On the walk home, Sasuke wouldn't shut up, muttering nonstop: "So I asked him… so I asked him…"
He was straight-up possessed, tiny hands flailing like he was reliving the awkward moment, looking like a puffed-up kitten with its fur on end.
Before heading out, he'd been pumped to brag to Makoto about how cool he was at the clan meeting. Now? He wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out—maybe even ditch Konoha forever.
He was dying inside, terrified Makoto would find out what went down and roast him for life.
The thought made Sasuke squirm even more. He was a prideful kid—no way he could handle that kind of teasing!
Fugaku watched his youngest son's meltdown, rubbing his temples. Then he thought about Makoto's chaos today and let out a long, defeated sigh.
Out of his three boys, only Itachi ever gave him peace…
If Makoto heard that thought, he'd crack Fugaku's skull open just to see what was inside.
Fugaku herded Sasuke and Itachi home, pointing down the hall. "Sasuke, go get Makoto."
Sasuke's head shook like a bobblehead on steroids—afterimages and everything. Bullets couldn't hit that speed. His little fists clutched his shirt, feet scuffing the floor as he backed away.
Then he bolted to his room without looking back. He was not facing Makoto right now—not with his embarrassment on full display.
First time Sasuke ever straight-up ignored Fugaku's order.
Fugaku sighed again. Even the baby's rebellious now…
Finally, he turned to Itachi. "You go."
Itachi nodded, steps light as a falling leaf. Fugaku's heart swelled. There's my good boy—zero headaches.
Itachi knocked softly on Makoto's door. "Makoto, Father wants you."
A kunai clattered inside. The door creaked open. Itachi spotted the blade on the floor and lunged, pocketing it in a panic—terrified Makoto might off himself one day.
Makoto didn't stop him. Just a regular kunai… with his Flying Thunder God seal on it. No big deal.
Actually? Perfect. If Itachi ever took it outside the village, Makoto could teleport out for a joyride.
Itachi wouldn't recognize the seal anyway. And even if he did? Whatever. Ever since snagging his golden finger—Naruto World Online—Makoto wasn't hiding his hacks.
How'd I learn Flying Thunder God? Make something up. Believe it or don't—he was in full gamer mode now.
Makoto looked wiped, his single-tomoe Sharingan spinning half a circle before fading to black. Still low on chakra.
They headed to the study. Itachi whispered the whole way: "Today was… a bit much. Dad might chew you out—don't take it to heart…"
Makoto waved him off, smirking. He didn't care—quest rewards were in the bag. Mood? Sky high.
In the study, Fugaku sat stone-faced, brows knotted, knuckles drumming the desk like war drums.
Itachi sat ramrod straight. Makoto? Sprawled like a boneless cat, like he wasn't the one who started World War III today.
Fugaku's barely-contained rage flared back up.
"Itachi, out." Fugaku's voice was heavy, like a waterlogged rock.
Itachi didn't budge. He wanted to shield Makoto from the lecture.
Makoto gave him a tiny nod—I got this.
Itachi reluctantly left, cracking the door and gluing his ear to it. If Dad went too far, he'd barge in to beg for mercy. No way Fugaku didn't notice—but Itachi wasn't hiding.
"Makoto, today—do you know what you did wrong?" Fugaku's fingers hammered the desk, wood groaning.
Makoto shrugged. "Sure, I messed up. But here's the thing…"
"Today's real problem? You. I asked to borrow cash, you said no. I was stressed, so I went to Hokage Rock to blow off steam."
He flipped the script, playing victim like a pro—full wronged puppy energy.
"???" Fugaku's eye twitched like it got tased, lips spasming. He almost laughed from sheer fury. "So this is my fault now?"
"It's over. I'm done talking. And setting facts aside—don't you have any blame here?"
Makoto dropped the ultimate ninja-world nuke: the logic-defying guilt trip.
He was in a great mood—getting scolded would ruin it. To stay happy? Sorry, Fugaku—your turn to suffer.
Fugaku opened his mouth to roar—then froze.
He suddenly remembered how Makoto had silenced Danzo today.
Plus, their usual arguments? Fugaku never won.
He swallowed his fire. "Stay in the compound for a while. We'll talk after this blows over."
Makoto's smile froze. "Nope!"
"You'll be in danger out there!" Fugaku's voice rose, chest heaving, trying to crush the kid with sheer dad-energy.
"I can protect myself!" Makoto shot back, ironclad.
"No negotiation. Disobey, and you'll feel the weight of fatherly love!"
Fugaku rolled up his sleeves, rummaging for a weapon—eyes darting between a feather duster and a shiny spanking ruler.
"You'll regret this!" Makoto huffed, fuming. No honor!
"I'm the clan head!" Fugaku slammed the desk—teacup leaped an inch. He gripped the ruler like a sword.
BAM! Makoto stormed out, door slamming so hard the frame rattled, wood chips snowing down.
Itachi, mid-lunge to take the beating for his brother, jumped at the explosion.
Fugaku chased after, robes whipping past lanterns, orange light flickering across his face like a carousel.
"You have to listen! It's too dangerous!"
Makoto didn't look back, speed-walking away. Real men don't eat immediate losses.
He was mentally an adult from his past life—no way he was taking "fatherly love" again.
That night, Makoto packed a bag, left notes for Mikoto, Itachi, and Sasuke, and prepped to sail the seas.
Gonna find a rich sugar mama and ditch this heartbreak hotel.
Fugaku stared at Makoto's window all night. Sure enough—middle of the night, kid hopped out with his pack.
Fugaku sighed, blocking the gate, robes flapping in the night breeze.
"What'll it take to keep you in the compound for now?"
Makoto raised a brow, fake-pondering. After a long pause: "Money."
"Fine!" Fugaku agreed instantly.
Makoto spun on his heel, bounced back to bed—steps light as air.
Moonlight stretched his shadow across the wall, long and slippery like an eel ready to bolt.
If Makoto really wanted out, Fugaku staring 24/7 wouldn't stop him. The second Itachi took that kunai outside—Flying Thunder God, silent village exit.
Fugaku watched him go, helpless smile tugging his lips. This kid's a walking disaster.
Night breeze swept lantern light over the eaves. By dawn, Makoto was up early.
Saw Itachi still home, no missions, no cash—heartbroken expression activated.
He shook Itachi awake, dead serious: "Itachi, your Will of Fire is fading!"
Itachi, half-asleep: "Huh?"
Makoto clapped his shoulder, sage-like: "As a Konoha shinobi—even a genin—you must grind missions daily."
"Contribute your strength to Konoha's future."
"Don't disappoint me and Sasuke. Reflect."
He strutted off, hands behind his back.
Itachi frowned, mulling it over. He's… right?
He'd planned to take leave to cheer Makoto up post-lecture. Now? Gotta work. For the village. Can't let the bros down.
Grabbed his forehead protector and zoomed out.
Watching Itachi's back, Makoto grinned like a proud dad.
Itachi did missions for the Will of Fire. Money? That tainted the Will.
So… all loans go to me.