"Ughhh—" Makoto Uchiha drew out the sigh, letting it twirl around the study like a lazy cat. His fingertip drummed on the cover of Makeout Paradise.
"Fine, leave it to me. One hundred percent guaranteed."
"Dad says no dogs in the house? Cool, he can move out."
Sasuke started to grin—then Makoto's next line choked it right off.
"Why were you dodging me all day?" Makoto leaned back in the cedar chair, legs squeaking across the tatami. "What'd you do this time, huh? Spill before I dig."
Sasuke's face flashed apple-red from cheeks to ears, even his neck. Knuckles white around a fistful of dog fur, he stammered like a kitten with its throat pinched.
"Bed-wetting again? Or…" Makoto dragged it out.
"NO!" Sasuke's voice cracked high, cutting him off. "I stopped ages ago! Last month was an accident!"
"Then what? Want me to investigate? You'll regret it." Makoto arched a brow, watching little Sasuke bristle. Gotta admit—kid Sasuke was adorable.
Sasuke's face was a tomato ready to pop, but the defeat in his eyes was plain. Yesterday's clan meeting disaster would get out eventually. Better fess up.
"…They laughed at me during the clan meeting…" His voice shrank to nothing, head burying into the pup's back. Little White whined at the hair-ruffle.
Compared to his brothers, he felt miles behind.
Makoto ruffled his hair, warm like sun-baked laundry. "No big deal. You'll outgrow every last one of them. Trust me."
In a clan full of nutcases, Sasuke was practically the normal one—just tsundere, stubborn, mouthy-but-soft, ice-on-the-outside, total poser… okay, maybe not that normal.
"Hmph, don't need your approval!" Sasuke's eyes sparked like struck flint, but he scooted closer anyway.
"Hand over Little White." Makoto scooped the pup—fluffy snowball with a milk-baby scent.
He poked Sasuke's forehead hard, leaving a red dot like fresh cinnabar.
"Got stuff to do. Go bug Itachi." Mimicking Itachi's signature move, he twisted the line: "Forgive me, Sasuke… this won't be the last time."
"OW!" Sasuke hopped back, rubbing the spot, baring tiny fangs.
On his way out, he yanked a bulging kitty coin purse from his pocket and dumped every ryō on Makoto's desk.
"Big bro says you're into cash lately. It's all yours."
Before Makoto could blink, Sasuke was at the door. "Don't blow it!"—then thump-thump-thump down the hall.
Makoto stared at the pile of pocket change, then the snoring pup in his arms, and cracked up.
Evening sunset bled through the window, painting the room crimson. The word Paradise on the book cover glowed like it was on fire…
…
Konoha's spring and summer slipped through your fingers like sand. Blink—autumn leaves buried under snow. Six months gone in a flash.
Cicada husks still dangled from cherry branches when morning dew froze into glitter. The first snowflake twirled onto the First Hokage's statue on Hokage Rock, and the whole village was tucked into a white quilt.
Snow started at dawn—fine as salt, whispering over paper screens. Minutes later: goose-down blizzard.
Fluffy clumps piled on eaves, treetops, the Uchiha compound walls. Dark tiles sagged; icicles hung like crystal curtains, tinkling in the wind.
Hokage Rock was a smudged ink painting in the distance, swallowed by the storm.
Makoto leaned against a vermilion pillar, lazy as a cat in a sunbeam. Little White—now bigger—curled in his arms, snowy fur like a breathing snowball.
Three-plus years old, Makoto wore a pure-white haori. The Uchiha fan crest at the collar glowed dark red in the snow-light. Flakes melted on his shoulders; his skin looked like fresh lychee, warm jade sheen.
Those eyes—black pupils bright as obsidian dipped in snowmelt. Slight upturn at the corners, naturally playful. When he smiled, they curved into crescent moons, warmth spilling out like the first clear sky after a storm.
Nose straight, lips soft pink. Kid face, but already stupidly handsome. Snow loved him—silver edges on his hair, snowflakes on his lashes like pink diamonds.
Even among the Uchiha—land of pretty people—Makoto was that guy.
Out in the yard, Sasuke squatted in the snow, cheeks flushed, nose red as Rudolph. Breath puffed in clouds, frosting his lashes.
He packed a snowball onto his snowman—plop—it fell, splattering his boots white.
"Idiotic little bro!" Makoto's voice floated light through the flurry.
Sasuke whipped around, eyes blazing in the snow. "You're the idiot! This is art!"
Spotting Makoto's smirk, inspiration struck.
Winter sun peeked through clouds, dazzling off the snow. Sasuke sneaky-scooted back, packed a snowball, tip-toed, and yeeted it at Makoto's face.
Arc perfect—straight for the money-maker.
"Feeling frisky?" Makoto tilted his head. Snowball grazed his bangs, splat against the pillar in a white burst.
Next second—crimson flooded his pupils. Sharingan popped like neon in the snow.
Sasuke's second snowball? Caught one-handed.
Makoto whipped it back at a nasty angle—thunk—dead-center Sasuke's noggin.
"HEY! Cheater!" Sasuke wiped his face, hopping mad. "Snowball fights don't get Sharingan! Unfair!"
"You've got one too!" Makoto shrugged, tomoe spinning Sasuke's pout into HD. "What, don't wanna?"
Boom—lit the fuse. Sasuke went full chili-pepper red. "I HATE YOU!"
He packed another snowball but didn't throw—just glared, stomping a mini crater.
"Fine, fine. Baby bro privileges." Makoto waved it off. "No Sharingan."
Poof! Hands blurred through seals. Chakra surged. "Shadow Clone Jutsu!"
Pop-pop-pop! Three perfect Makoto copies materialized, already rolling snowballs in sync.
"More the merrier, right?" He chin-nodded at Sasuke. The clones advanced, boots crunching.
Six months weren't wasted—ninja lore, Flying Thunder God drills, chakra refining, plus a fat stack of new jutsu.
Sasuke bolted. "CHEATER! Clones are worse than Sharingan!"
He slipped, nearly ate snow, caught himself with snowy hands.
Looked back—the clones were sandbagging, letting him catch up. He laughed despite himself, flinging handfuls of powder.
One clone snuck a fistful down his collar.
Sasuke yelped, spun, smashed a snowball in another clone's face—missed the ice patch. Splat. Flat on his back, snow fog exploding.
Makoto—real one—leaned on the pillar, flipping through a book, glancing up every few seconds at Sasuke vs. Clone Squad. Little White yipped like a hype man.
Creak. Compound gate opened.
Itachi stepped in, exhaustion etched deep—bags darker, lashes heavy. Kid wasn't even ten and already living the 996 ninja grind.
But the scene—Sasuke chasing clones, Makoto grinning against the pillar, Little White wagging—melted the tension from his face.
Long days, brutal missions… but coming home to his brothers? Best thing in the world.
Makoto caught his eye. Grin widened—like a boss spotting his MVP.