Chapter 177: Daily Life At The Konoha Ninja Academy, Myriad Forms Sweet Drink!
Life at the Ninja Academy, after that dramatic self-introduction on the first day of school, gradually settled into a calm, flowing daily routine.
Tender green leaves grew increasingly lush, sunlight filtering through the classroom windows, casting warm light spots on the neatly arranged desks.
The air was filled with the scent of chalk dust, new books, and the slightly sweaty vitality unique to children.
Menma sat by the window, propping his cheek with one hand, his gaze seemingly fixed on Iruka-sensei, who was passionately lecturing on the basics of Chakra Refinement from the podium, but in reality, his mind was wandering elsewhere.
Refining chakra?
For him, it was as natural as breathing, deeply ingrained in his bones.
The key points of ninjutsu and the chakra system that Iruka was explaining had long been forged into instinct through the brutal slaughter in the Limited Tsukuyomi World.
At this moment, the vast sea-like chakra within him was slowly flowing and circulating in an extremely subtle, almost imperceptible way.
Most of the time, the one appearing at the Ninja Academy was just a shadow clone.
The real body had long since used the Flying Thunder God Technique to shuttle between administrative duties in the Land of Stars, construction in Hoshigakure, or certain more secretive operations.
Only occasionally, when Naruto particularly looked forward to going to school together, or when there were sudden situations that a shadow clone couldn’t handle, would Menma’s true body briefly appear in this classroom filled with childish clamor.
For example today, the one sitting next to Naruto was the real Menma.
He could clearly feel the thick, authentic texture of the chakra within him, unlike the subtle, energy-constructed illusory sensation of a shadow clone.
He listened as Iruka explained the “Will of Fire,” protecting the village, safeguarding companions, and creating a peaceful future for the next generation.
To Menma, who was currently personally overturning the old order, these words carried a nearly ironic emptiness and hypocrisy.
He slightly lowered his eyelids, concealing the flash of cold detachment and alienation in his eyes, quietly playing the role of a “quiet, moderately studious war orphan.”
Meanwhile, Naruto Uzumaki was like a stone thrown into a calm lake, completely stirring up the class atmosphere.
He seemed to have endless energy, unable to sit still during class, always unable to resist looking around or whispering to Menma, though Menma mostly just nodded or gave brief responses.
After class, it was even more his domain, like an energetic little dog running and laughing in the classroom and corridors.
Surprisingly, his unmasked enthusiasm and somewhat silly sincerity had even attracted some companions.
Choji Akimichi quickly discovered Naruto’s pure love for snacks, just like his own, and the two often shared potato chips, quickly forming a “potato chips friendship.”
Kiba Inuzuka appreciated Naruto’s fearless boldness, and though the two often bickered over trivial things like who could run faster or who was stronger, this lively clash actually brought them closer quickly.
Shikamaru Nara, though always complaining “troublesome,” found Naruto too noisy, but watching Naruto make exaggerated moves to get everyone’s attention, watching him and Kiba playfight like two little animals, watching Choji beam with joy over half a bag of potato chips from Naruto.
In Shikamaru’s always half-lidded eyes, there would occasionally flash a subtle gleam of “troublesome, but kinda interesting.”
Even Sasuke, who was surrounded by girls like a star, frequently argued with Naruto, but didn’t despise him like the other villagers; the two were more like sworn rivals.
Unknowingly, Naruto gradually blended in with his classmates.
The dismissal bell rang like heavenly music.
Naruto was almost the first to rush out of the classroom.
“Menma bro! Hinata! Hurry up!” He stood at the end of the corridor, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting loudly, drawing good-natured laughter from other students.
Menma leisurely packed his books and slung on his simple cloth bag.
Hinata Hyuga followed close by his side with small, quick steps, her fair little face slightly flushed, her deep blue long hair swaying gently with her pace.
She wore the Hyuga clan’s plain training clothes, with a light white hooded jacket over them.
Hearing Naruto’s shout, she instinctively moved closer to Menma, her fingers lightly pinching the corner of his dark blue old jacket, then quickly letting go as if burned, her head dropping lower, her ears turning red.
Ever since that unexpected “big sister” declaration on the first day of school, the now back-to-normal Hinata had become even shyer around Menma, but her cautious affection and dependence were clearly conveyed through these small actions.
“Naruto… we’re coming…” Hinata responded in a soft, delicate voice, so quiet it was almost drowned out by the corridor’s clamor.
The three met up and walked out the school gate with the flow of students heading home.
The golden glow of the sunset stretched their shadows long.
Shikamaru Nara walked slowly home with his hands in his pockets, the sunset dragging a long shadow behind him.
He was a bit later than usual, having lingered under the shade of a tree by the playground watching the clouds roll by, pondering the possibility of simplifying the Shadow Imitation Jutsu.
Of course, the conclusion was “too troublesome, maybe later.”
Pushing open the gate of the Nara family residence, the air was filled with the faint scent of herbs and ink.
His father, Shikaku Nara, was sitting cross-legged on the veranda, a shogi endgame laid out before him, a pawn pinched in his hand, seemingly deep in thought.
Hearing the door open, Shikaku didn’t look up, casually asking, “Back late today, Shikamaru. Having fun at school with the new classmates?”
Shikamaru walked to the spot opposite his father and flopped down without any poise, letting out a long, weary sigh: “Ha… exhausted. No fun or not, just a pile of troublesome stuff.”
He ruffled his messy spiked ponytail.
“Oh?” Shikaku finally looked up at his son, a knowing smile in his eyes, “Like what? That energetic Naruto Uzumaki, or… that genius kid from the Uchiha family?”
“Tch.” Shikamaru pursed his lips, looking annoyed.
“Those two are natural sworn rivals. That Naruto guy bristles up the moment he sees Sasuke, Sasuke acts like he ate gunpowder, they start arguing in three sentences flat, always challenging each other to fights. Iruka-sensei is practically their full-time referee. So noisy.”
He mimicked Naruto jumping in frustration and Sasuke’s cold face, spot on.
“Hahaha!” Shikaku burst into hearty laughter upon hearing this.
“Young people, having vitality is good. That Naruto kid… hmm, pretty interesting. Shikamaru, you should get along well with them.” His tone carried an elder’s tolerance and a subtle depth.
Shikamaru keenly caught the odd note in his father’s tone.
He dropped his lazy expression, sat up a bit straighter, and looked at his father with dark eyes: “Dad, that Naruto… is there something special about him? I always feel like… some people in the village look at him strangely.”
Shikamaru’s observation skills were always sharp; he wasn’t oblivious to the “rejected loneliness” around Naruto or the villagers’ veiled looks of disgust.
Even when some students’ parents came to pick them up after school, Shikamaru could overhear unabashed malice and gossip like “Why is that guy here?” “The Third Hokage actually allows that guy to go to school?” “This is too dangerous…” “What if he hurts the kids?”
Yet Naruto seemed accustomed to it all, occasionally downcast but mostly cheerful.
Shikamaru could hardly imagine how, before enrolling, an orphan like Naruto lived facing the villagers’ open malice.
Shikaku’s smile faded slightly, and he pondered for a moment.
He set down the pawn in his hand, his gaze turning complex as he looked toward the deer garden in the courtyard, deep in the twilight, where a few deer raised by the Nara family strolled leisurely.
“Naruto’s background…” He paused, his voice lowering: “It’s complicated. Some things aren’t for you to know yet. You’ll understand in time.”
Another vague answer like that.
Shikamaru grumbled inwardly, but seeing his father’s expression, knew he wouldn’t get more.
He shifted to another person on his mind: “Then… there’s this guy named Menma in class, always hanging out with Naruto, always together. He doesn’t talk much, doesn’t pay attention in class, but seems to do well on every test.”
Shikamaru frowned, struggling to find words: “I just feel like he’s… kinda different. But can’t put my finger on it. Like… too quiet? Or too… laid-back? Sometimes I even think he’s lazier than me, not like someone our age.”
Shikamaru’s intuition told him Menma had an unnatural calmness beyond his years, even… a sense of alienation.
“Menma?” Shikaku’s fingers paused imperceptibly on the pawn at the name.
He looked up, his sharp gaze sweeping over his son’s puzzled face, his mind flashing to scattered intelligence reports from the intel unit two years ago.
This war orphan adopted by the Land of Fire great merchant Kado had a seemingly simple, clean background, but Kado did business across countries, adopting orphans in each, mostly leaving them to their own devices while he was constantly traveling for commerce, only returning to Konoha a few times a year.
A flicker of thought passed in the depths of Shikaku’s eyes.
But he quickly suppressed it, his face returning to its usual lazy casualness, shaking his head lightly and saying in a dismissive tone: “Oh, him. Just an ordinary war orphan, adopted by a merchant, pretty lucky. Probably been through some stuff, so he’s introverted. Don’t overthink it, Shikamaru, focus on your own things.”
He turned his attention back to the chessboard, as if the earlier topic was mere trivial chat.
Shikamaru watched his father refocus on the chess game; though his doubts weren’t fully dispelled, he knew he wouldn’t get more.
He shrugged, deciding to set aside this “troublesome” thought for now.
After all, thinking too much really was brain-draining.
The next afternoon, a rare weekend.
Warm sunlight bathed Konoha’s bustling commercial street, the air filled with the aromas of various snacks.
Shikamaru Nara was dragged out shopping by Ino Yamanaka and Choji Akimichi, one on each side.
As the heirs of the “Ino-Shika-Cho” trio clans’ new generation, they’d played together since childhood, building bonds and rapport; even if Shikamaru found it troublesome and wanted to refuse, he couldn’t.
He could only go along, watching Ino excitedly browse the flower shop, watching Choji eye every street vendor wafting food scents with longing.
“Hey, come on, let’s find a place to sit? What’s the point of wandering like this?” Shikamaru dragged his feet, complaining for the hundred-and-first time.
“Aw, Shikamaru, don’t be such a buzzkill! Look over there!” Ino suddenly pointed to a newly opened shop not far ahead, her eyes lighting up.
“So many people in line! A new dessert shop? Let’s check it out!”
Shikamaru lazily glanced in the direction Ino pointed.
Sure enough, in front of a shop with a novel decor style, there was a decent-sized line, mostly young ninjas and villagers with kids.
The shop’s sign was simple and bold, carved in dark brown wood with the words—”Myriad Sweet Drinks.”
Below the sign hung a string of small, uniquely shaped wind chimes, the pendants featuring a star-shaped pattern he’d never seen before.
And beside the line at the shop door stood three familiar figures.
Naruto Uzumaki was on tiptoes, craning his neck to peer inside, his face full of impatience, mumbling nonstop: “Red bean paste! Matcha! Strawberry daifuku! Which one’s best? Menma bro, what do you recommend?”
He wore bright orange clothes, his blond hair still striking.
The surrounding villagers even silently parted a path for him.
Menma, standing beside Naruto, calmly watched the villagers.
He wore simple red and black clothes, standing tall, his calm gaze scanning the shop’s sign and menu, as if assessing something.
“I’ll have a red bean milk tea.” He occasionally responded to Naruto, his voice low.
“Young Master Menma! Please wait a moment!” The Myriad Sweet Drinks shop manager bowed to Menma and personally began preparing the dessert.
On Menma’s other side, Hinata Hyuga kept her head slightly lowered, her fair little face tinged pink in the sunlight.
She wore elegant light purple casual wear, her fingers nervously twisting her hem, her gaze darting quickly to Menma beside her now and then.
When Naruto loudly declared what he wanted, she softly chimed in: “I… I think red bean paste… should be good too…”
Her voice as tiny as a mosquito’s hum.
Shikamaru watched the trio, especially the unusually calm Menma amid the crowd, and recalled his father’s casual “just an ordinary war orphan” from yesterday; a subtle sense of incongruity welled up again.
He looked at the new shop called “Myriad Sweet Drinks,” its sign gleaming in the sunlight, the little star-shaped wind chime pendant tinkling faintly in the breeze.
