The man's words snapped Uchiha Souji out of his thoughts.
He suddenly realized—
he had been staring at Moonlight Hayate's coughing fit like he was watching a live show.
If this had been some short-tempered jōnin, Souji would probably already be picking his teeth up off the ground.
He quickly bowed his head.
"Sorry for staring!"
Moonlight Hayate waved his hand gently.
"It's fine. I don't know how many years I have left anyway."
As if to prove his point, he coughed again—
a deep, painful cough that sounded like his lungs wanted to resign.
Souji's lips twitched.
Brother, in the plot you're supposed to live for at least a few more years…
If Sunagakure's people don't stab you midway, you might even see the finale.
Ninja bodies were strange. They could look half-dead, skinny, pale, coughing blood… and still survive for decades on pure chakra and stubbornness.
Especially a jōnin like Hayate.
If he just visited a good hospital and threw some money at the right medic-nin, he could probably squeeze out another ten or twenty years.
Souji wiped any weird expression off his face and suddenly had an idea.
If he didn't want this man to ever hold a grudge…
Maybe he should build some goodwill.
"In order to apologize…" Souji said seriously, "today's meal is my treat."
He thought very realistically:
> If he remembers me in the future and comes to "teach" me at the Academy, that's a legal beating.
Better bribe him early.
If a jōnin ever agreed to teach in the Academy, the staff would roll out a red carpet for him. Most students were lucky to get a chūnin instructor. A jōnin teacher? That was a dream.
Hayate blinked in surprise, then smiled.
"Then I'll accept… cough, cough!"
He lifted a handkerchief, covered his mouth, and coughed a few more times—
and this time, a few red spots appeared on the cloth.
Souji's eyes widened.
"Blood?!"
He rushed forward, quickly supporting Hayate's arm, patting him gently on the back.
"Hey, hey, don't die here! If you die, I'm not paying for the funeral! I only promised you one bowl of ramen!"
His hands moved earnestly, but his mouth was pure chaos.
Hayate almost did choke to death.
He glared sideways at Souji.
These red-eyed kids… they really think I'm some dying old man they can bully. The world is going downhill. The young have no respect. My heart feels tired. My lungs too.
"I'm fine…" Hayate forced out, waves of exhaustion washing over him.
I was just dazed for a second. You hitting my back almost sent me across to the Pure Land.
---
Ichiraku Ramen — A Demon Blade and a Blackhearted Menu
Soon, the two of them arrived at Ichiraku Ramen.
Souji happily ordered two bowls of ramen and sat at the counter. He took off the long sword from his waist and placed it beside him.
Because he was still short, a full-length katana hanging at his side was very inconvenient. Sitting down with it was a chore. Walking through tight spaces was worse.
Moonlight Hayate's gaze naturally drifted toward the sword.
The moment his eyes landed on it, he felt something.
A coldness.
Not the normal chill of forged steel.
Not the sharp feeling of a well-maintained blade.
It was the cold of a graveyard in the dead of night.
The feeling you get when you dig dirt off a coffin.
Or when a ghost breathes on your neck.
Hayate's brows furrowed.
Why does this sword feel so… wrong? So familiar?
He tried to remember, but the memory danced just out of reach.
Before he could dig deeper, two steaming bowls of ramen were placed gently on the counter.
"Here you are."
Teuchi's calm voice broke his train of thought.
Hayate pulled his eyes away from the sword, picked up the chopsticks—
And then froze.
For a second, his hand stopped mid-air. The chopsticks slipped from his fingers and fell onto the counter with a soft clack.
Souji felt his heart jump into his throat.
Again?! Are you actually about to die this time?!
He jumped up from his stool and ran behind Hayate, quickly patting him on the back in a panic.
"Oi! Are you okay?! I saw your 'death aura' just now! Don't die now! If you die, I won't pay! I only treated you to ramen, not a burial plot!"
Hayate, who had only blanked out for a moment, nearly died for real from the combination of sudden slaps and nonsense commentary.
He coughed hard, then glared at Souji with tired eyes.
Red-eyed brat. Really thinks I'm old, weak, and ready for the coffin.
"I'm fine…" he wheezed.
"I just… remembered something."
He had wanted to ask about the sword.
But before he could speak, Souji's survival instinct activated.
He had already seen too many death flags around this man in a single lunch.
If they stayed together any longer, he was convinced some kind of karmic accident would kill Hayate—and he would be implicated.
Nope. Time to disengage.
Souji quickly pulled a few coins out of his pocket and dropped them on the counter.
"Thank you for the meal! I have something to do, so I'll leave first. Take care of yourself, Moonlight-san!"
He snatched up his Third Generation Ghost Blade, turned around, and ran out of Ichiraku like a little bandit escaping from crime.
Hayate blinked.
…What just happened?
He stood up, preparing to go after him.
Before he could take a step, a hand blocked his path.
Teuchi stood there, holding two coins in his hand. He smiled mildly.
"The little customer's money wasn't enough."
Hayate's mouth twitched.
He thought this place was reliable. Was it actually a black shop?
It wasn't this expensive last time I ate here… Did you raise the price because I look easy to bully?
"You're running a scam, right? That's enough to eat ramen ten times!"
Teuchi sighed softly, pointing at the hanging price board.
"He ordered the Super Invincible Seafood Ramen for you. I used three lobsters. So… this is the correct price."
The "aggrieved shopkeeper" expression was so perfect it made Hayate's skin crawl.
If Teuchi were a cute young girl making that face, Hayate might have felt pity.
But Teuchi was a middle-aged uncle.
And seeing a middle-aged uncle doing a "moe" expression—
Deeply disturbing.
Hayate quickly pulled out more money and slapped it onto the counter.
"Keep the change. I'm leaving."
He turned and tried to walk off briskly—
But once again, Teuchi grabbed him lightly by the sleeve.
"Guest, this still isn't enough. You're not trying to dine and dash, right?"
Teuchi lifted the stack of bills and coins, shaking them slightly with an innocent look.
Hayate stared at him.
"???"
Ramen inflation? Black shop? Robbery? Did I wake up in some kind of economic crisis?
Teuchi calmly explained:
"The seafood ramen you ordered is this price. Really. Look here."
He pointed again at the menu board. Sure enough, written in small but honest characters:
> Super Invincible Seafood Ramen – Three Lobsters – Very Expensive
Hayate's eyelid twitched.
Red-eyed brat. You ordered the most expensive thing on the menu for me… then ran away. Leaving me with the bill.
He sighed deeply from the bottom of his lungs.
"These red-eyed kids… they really think I'm old and easy to bully."
Still, he fumbled out a few more bills, dropped them on the counter, and finally escaped Ichiraku's warm, suffocating hospitality.
---
A Demon Blade in a Child's Hand
Once outside, Moonlight Hayate looked around the street.
He wanted to find Souji.
Not to scold him. Not to ask for money.
But because of the sword.
He glanced left.
Right.
Across the busy road.
Down the alley.
No trace of the small Uchiha was left.
He frowned.
The kid disappeared fast. I don't even know where he went.
As he stood there thinking, the earlier sensation rose again in his mind—the eerie chill from that blade.
Suddenly, the memory clicked.
He remembered where he'd felt something similar before.
A demon blade.
A weapon that wasn't just metal and chakra, but carried a strange, malignant presence—like grudges, death, and countless battles soaked into the steel.
In the ninja world, the definition of a "ninja" was incredibly broad.
If you could use chakra, even just to form a Clone Technique or Body Replacement Technique, you could be called a ninja.
Mercenaries were ninjas.
Ninjas were mercenaries.
Moonlight Hayate's swordsmanship was his entire pride. He wasn't famous for ninjutsu; his life was built on steel.
For someone like him, a truly good sword could raise his combat power by more than just a little.
Just a 0.1 advantage above an opponent—
In a shinobi duel, that could mean the difference between life and death.
He stood there silently, fingers curling slightly as he remembered the feeling of that blade.
A rare sword like that…
He desperately wanted it.
His heart whispered:
If I had that blade, my swordsmanship would reach a new level…
But reality whispered back:
It belongs to an Uchiha kid.
And behind that kid stands Uchiha Fugaku.
And behind Fugaku stands an entire clan of red-eyed lunatics.
Hayate's expression tightened.
His desire grappled with his common sense.
After a long moment, he let out a slow, heavy breath.
"That sword… really is a demon blade."
He raised his head and looked toward the distant Uchiha district.
"And that child… is Uchiha."
Between his frail body, a demon sword, and the most troublesome clan in the village—
Moonlight Hayate had a feeling:
His peaceful days were about to get more complicated.