Tik.
Tik.
The soft ticking of the clock filled the quiet room.
Sasuke slowly pulled the blanket off and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. With a quiet sigh, she stood and padded to the bathroom.
Flipping on the light, she leaned over the sink and stared into the mirror. Her onyx eyes looked back at her—tired, dulled, as if they hadn't caught up with the rest of her yet. She didn't feel like herself this morning. Not completely.
Not that she had felt like herself since waking up here.
Her gaze dropped to the black hitai-ate resting on the counter. The metal plate caught the light and gleamed. She reached for it, fingers brushing over the familiar symbol. Then, with practiced hands, she tied it tightly around her forehead.
There. That felt... a little closer to right.
She had the next few days off before her team placement—time meant for rest, technically. But she had no plans to relax. Today, she would explore. Familiarize herself with this version of Konoha. She'd been so busy training, so focused on the inevitable path ahead, she hadn't really looked around. Not properly.
After all, she had less than a year before Orochimaru entered the picture.
Her jaw tightened at the thought.
Closing the door gently behind her, she stepped out onto the narrow path that wove through the Uchiha District. The morning clouds drifted lazily overhead. Her sandals crunched softly against the gravel.
The district was still. Quiet. Almost too quiet.
Cold, empty houses lined the street—monuments to a clan that no longer lived. Her clan, technically. But it never felt like hers.
Not really.
Sasuke tugged the collar of her shirt higher.
The village proper was a different world entirely. Market stalls buzzed with chatter and motion. Vendors shouted offers. Shinobi moved across rooftops in pairs. Children darted past with wooden kunai, laughter trailing behind them. Somewhere, someone was loudly arguing over produce.
She turned off the main road and slipped into a smaller, shaded street. The buildings here were older, their wooden frames worn smooth by time. A place tourists never really saw.
And then she saw it.
Tucked between two aging buildings stood a narrow food stand. A simple red banner fluttered in the breeze, bold white lettering stitched across it:
Ichiraku Ramen.
She stopped in her tracks.
It was strange, seeing it like this. No neon sign. No crowd of villagers lined up. Just a quiet little ramen stand you could miss if you weren't looking.
But she had been looking—maybe not consciously, but some part of her had been waiting for this.
Ichiraku. Naruto's favorite. A backdrop to a hundred filler episodes and a thousand emotional scenes. It felt surreal. Like spotting a celebrity in sweatpants at the grocery store.
She hesitated near the edge of the stand.
Inside, the old man—Teuchi, if she remembered right—was washing bowls. No Ayame in sight. The smell of broth and garlic and soy hung heavy in the air, warm and familiar.
Her stomach growled quietly.
God. She hadn't even realized she was hungry.
She stepped closer, cautiously, and slid onto the far end of the counter. The stand was empty. Teuchi looked up, offered a polite nod.
"Morning. What'll it be?"
His tone was easy. Not curious. Not probing. Just another customer.
She glanced at the worn menu nailed above the counter—miso, shoyu, pork, salt.
"...Miso," she said evenly.
"Coming right up."
The clatter of pots and the sizzle of broth filled the silence. Sasuke watched the steam curl upward, felt the tightness settle into her shoulders.
It wasn't about the ramen. Not really. It was about being here. About stepping into a scene she had watched so many times in a life that no longer existed. A reminder that this world was real—and that she wasn't just playing Sasuke anymore.
"First time?" Teuchi asked as he stirred.
She blinked. "What?"
"Here," he clarified. "Most people who sit like that are new."
She looked down. Arms folded. Posture tense. Guard up.
"Hn," she muttered.
Teuchi didn't press. A few minutes later, he slid the bowl in front of her with practiced ease.
"Miso ramen. Fresh noodles. Eat it before it gets soggy."
She stared at the bowl.
Steam rose from the cloudy broth. Scallions floated lazily. A slice of pork. A soft-boiled egg.
It smelled like a memory that didn't belong to her.
She lifted her chopsticks, paused—and took a bite.
It was good.
Better than she expected, honestly. Not life-changing. But comforting. It warmed her stomach and her throat, anchored her in the now. For a few moments, the world faded.
But only for a few.
Footsteps passed behind her. Voices followed. Names she recognized—Naruto, Iruka, Hokage-sama—drifted by like smoke.
Whispers about a scroll. A kid found unconscious in the forest last night.
Her fingers tensed around the chopsticks.
She finished the bowl in silence.
When she stood, Teuchi gave her a short nod. "Come by anytime."
She didn't respond.
The moment she stepped back onto the street, the air felt colder. Sharper. The noise of the village surged around her again.
Her thoughts flickered to Naruto. Wherever he was now.
If that scene had already happened—if Mizuki was out of the picture—then Team 7 would be forming soon.
And that meant Kakashi would be her sensei. Naruto her teammate. And even…
She grimaced.
Even Sakura.
She never liked the girl. Not before, not now.
Her fingers twitched.
She wasn't ready. Not for Kakashi. Not for Team 7. Not for him.
But she'd show up anyway.
Because she had to.
…
Naruto wandered quietly through the village, ignoring the stares and murmurs that had only grown louder since last night. His hands were stuffed deep into his jacket pockets, head down, footsteps slow.
Everyone was talking. Whispering. Looking at him like they already knew. Like the truth Mizuki spilled had escaped into the air with him.
The Nine-Tails.
The monster inside him. The reason they all looked at him like that.
Iruka had said he was still Naruto. That he wasn't the fox. That someone finally believed in him.
But it was hard to believe when the silence was so loud everywhere he went.
He turned a corner without thinking, feet carrying him down a familiar, narrow street. He hadn't meant to come here. He just… did.
Then the scent hit him.
Warm, salty broth. Garlic. Soy. Pork.
Ichiraku.
He stopped in front of the small ramen stand, staring at the red banner fluttering gently in the morning breeze. It looked older today. Or maybe he did.
With a sigh, Naruto lifted the curtain and stepped inside.
It was empty, save for Teuchi behind the counter, wiping down a bowl with a quiet focus. A pot steamed on the stove, casting slow spirals into the air.
The stool beside Naruto's usual spot was still warm, slightly indented. A faint ring of broth on the counter. Someone had just left.
He stared at it without really knowing why.
"Morning," Teuchi said, glancing up with a small smile. "You're up early."
Naruto slid onto his usual stool and shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."
Teuchi gave a knowing nod. "Miso?"
Naruto managed a faint grin. "Always."
As Teuchi turned to the stove, Naruto glanced around the stall. The quiet made the place feel smaller than usual.
"Where's Ayame?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
"She's running deliveries this morning," Teuchi replied, tossing noodles into the pot. "Said something about the academy kids wanting ramen after training. Probably an excuse to get out of dish duty."
Naruto gave a half-hearted chuckle. "Classic Ayame."
Teuchi glanced back at him as he stirred the broth. "So, what's got you down?"
Naruto blinked, caught off guard. "Down? Me?" He threw on a grin, a little too quick. "Pshh. Are you kidding me? I'm never down! Not me—the future Hokage!"
He jabbed a thumb into his chest and grinned wide, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
Teuchi raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Naruto looked away, grin faltering for just a second.
The silence returned. Comfortable. Not pressing. Just there.
Teuchi slid the steaming bowl of miso in front of him with practiced ease. "Well, even the future Hokage needs to eat."
Naruto looked at the bowl.
Golden broth. Soft-boiled egg. Scallions. Pork belly. Steam rising like a soft breath.
"…Thanks, old man."
He picked up his chopsticks and took a bite. The warmth hit his stomach, heavy and grounding.
It was good.
Really good.
But it didn't chase the ache out of his chest.
He glanced again at the stool beside him—the one someone had just vacated.
He didn't know why he kept staring at it.
There was nothing there.
But something tugged at him anyway. Like he'd missed something. Like someone important had been there just moments before.