Chapter 174: Naruto And Sasuke Are Natural Opposites
A few days later, Konohagakure.
The chill of deep autumn was replaced by the biting cold of early winter, the air dry and frigid, breath turning to frost.
Bare branches stretched out under the overcast gray sky, desolate yet carrying a crisp clarity belonging to winter.
Menma tightened the black jacket around him, burying half his face into the rough scarf, revealing only a pair of deep blue eyes.
“As expected.” He stood before the mirror, scrutinizing the changes in his eyes.
The originally transplanted Sharingan and Red Eye had surprisingly turned deep blue in their closed state—what kind of power did this body’s genes truly hold?
His cheap old man, Minato Namikaze, was he really just an ordinary Civilian Ninja?
Menma examined this pair of deep blue eyes identical to Naruto’s, harboring a serenity beyond his years, even a faint trace of weariness.
He had just returned from the Land of Stars via the Flying Thunder God Technique; crossing a thousand miles of space brought little physical burden, but Shisui’s distraught appearance and the increasingly massive structure in the Land of Stars weighed on his heart like an invisible stone.
Today was the weekend, the day he had agreed with Naruto to go eat at Ichiraku Ramen Shop.
Thinking of Naruto’s cheerful figure, a trace of warmth flickered deep in Menma’s eyes, his steps quickening.
In Konoha Park, the evergreen pines stubbornly held their dark green, but the grass had long turned yellow and withered.
Several children huddled with necks shrunk, playing ninja games, wooden kunai and shuriken scattered all over the ground.
“Hey! Don’t you watch where you’re walking?! You bumped into someone, you know!”
A familiar voice pitched high with fiery anger exploded.
Menma looked toward the sound, seeing at the park entrance Naruto Uzumaki with hands on hips, like a kitten with its tail stepped on, puffing up and glaring at the person before him.
His signature blond hair still shone brilliantly under the somewhat dim winter light, cheeks flushed from anger and cold, blue eyes burning with two small flames.
The target of his shout was a black-haired boy wearing a dark blue high-collar short-sleeve shirt with a ping-pong paddle clan crest on the back—Sasuke Uchiha.
Sasuke had hands in his pockets, chin slightly raised, his refined little face showing undisguised cold indifference and a hint of offended arrogance.
He had clearly just turned from another path, the two brushing past at the narrow entrance.
“Hmph.” Sasuke let out a light snort from his nose, black eyes glancing sideways at Naruto, his tone carrying the Uchiha’s characteristic pride and a faint trace of irritation.
“Clearly you were the one bumping around like a headless fly.” He bit out “headless fly” especially clearly.
“Who are you calling a headless fly?!” Naruto instantly bristled, voice rising another octave, nearly jumping up: “I’m the guy who’s gonna be Hokage! You stuck-up jerk!”
“Heh, Hokage?” Sasuke’s lips curved in undisguised mockery: “A clumsy idiot who can’t even walk straight should stick to daydreaming.”
He was too lazy to continue, lifting a foot to go around Naruto.
“Stop right there! Apologize!” Naruto wouldn’t let it go, darting a step to block Sasuke again, neck thrust out aggressively.
The two were of similar height, one like a burning little sun, the other like cold black obsidian, their gazes clashing fiercely in the frigid air, sparks flying.
The nearby children stopped playing, watching the pair with curiosity and a bit of fear.
Menma sighed silently, striding over quickly.
He was long used to such scenes.
Naruto and Sasuke seemed born with some strange magnetic field; whenever they got close, even just an accidental glance in a crowd, it could instantly ignite a verbal sparring match.
“Naruto.” Menma’s voice wasn’t loud, yet it carried a peculiar penetrating power, instantly shattering the tense standoff between them.
Naruto whipped his head around, seeing Menma, his anger instantly replaced by delight, eyes lighting up: “Menma bro! You’re here!”
He immediately forgot about Sasuke, bounding over to Menma’s side in a few steps, habitually reaching to drape an arm over his shoulder.
“Let’s go, let’s go! Ramen time! I’m starving flat!” He exaggeratedly rubbed his stomach.
Menma subtly shifted half a step aside, dodging Naruto’s hand dusted with grass clippings and dirt, his gaze yet gentle as it fell on him: “Yeah, let’s go.”
From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Sasuke.
Sasuke’s black eyes flicked rapidly between Menma and Naruto, a trace of curiosity and scrutiny passing deep within.
Just then, a thin, mosquito-like voice tinged with obvious nervousness sounded: “Me… Menma… Na… Naruto…”
The three turned, seeing Hinata Hyuga standing timidly a few steps away.
She wore a plain light purple cotton jacket, wrapped in a white scarf, her small face reddened from the cold, pure Byakugan eyes slightly lowered in tension, hands fidgeting with her hem.
She had followed Naruto’s signature loud voice here.
“Hinata!” Naruto spotted her, his smile growing even brighter, waving enthusiastically.
“Come on! We’re going to eat Old Man Ichiraku’s super ramen!”
“Mm… mm!” Hinata responded softly, shuffling over in small steps to stand by Menma, sneaking a glance up at him, face reddening further before quickly lowering her head.
This shy demeanor was clearly Little Hinata, not Big Sister Hinata.
Menma nodded to Hinata in greeting.
He looked at Sasuke again, finding the other’s gaze on Hinata with a hint of scrutiny, then shifting away, resuming his indifferent air toward everything.
“Let’s go.” Menma wasted no more time, turning first toward the commercial street.
Naruto immediately followed with his usual racket.
Hinata softly assented, following closely at Menma’s side.
The three formed a small group, heading toward the commercial street wafting with food aromas and warm lights.
Naruto gestured excitedly, seemingly describing to Menma and Hinata how delicious the extra-large chashu portion he had last time was.
Menma had hands clasped behind his head, Hinata blushing, the two occasionally responding.
Sasuke Uchiha stood in place, unmoving.
Cold air swirled up a few dry leaves, spinning past his feet.
Hands in pockets, he watched the three receding backs.
The boisterous blond Naruto, the shy and quiet young lady of the Hyuga Main Family, and that Menma… He slightly furrowed his delicate brows.
Those eyes… deep blue, identical to Naruto’s, yet profoundly serene like a frozen lake.
Moreover, the way Menma had looked at him earlier… Sasuke keenly sensed a faint scrutiny unlike that of other villagers, a gaze that seemed to pierce his cold hard shell, seeing things even he himself hadn’t yet understood.
A strange feeling rippled in Sasuke’s heart like a stone dropped into a deep pool.
He pursed his lips, finally stepping toward the clan territory.
The familiar warm yellow lights and rich, hearty bone broth aroma of Ichiraku Ramen Shop acted like a warm haven, instantly dispelling the chill outside.
In the small shop, steam rose thickly amid bustling voices, the long benches nearly full of diners.
“Uncle Teuchi! Three extra-large miso chashu ramen! Extra chashu! Menma bro’s treating!” Naruto charged in first, squeezing to the counter familiarly, slapping the surface and shouting energetically.
The busy Uncle Teuchi looked up, seeing Naruto’s signature grin and Menma and Hinata following behind, his face immediately breaking into a kindly smile: “Oh! Naruto, Menma, and Hinata! Sit, sit! Extra-large miso chashu, extra chashu! Coming right up!”
His gaze over Menma and Naruto carried a faint, gentle pity for the orphans.
The three squeezed onto the last empty spots at the counter.
Naruto rubbed his hands impatiently, staring eagerly at the bubbling pot in the kitchen.
Hinata sat carefully beside Menma, sipping hot wheat tea brought by Miss Ayame to warm her hands, occasionally sneaking glances at Menma’s profile.
Menma sat quietly, removing his scarf to reveal his youthful face tinged with fatigue.
Soon, three steaming bowls piled high with tempting chashu pork were set before them.
The rich aroma hegemonically invaded their nostrils.
“Let’s dig in!” Naruto cheered, grabbing chopsticks and eagerly lifting a huge clump of noodles, slurping loudly, huffing from the heat but unwilling to spit it out, face beaming with pure satisfaction.
“Careful, it’s hot.” Menma watched this bratty little brother with some exasperation.
Hinata picked up her chopsticks, elegantly picking up a single noodle and blowing on it gently.
Menma didn’t start eating right away.
He watched Naruto devouring ravenously, broth on his lips yet grinning carefree, those deep blue eyes identical to his own clearly reflecting the rising steam from the ramen.
In a daze, that blond blue-eyed image overlapped for an instant with the memory deep within, of his mother Kushina Uzumaki with her similarly bright smile and fiery personality, in some hazy yet warm dinner scene.
His heart felt gently squeezed by an invisible hand, stirring a fine, bittersweet warmth.
He silently picked up his chopsticks, steadily lifting the few glossy thick slices of chashu from his bowl, placing them one by one into Naruto’s already overflowing bowl.
“Huh?” Naruto was head down eating hard when he felt the portion increase, looking up blankly with broth on his lips, seeing the extra chashu in his bowl, then Menma’s now left with just lonely noodles and sides, stunned.
“Menma bro? You… eat some yourself! Why give it to me?”
“I’m not that hungry.” Menma’s voice was calm and emotionless, just lowering his head to pick up a chopstick of noodles, eating slowly and methodically, as if it were the most ordinary thing.
His gaze fell on the rising steam in his bowl, long lashes casting a small shadow below, concealing the complex emotions surging deep in his eyes.
What he gave was far more than just a few slices of chashu.
It was more like carefully, clumsily filling the gulf between the brothers—years long, perhaps even a decade or more, forged by conspiracy and time.
Each approach, each such trivial giving, was like tentatively touching a fragile dream.
Naruto blinked, looking at Menma’s lowered profile, then down at the extra meat in his bowl, his boisterous expression slowly fading.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end just said a forceful “Thanks,” lowering his head to continue eating, though his pace seemed slower than before, chewing more deliberately.
A strange, warm cozy feeling, mingled with the ramen’s heat, spread from his stomach to his heart, dispelling all the winter chill.
Hinata sat quietly beside them, eating her noodles in small bites, her pure Byakugan taking in every subtle interaction.
She could feel beneath Menma’s serenity beyond his years, that unspeakable, heavy tenderness toward Naruto.
Her cheeks were red, whether from the ramen steam or the warmth silently flowing between the brothers, she didn’t know.
Inside the ramen shop, voices buzzed, bowl and chopsticks clinked, diners laughed and chatted, Uncle Teuchi’s loud calls wove together, full of the warmth of human life.
Steam rose hazily from Menma’s bowl, blurring the contours of his lowered face, only those deep blue eyes faintly visible through the white mist, harboring thoughts no one could understand.
