"Ouch!"
Asuma turned his head. Not far away, an old craftsman's toolbox had fallen to the ground, scattering tools everywhere.
A sharp chisel happened to fly toward a young craftsman nearby.
The young man was still wolfing down his food, completely unaware.
The chisel was about to strike his foot.
Asuma's body moved faster than his mind.
His finger twitched instinctively.
Whoosh!
A kunai shot out, striking the side of the chisel with perfect precision.
Clink!
The chisel was deflected, changing direction, and plunged into the mud beside the craftsman's straw sandal.
The entire sequence happened in an instant.
Startled by the sound, the young craftsman looked down.
A chisel was embedded in the ground, almost touching his foot, with a kunai beside it.
His face went pale.
He looked up in shock, just in time to see a cool-looking ninja with a cigarette in his mouth standing a short distance away.
He didn't fully understand what had happened, but he wasn't stupid.
He knew that the hard-to-approach ninja-sama had saved him.
After a few seconds of dazed silence, he ran toward Asuma, still clutching his rice bowl, his face filled with lingering fear.
As Asuma looked on in confusion, the craftsman suddenly bowed deeply and said, "Sir! Thank you, sir! Thank you for saving my life!"
He wasn't educated, and this was the only way he knew how to show gratitude.
Asuma was caught off guard by his deep bow, stepping back slightly, his brows furrowed.
"There's no need for that. It was nothing."
His tone was sharp, with a trace of irritation.
He was used to battlefield honors, the Hokage's commendations, and his comrades' admiration.
But he had never been thanked so earnestly by a civilian for such a trivial act.
This feeling was strange.
Extremely strange.
It wasn't the thrill of heroism or the satisfaction of victory.
It was an unfamiliar emotion that left him uneasy.
The craftsman, frightened by his tone, didn't bow again, but his gaze remained sincere.
"To me, it's a life-saving grace! If my foot were crippled, my wife and children wouldn't survive!"
"Thank you, sir!"
Looking into those earnest eyes, Asuma's chest tightened.
His lips moved, but only one word came out.
"...Move."
"Yes, sir!"
The craftsman bowed once more and quickly ran off.
Asuma ran his hand through his hair, leaning against a stone pillar. But he could no longer find that sense of detachment he had before.
Enmaru, who was nearby, watched everything with a faint smile and said nothing.
He stood up slowly and left, leaving behind the untouched meal tray.
The food was still steaming, releasing an enticing aroma.
Grrr...
Asuma's stomach rumbled again, louder than before.
He buried his head in his arms, trying to block out the smell.
He was Sarutobi Asuma, son of the Third Hokage, a Jōnin of Konoha, and one of the Twelve Guardian Ninja.
How could he...
Yet Enmaru's words kept echoing in his mind.
"One of those who kills them is a visible enemy."
"The other is an invisible enemy."
"Building houses here is also a form of guarding."
Guarding...
Asuma instinctively looked at his hands.
The lines on his palms were clearly visible.
These were the hands of a ninja.
Hands that had used Ninjutsu to tear open enemies' throats.
Hands that had wielded Chakra blades to end lives.
Every completed mission brought generous rewards, praise from comrades, and records of merit for the village.
That was what he had always been proud of.
His glory as a ninja.
But just now, those same hands had simply thrown a kunai.
No killing intent, no calculation.
Only to stop an accident.
And in return, he received a clumsy but sincere thank you.
"To me, it's a life-saving grace!"
That expression of gratitude made him more unsettled than any Genjutsu he had ever faced.
The weight of that thank you was light, but when it landed on his heart, it felt unbearably heavy.
He suddenly realized that the glory he once chased felt strangely hollow now.
Achievements and rewards earned from killing enemies.
And saving a single civilian, earning only a thank you.
Which one was the Will of Fire his father had always spoken of?
Asuma's mind was in turmoil.
He remembered the argument he had with his father before leaving the village.
"The village has become like this, and you don't care at all?!"
"Asuma, you still see things too superficially."
His father's expression back then was weary, but there was also a kind of relief he hadn't understood.
Now, he seemed to understand a little.
He looked up at the bustling construction site.
Hizashi stood high above, his voice carried to every corner by the Yamanaka clan's secret jutsu.
Uchiha Natsume moved swiftly on the ground, his Sharingan spinning as he checked every detail.
Akimichi Hayama used Partial Multi-Size Jutsu to lift and place a crossbeam, drawing cheers from the craftsmen.
Kazuma and Natsukawa ran tirelessly, their Ninjutsu not flashy but used precisely where needed.
Everyone was covered in dust, drenched in sweat.
Yet on their faces shone a light Asuma had never seen before.
They were using their strength to transform barren land into homes for tens of thousands of people.
They were indeed guarding.
In a way he had never imagined.
And what about himself?
Since coming here, besides complaining, getting angry, and that unintentional act earlier, what else had he done?
A surge of shame, mixed with hunger, rose from his stomach to his head.
Asuma's cheeks felt hot.
He felt like a complete fool.
An idiot clinging to old ideals, blind to the new world before him.
Grumble...
His stomach protested again, louder this time.
This time, Asuma didn't suppress it.
As if making a decision, he suddenly grabbed the meal tray.
His movements were rough, like he was venting on himself.
He picked up his chopsticks, seized the largest piece of meat, and shoved it straight into his mouth.
The food, though ordinary, tasted delicious.
A flavor unmatched even by the Hokage's special meals or the Akimichi clan's BBQ Q.
He no longer hesitated and devoured the food quickly.
Large mouthfuls of rice and juicy meat...
He ate fast, as if trying to make up for everything he had missed.
Like a storm, he cleared the tray, scraping every bit of sauce with rice.
Only after a satisfied burp did Asuma exhale deeply.
His stomach felt warm, a gentle heat spreading through his limbs and washing away his frustration.
He leaned back against the pillar, rubbing his slightly full stomach.
Now he understood.
The reason this meal tasted so good wasn't because of the chef's skill.
It was because this was the first meal he had earned without killing.
Guarding.
Even if it was just for a brief moment.
He had eaten this meal with a deep sense of peace.
A peace that made him feel more secure than any bounty from an S-rank mission.
Asuma stood up, dusted himself off, and didn't return to his lonely corner.
He walked toward the construction site.
He wanted to feel it for himself.
The weight of this guarding.
(To be continued.)