Chapter 17: Unseen Recognition
As Kiyoshi chewed on another piece of grilled meat, his mind drifted toward his newfound goal—Ichiraku Ramen.
He had read about it in passing before, but now that he was actually here, the thought felt surreal. The ramen stand had already been open by the time of the Second Great Ninja War, meaning he could visit during his upcoming days of rest. And if Ichiraku's reputation held true, he was in for something special.
His mind conjured images of steaming bowls of ramen, rich broths, and fresh noodles.
There had to be options—classic miso ramen, savory shoyu, and maybe even a hearty tonkotsu broth that had simmered for hours. Would they serve spicy ramen too? A fiery red broth packed with heat, topped with freshly cut green onions, bamboo shoots, and a perfectly soft-boiled egg? Or maybe a spicy chicken ramen, where the broth had just the right balance of spice and umami, enriched with tender slices of chicken?
Then there was Tsukemen, the dipping ramen. Thick, chewy noodles served separately from an intensely flavorful broth—one that clung to the noodles perfectly with each dip.
And, of course, Ichiraku was known for its toppings.
Char siu—the signature melt-in-your-mouth pork belly. A perfectly marinated, jammy-yolked boiled egg. Crisp sheets of seaweed that softened in the broth, adding a delicate umami touch. Even an extra helping of freshly made noodles to stretch out the meal.
Kiyoshi nearly sighed just thinking about it.
He was definitely going. No matter what, he had to try it.
"Oi, Kiyoshi, you alive over there?" Ryota's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
Kiyoshi blinked, realizing he had been staring off into space while absently holding a skewer of grilled vegetables. He coughed lightly, shaking off his ramen daydream.
"Yeah. Just… thinking."
Ryota, mouth full of rice, gave him a skeptical look. "Thinking about what? Some top-secret classified mission detail?"
Mikoto huffed. "Unlike you, some of us actually reflect on things beyond food."
Ryota scoffed but didn't deny it, shoving another piece of meat into his mouth.
Kenshiro, watching all of this with an amused smirk, took a sip of his drink before speaking. "Let him think. It's good for a shinobi to plan ahead."
Kiyoshi just smirked to himself.
That's right, Sensei.
He was planning ahead.
For the greatest bowl of ramen he had ever eaten.
---
As their meal wound down, the lively energy at their table slowly began to settle. Ryota leaned back, rubbing his stomach with a satisfied sigh, while Mikoto meticulously wiped her hands, ensuring not a single stain remained. Kenshiro sipped the last of his drink, watching them with his usual measured amusement.
Then, the atmosphere in the izakaya shifted.
The soft murmur of conversation around them quieted, and Kiyoshi instinctively glanced toward the entrance.
A woman had just stepped in, her presence commanding attention without effort.
She wore a grass-green haori with the kanji for "gamble" (賭, kake) emblazoned on the back, standing out starkly against the red circle. Beneath it, a gray kimono-style blouse and dark bluish-gray pants hinted at practicality, but it was her expression that stood out the most—distant, heavy, and utterly unapproachable.
Tsunade Senju.
Even without recognizing her by name, the way the room reacted spoke volumes.
Conversations halted. Patrons nodded respectfully, some even bowing slightly as she passed. But she didn't acknowledge anyone. She simply walked forward, her stride purposeful yet heavy, as if the very act of moving through the world took effort.
She settled into an empty seat in the farthest corner of the izakaya, alone.
Kiyoshi exhaled through his nose, feeling a weight settle in his chest. He knew exactly what she was going through.
Nawaki.
Her younger brother—full of dreams and fire—had wanted to become Hokage, to protect Konoha, to uphold their grandfather's legacy. On his twelfth birthday, Tsunade had kissed his forehead and gifted him Hashirama's necklace, a gesture of belief in his future.
He died the next day.
A casualty of the Second Shinobi War.
The necklace had been returned to her, a cruel echo of what she had lost.
After his death, Tsunade had fiercely advocated for medical-nin to be included in all four-man squads, arguing that proper field medics could prevent tragedies like Nawaki's. Hiruzen, despite agreeing with her, couldn't dedicate the resources in the midst of war.
But Dan Katō had shared her ideals.
Their relationship had grown close, and when he spoke of his dream to become Hokage—to protect the people he loved from death—Tsunade had kissed his forehead as well and given him the same necklace.
And then he died.
She had tried to save him, had fought to stop the blood loss. But she had failed.
Dan's death had left her with haemophobia—a deep-seated fear of blood. A curse for a medic-nin.
Kiyoshi tore his gaze away from her, a lump forming in his throat.
This wasn't the proud, powerful Sannin the world would know in the future. This was Tsunade—a woman burdened by loss, drowning in grief she couldn't escape.
He didn't stare. He didn't try to approach her.
Instead, he simply turned back to his table, gripping his chopsticks a little tighter.
There was nothing he could do for her. Not right now.
And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that this moment—this version of Tsunade—was something he needed to remember.
---
As Team Kenshiro stepped out of the izakaya, Kiyoshi let out a quiet breath, shaking off the lingering thoughts of Tsunade. He assumed he had been the only one paying attention to her, and given her state, she likely hadn't noticed him at all.
But he was wrong.
From her seat in the dimly lit corner of the restaurant, Tsunade's amber eyes flickered toward the departing group. For a brief moment, her gaze lingered—not on the team as a whole, but on him.
Kiyoshi Senju.
Recognition stirred in her eyes, faint but present. A memory half-formed, still out of reach.
Her fingers unconsciously brushed against the sake cup in front of her as her thoughts drifted back to earlier today—to her conversation with her old teacher.
---
Earlier Today – The Hokage's Office
Tsunade had been summoned by Hiruzen in the late afternoon, expecting a brief meeting. Instead, it had taken a turn she hadn't anticipated.
Her sensei leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable beneath the haze of his ever-present pipe smoke.
"Tsunade," he began, "have you heard anything from Jiraiya lately?"
She scoffed, arms crossing over her chest. "You should know better than anyone—once that idiot gets an idea in his head, there's no stopping him. He's still in Amegakure, teaching those three orphan kids."
Hiruzen hummed, watching her closely. "And do you understand why?"
Tsunade's jaw tightened. She knew Jiraiya had spoken of some prophecy—something about a child who would change the world. But at the time, she hadn't cared.
"He rambled about fate, about destiny," she admitted. "Something about a child of prophecy. But honestly, Sensei, I wasn't in the right state of mind to care."
Hiruzen sighed but didn't press further. Instead, his gaze softened.
"And what about you?" His voice lowered. "Have you made any progress with your haemophobia?"
Tsunade stiffened but didn't look away. Instead, she forced a small, sad smile. One that didn't reach her eyes.
"Does that answer your question?"
He took a slow drag from his pipe, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. It's a shame. The world's greatest medical-nin… and yet, she can't even use her own skills anymore.
Tsunade's smile faltered for a fraction of a second when she saw pity on her sensei's face. Then, it was gone, replaced by her usual mask of indifference. He only sighed, exhaling another stream of smoke before shifting topics.
"Today, I received a report from Team Kenshiro," he said, pulling a scroll from his desk. "A rather interesting mission—one that I think might interest you."
Tsunade frowned but said nothing as he unraveled the parchment.
"They encountered a group testing our borders," he summarized. "Not a large-scale attack, but a calculated skirmish. What caught my attention was the quick thinking of one of the genin—Kiyoshi Senju."
Tsunade blinked. Senju?
Hiruzen continued, his tone thoughtful. "At a critical moment, he made the right decision—a simple yet effective strategy that allowed them to take control of the situation. That kind of judgment… it's the most important trait in a ninja."
She frowned, searching her mind for any recollection of a prodigy from her clan.
Nothing.
Then again, she hadn't exactly been keeping track of the Senju clan's standing in recent years. She had been drowning—first in loss, then in her own grief.
"You're saying we should keep an eye on him," she said, more a statement than a question.
Hiruzen nodded. "Konoha needs strong shinobi. If we recognize talent early, we should nurture it. You, more than anyone, should understand that."
Tsunade remained silent, absorbing the information.
She hadn't intended to think much of it at the time.
But now, here in the izakaya, as her gaze lingered on the young shinobi exiting into the night, she couldn't help but wonder.
Had she truly been so distant from her own clan that she hadn't even heard of him before today?