no threat would reach them unchallenged. He hadn't said much during the journey, content to observe.
Occasionally, he'd vanish into the trees for a scouting loop, only to reappear with a yawn and a lazy grin. But Ryosuke knew better—nothing escaped his notice.
Ryosuke didn't mind though. Silence gave him space to think.
The book was probably being printed by now.
His eyes flicked from tree to tree, tracking movement that wasn't there. His body moved on instinct, eyes sharp, senses disciplined—but his thoughts were still tangled in the memory of that office. The subtle hesitation in the handler's eyes. The weight of the story he had written.
'It'll spread.'
'And when it does, some people are not going to be very happy.'
Kushina dropped back beside him suddenly, snapping him out of it. "Hey," she said, nudging him with her elbow, "you've been real quiet today."
He gave her a sideways glance. "Aren't I always?"
She grinned. "Yeah, but normally you look like you're absent minded, but today you seem to be thinking about something."
Ryosuke didn't answer.
Kushina rolled her eyes. "Fine. Keep your broody secrets." Then after a pause, softer: "I liked sleeping over, by the way. Felt... a bit more at home."
He blinked for a moment and smiled brightly at her. "My pleasure."
She smiled back, a little red, something unreadable behind her eyes,"Still. Thanks."
Their client sneezed up ahead, muttering about dust and country air. Minato shot them both a look, as if to say keep up, and Ryosuke picked up the pace, pulling his thoughts back into the present.
For now, the road was quiet.
But even in that silence, Ryosuke could feel it—that something had shifted. The kind of quiet that came just before a scream.
Lo and behold—trouble found them just before dusk.
The sky was still streaked with orange when a sharp whistle tore through the air. A kunai embedded itself into a tree trunk barely an inch from the merchant's cart, quivering with menace.
Minato reacted first, flickering forward to shield the client. "Ambush!"
From the tree line, figures emerged—five of them, masked and armed. Not missing-nin, Ryosuke noted. Bandits, but trained. Shinobi once, maybe. Desperate now.
Kushina was already moving, a blur of red hair and fury as she closed the gap between her and the first attacker. She met him head-on, her fist slamming into his stomach with enough force to send him sprawling.
Another came at her from the side.
Ryosuke's eyes narrowed.
He didn't think. He didn't call out. He moved.
The man had a blade raised, angling toward Kushina's exposed back while she tangled with a second opponent. Ryosuke surged forward—one hand steady, the other drawing a kunai. The moment the attacker stepped into range, Ryosuke drove the blade up and under the ribs.
The body went still.
For a heartbeat, Ryosuke just stared, his hand still gripping the kunai, feeling the way breath left the man's lungs in a staggered sigh.
Then he let go.
Kushina turned just in time to see the man fall, Ryosuke stepping back, silent. The blood on his hands didn't seem to bother him. Not outwardly.
But something in her chest twisted.
The fight ended quickly after that. Minato disabled two with ease, and Jiraiya arrived in a blur to take down the last one before he could flee. The merchant had flattened himself against the cart, shaking but unharmed.
When it was over, Ryosuke simply wiped the blood from his kunai and sheathed it again.
Kushina walked over to him slowly. Her breath was still heavy, her hands trembling just a little. "You… Are you okay?"
Ryosuke nodded once. "It was necessary."
She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. Instead, she just stood beside him in silence, eyes flicking between him and the body. There was no fear in her gaze—just resolve, to get stronger, so that Ryosuke wouldn't have to protect her like that.
They didn't speak again that night, but when they made camp, Ryosuke could feel her being more gentle with him.
He welcomed the change.
He liked a chili pepper—fierce, loud, always burning—but sometimes, a touch of honey felt right too.
And tonight, Kushina was honey.