That one-eyed creep had threatened the orphanage kids and the village aid money to force Kabuto Yakushi into Root. To keep the orphanage safe, to protect the dean who'd raised him…
Kabuto couldn't say no to Danzō Shimura. He gritted his teeth, forced a stiff smile, and "volunteered" to join.
Step by step he walked into Root's sunless underworld. The smiling kid from the orphanage died that day. All that survived was a spy.
Every thought of staying by the dean's side—he locked it in an iron box in Root's file room, along with his old name, and slapped a thick seal on it.
Kabuto stared at the bouquet one last time. The longing in his eyes was thick as ink. Then he turned and bolted, footsteps fast like he was running from ghosts, invisible chains dragging behind him.
Now even sneaking a glance at the dean was a luxury. On the worst nights he warmed himself with memories, chewing loneliness and danger and swallowing it whole.
But when he pictured the little brothers and sisters in thick cotton coats, slurping hot miso soup, and the dean not losing sleep over bills—he figured this "little" suffering was worth it.
More than worth it.
Snow kept falling, smearing the flower shop's glass in hazy white, turning the outside world into a watercolor painting—soft, but kinda cruel.
Makoto Uchiha watched Kabuto disappear around the corner, absently brushing snow off his shoulder.
The ice melted under his fingertips, coolness creeping up his skin.
The Naruto world was built on a mountain of tragedies, big and small… Kabuto had clearly joined Root. His tragic arc had officially kicked off.
In the original story, late-game Kabuto granted everyone else's dreams during the Fourth War, but never his own.
From amnesiac, wounded orphan to being taken in by Nonō Yakushi, cared for selflessly… then killing her with his own hands. Just thinking about it made Makoto's chest tight.
The mastermind behind that plan? Pure evil in human form—Danzō Shimura.
Makoto huffed out a breath, watching the white cloud vanish in the cold air. He thought to himself:
"If Kabuto had Uchiha blood, the pain alone would probably awaken his Mangekyō Sharingan on the spot."
Wind whipped snow into his face. He turned and crunched toward the flower shop, boots squeaking a rhythm on the packed snow.
Kabuto was prime assistant-to-a-mad-scientist material, but Danzō wasted him on spy work. What a crime.
When it came to nurturing talent, Orochimaru actually had a system—and compared to that old fossil Danzō, the snake was practically the conscience of the ninja world. Makoto smirked inside.
"Gotta get Kabuto to Orochimaru ASAP. Can't let that genius go to waste."
"Put those two together and you've got the current top-tier science duo in the ninja world. They won't get outdated with new 'patches,' and who knows—might come in handy later."
Plus, it'd stop the tragedy with Nonō. Doing that kind of good deed? Kabuto would owe him for life. Total win-win.
Plan settled, Makoto pushed open the flower shop door.
The brass bell jingled like a needle popping the snowy afternoon's silence. A wave of fragrance spilled out—sweet roses, fresh carnations… mixed with earthy soil.
It chased the chill right off him.
Behind the counter crouched a little blonde girl with a red ribbon in her short hair, swaying as she moved.
Her floral apron had fresh dirt smudges—she must've just hauled flowers in from the back. On tiptoes, she arranged carnations on the shelf.
Chubby fingers twisted a stem, straightening crooked petals, even plucking the wilted outer ones into a bamboo basket nearby. Careful kid.
"Welcome!"
She popped up at the bell, eyes sparkling like dew-kissed asters. Snowflakes clung to her lashes—she shook them off before speaking.
The second her gaze landed on Makoto's face, those eyes went wide. Her cheeks flushed sunset-pink.
She ducked her head fast, twisting her apron strings till her knuckles went white. How is there a big brother this cute?!
Makoto wore simple white today, making his skin look like fresh lychee. Same black hair and eyes as any Uchiha kid—but something about him was alive in a way that made you stare. Especially when he smiled: eyes tilted up, black irises full of star-shards.
"I'm here for flowers."
His voice was clear, like snowmelt over river stones. The bell by the door swayed again, chiming softly.
Ino Yamanaka let out a tiny "eep!", shooting upright. Dirt from her apron smeared her cheek—she didn't notice. She clenched her fists. Gotta look competent!
Can't embarrass herself in front of a hottie like this.
"My mom… stepped out for a delivery, but I can totally help!"
She puffed out her chest, trying to act professional. But her eyes kept flicking to his face like magnets.
Look, look away—ears cherry-red, voice shaky. Inside she was screaming: He's even cuter than the Uchiha guys in the police force!
She bit her lip till she tasted blood, barely containing her squeal.
Makoto wandered the shop, fingertips brushing water droplets on petals—cool and smooth.
White roses on the left shelf glistened with melted snow, tips blushed pink like a shy girl who'd been crying. Sunflowers in the right basket blazed gold, faces chasing the faint light through the window.
In the corner, camellia buds bulged fat and green, full of secrets…
He grabbed a bunch. He was already here, on Fugaku's tab—might as well stock up.
Mikoto Uchiha loved fresh flowers. Last time he saw her windowsill, the hanging plant looked half-dead. Swap it out, and she'd beam.
She'd always been good to him. Little gestures mattered.
Behind him came a squeak. Ino was on a stool reaching for top-shelf carnations. The wood creaked like a cat getting tickled.
Her skirt brushed packing paper on the floor, revealing socks embroidered with tiny daisies—stitches crooked, obviously handmade. Kid-level earnest.
She spun with a huge armful of carnations. The stool wobbled—she pitched forward half an inch toward Makoto, panicked, and grabbed the counter.
The bouquet swayed. Golden petals fluttered down like scattered gold flakes, landing by her muddy little shoes.
"S-sorry!"
Her voice was mosquito-thin. She buried her face, long lashes hiding her eyes, fingers clawing the counter edge.
Makoto waved it off.
Ino peeked up, beaming. "That's… a lot of flowers. Can you carry them all home?"
He glanced at the pile—yeah, way more than planned. And he had stuff to do later. No time for deliveries.
He raised a brow, idea clicking. "Pack them all up nice. When you've got time, drop them at my place, cool?"
Ino's head snapped up, eyes glowing like lanterns. His reflection clear in her pupils. "YES!"
Her voice cracked like snapped rock candy, tail end trembling. Home delivery was standard—but for a big order from him?
Jackpot. She'd finally learn where this dreamboat lived.
She squashed the giddy thoughts, rubbing dirt deeper into her apron, terrified she'd giggle and look like a baby.
Makoto caught the sparkle she couldn't hide, ears red as cherries. His lips curved into a warm, easy smile.
Inside he snorted: Ninja world kids mature fast. She's what, eight? Already a little fangirl.
He leaned against the doorframe, watching her tiptoe to slip dust bags over the flowers.
Chubby fingers tied ribbon bows—knot, untie, retie—never satisfied. Finally she tucked a fresh sunflower petal into the knot and nodded, pleased.
Snow piled soft on the eaves like a fluffy white hat for the shop.
A draft rattled the bell again—ding—rose scent drifting out, rippling gently over the snow before new flakes buried it.
After a bit, Makoto handed her the address slip.
"I'll deliver them myself when Mom gets back!" She looked up, petal still stuck in her hair, dead serious.
He hummed, pushed through the curtain. Cold wind blasted his collar, snow stinging his cheeks.
He had business.
From today's intel, Orochimaru hadn't defected yet. In the original timeline, the snake bailed right before the Cloud Village ceasefire.
Time was ticking—Orochimaru was about to go nuclear and bounce from the village.
Whether he left or not didn't affect Makoto much. But since he was leaving…
Last life, Makoto had been a fan. Asking for a few parting gifts before the guy vanished?
Totally fair.