After enjoying the snacks and taking a short rest, Yakumo rose from her seat. Just as she was about to reach for her heavy art supplies and easel, a pair of hands lifted them before she could.
Mamoru efficiently slung the art bag and easel over each shoulder, the canvas straps immediately leaving shallow indentations on his shoulders.
"Don't just stand there, let's go." He tilted his chin toward the door, his gaze casually sweeping over Yakumo's slightly surprised face.
Yakumo finally snapped out of it and hurriedly reached out to take them. "No need, I can do it myself."
"You look so frail, better save your strength to think about where we're going." Mamoru curled his lip in feigned annoyance but deliberately stepped back a few steps, avoiding her outstretched hand.
"You..."
Yakumo bit her lower lip, her clenched fists trembling slightly. In the end, she could only glare at him and turn to walk straight ahead, her steps hurried and heavy, as if she wanted to stomp all her dissatisfaction into the stone pavement beneath her feet.
Mamoru shrugged indifferently and followed with light steps, the art supplies swaying gently on his back with his pace.
The two of them walked one behind the other through the streets and alleys of Konoha, always maintaining a perfect distance, neither too close to be awkward nor too far to seem like strangers.
On the afternoon streets, pedestrians hurried to and fro, and the shouts of vendors intertwined with the bargaining of customers into a familiar background noise. No one paid particular attention to this seemingly strange duo.
The sunlight stretched their shadows very long, sometimes overlapping and sometimes separating.
Before long, the two passed through the noisy district and turned into a quiet residential area.
A charred ruin stood abruptly among the neat houses, like a scar that had not yet healed. The fire-damaged beams and pillars tilted toward the sky, and thick soot stains still remained on the broken walls.
As the breeze passed, it kicked up fine ashes, carrying a burnt scent.
Yakumo stopped in front of the ruins, as if tripped by an invisible rope. She stared blankly at the wreckage, her fingers unconsciously clutching the hem of her clothes, her knuckles turning white from the force. Her eyes gradually reddened, and tears shimmered in them, yet she stubbornly refused to let them fall.
Mamoru silently walked up behind the girl. From her constantly trembling shoulders and suddenly stiff back, he had already guessed what this place was.
Seeing Yakumo's desolate figure looking exceptionally frail before the broken walls, Mamoru took a few steps forward to stand side-by-side with her and asked softly, "This place is...?"
Yakumo didn't seem to hear him until the breeze blew her long brown hair, only then did she snap back to reality. Her voice was as soft as if she were talking to herself. "This is my home... it was destroyed by a great fire."
Her fingertips sank deep into her palms, and a bone-deep hatred flashed in her eyes. "My parents... also perished in that fire."
At this moment, she didn't know that the culprit behind all these tragedies was actually her own alter ego. She even stubbornly believed that all of this was Hiruzen's doing.
Mamoru was silent for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the charred walls. "Then you must be strong."
"Strong?" Yakumo let out a light scoff, the corners of her lips curling into a mocking arc. "What strength is there for someone who has lost even their freedom?"
Mamoru ignored her tone and continued, "If your parents were still alive, they certainly wouldn't want you to live in sadness."
"What do you know?" Yakumo suddenly turned her head, her eyes full of anger and pain. "Stop saying such self-righteous things."
Mamoru sighed silently.
This business of comforting people was truly hard work.
His voice was calm yet heavy. "How could I not understand? Did you forget my surname?"
"U...chiha..." Yakumo murmured, then froze as if struck by something.
The tragedy that had shocked all of Konoha a few years ago instantly surfaced in her mind.
Mamoru's gaze drifted toward the distant sky, his voice devoid of emotion. "On that night five years ago, when I woke up, there was blood everywhere, and my parents' bodies were lying right beside me. Overnight, the Uchiha clan was slaughtered to the last... leaving only me and Sasuke."
Yakumo looked sideways at Mamoru, her lips trembling slightly. Several times she wanted to speak, but in the end, she said nothing. The anger in her eyes gradually faded, replaced by a complex emotion.
Finally, she just said in a low voice, "Let's go back."
Mamoru turned his face upon hearing this, their gazes meeting in the air, and asked, "Not looking for a place to paint anymore?"
"Not in the mood." Yakumo looked away, her long hair blowing across her cheek.
After saying that, she turned and left without hesitation, her pace so fast it was as if she were trying to escape something.
Mamoru shrugged indifferently, tightened the strap of the bag sliding off his shoulder, and stepped out to follow her.
The afternoon sun, like an ancient visitor, gently enveloped the wooden sign of "Shueido Bookstore." That layer of warm glow was like a sigh of time, illuminating the fine cracks on the sign as if silently telling the countless stories it had witnessed.
Yakumo stopped and looked up at the sign, a hint of confirmation in her tone. "This is the place you mentioned?"
"That's right. I've walked so far with you, so you can accompany me for a bit, right?"
As Mamoru spoke, he had already reached out and pushed open the somewhat aged wooden door.
The copper wind chime above the door frame let out a crisp and pleasant "ding-dong" sound, breaking the silence of the bookstore.
"Come in quickly." He called back.
The two walked into the shop one after the other, and a scent unique to books, a mixture of ink and old paper, greeted them.
"Welcome." A slightly lazy voice came from behind the counter.
The bookstore owner was seen resting his chin on one hand, elbow on the counter, while his other hand listlessly flipped through an account book.
When he lifted his eyelids and saw Mamoru walking in, a look of surprise immediately appeared on his face, his eyebrows arching slightly. "Eh? Isn't this Mamoru?"
Mamoru was clearly a regular here. He walked straight to the counter, leaning against it casually, and asked with a grin, "Boss, any 'good stuff' to recommend lately?"
Upon hearing this, the owner's face immediately broke into a knowing and slightly frivolous smile. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Of course I have, but those 'good goods' will have to wait until you're a few years older."
"My dead old man told me to come buy it." Without blinking an eye, Mamoru smoothly tossed out his prepared excuse.
"Heh..."
The owner's lips twitched, and invisible black lines seemed to hang from his forehead.
He shook his head helplessly. "You really are... 'filial.'"
(End of Chapter)
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