Visiting Itachi was done. Next, Shuji went to Mitarashi Anko's apartment in the village center. These ninja flats were inexpensive housing provided by Konoha: one bedroom, kitchen, and bath—perfect for a single resident.
Anko had no parents. The endless wars left many young shinobi orphaned and sent to the village orphanage; upon academy graduation they moved into these apartments. During their academy years, rent was waived and the Administration Department delivered monthly living allowances while checking on their welfare.
Over the past three years, the apartments had become overcrowded.
"Knock, knock!"
Footsteps echoed in the empty corridor. After a long pause, sluggish steps and a groggy voice came from inside.
"…Coming…who is it…"
The door cracked open. The girl who appeared looked nothing like the vibrant face in the dossier. Fourteen-year-old Anko seemed gaunt, her trademark purple hair tousled, wearing an oversized black mesh T-shirt and faded athletic shorts. The moment the door opened, a wave of sour sweetness, uncollected trash, and stale air greeted Shuji.
Squinting against the hall's light, Anko peered at him. The familiar, cold expression of the model student from their academy days stirred a flicker of memory.
"Shu…Shuji?" Anko's brow furrowed with confusion. "You…what's up?" The distant, heavy-mission look he once wore seemed replaced by calm warmth.
"The village should've sent you notice," Shuji said gently. "You've been assigned to my squad."
Anko scratched her tangled hair, bewildered. "Oh…right, I think that happened." She stepped aside, weary. "Come in. But…don't expect much. It's just like this." She made no effort to hide her indifference.
Shuji nodded and entered. The cramped room bore no hint of feminine touch. Empty instant–ramen bowls lay on the tatami, half-eaten, dried dango sat forlornly nearby. Snack bags littered a corner. Empty soda cans lay by the low table. Not a dump, yet no one had tidied in ages; the air held damp neglect.
His eyes landed on a broom leaning in the corner. Without a word, Shuji rolled up his sleeves, picked it up with its dustpan, and began to sweep. His movements were practiced and calm, as if doing chores at home.
Anko stared, stunned, then saw him reach for the half-eaten dango. "Hey! Don't touch that! I…haven't finished! That's rude!"
"Boil water," Shuji said without looking up, matter–of–fact. "Guests deserve hot water. Any tea? If not, plain is fine." He tossed the empty cans precisely into the bin.
"You—" Anko choked at the disruption, feeling the incongruity of the once-straightback honor student now house–husbanding her room as though it were natural. She opened her mouth, closed it, and muttered, "Fine, fine…," then shuffled off to the kitchen.
In the kitchen, the kettle clanked onto the stove. Shuji tidied the floor, stacked the dishes, then drew aside the threadbare curtain with a swish. He opened the window, letting in sunshine–scented breeze to banish the gloom. Sunlight flooded half the room.
By the time Anko returned with two steaming cups, the room felt refreshed and airy. She placed one on the low table in front of Shuji and took the other, sitting cross–legged across from him. She studied the tidy space, her expression a mix of discomfort at being cared for and surprise at Shuji's transformation.
"Here." Shuji slid a paper bag across the table. Inside gleamed several translucent, sugar–dust–topped tri–colored dango, emitting tempting sweetness.
Anko's eyes lit like flares, then dimmed with caution as she eyed Shuji. "…What's this? Bribing me? You're…different than before." she blurted.
"Bought it on the way." Shuji bit into one, savoring it. "Soft, chewy, sweet. Try? These are much better than your dried-out ones." He spoke casually, as if sharing normal snack advice.
Anko watched him relish the treat, then eyed the dango. Her stomach growled. After seconds of hesitation, she succumbed to curiosity and the dango's lure, gingerly taking one and nibbling.
The warm, tender mochi wrapped in fresh sugar melted on her tongue, and she closed her eyes in delight.
"…Not bad," Anko mumbled, sneaking glances at Shuji.
He looked every bit the practical youth praising her dango pick—but the unexpected sincerity gave his words odd persuasive power.
No hollow sympathy, no lofty lecture—just the simple truth that life must go on.
"You've…changed a lot," Anko said, tone mixed, yet the emptiness in her eyes flickered with something softer. She stared at the half–eaten dango that glistened temptingly. Fresh dango was indeed far superior.
She shoved the rest into her mouth, chewing fiercely as if to gulp down her tangled feelings.
"But you're right." She swallowed and wiped sugar from her lip, meeting Shuji's gaze. Though fatigue and pain lingered in her eyes, a faint spark of determination glowed: "I need to get moving. Rotting here is pointless." She looked at him earnestly. "Captain, when's the next mission? C–rank or B–rank?"
Shuji offered her a small smile. "You won't be idle. Task details come by notice. Meanwhile…" He rose and eyed the sparsely furnished room. "Tidy this place thoroughly. Next time, I hope it stays this clean. And—hot tea."
"Geez! You sure ask a lot! Got it!" Anko snapped half–heartedly—no real resistance in her tone. As Shuji opened the door to leave, she called after him: "Hey, Shuji!"
He turned.
"…Thanks." Anko's voice softened, eyes averted. "For the dango and cleaning."
Shuji nodded once, then departed.
After the door closed, Anko sat alone in the suddenly silent room. The air still bore faint sweetness and sunshine. She stared at her empty hands, then at the neat room and the open window. Sunlight poured in, casting warm patches across the floor. She inhaled deeply—fresh grass–scented air—then exhaled as if releasing all her long–held despair.
Rising, she picked up Shuji's broom. This time, she gripped it firmly and began to clear away the scattered trash herself.
Chapters in advance there: patreon.com/Thaniel_a_goodchild