The Hokage Tower always felt colder at night.

  Ken stood outside Hiruzen’s office, still half-wrapped in gauze from the Hidden Grass assignment. The summons had been simple: Report. Directly. No deys.

  The ANBU guards nodded him through without a word.

  Inside, the Third Hokage sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, a stack of scrolls pushed to the side. The old man looked more tired than usual—but when he saw Ken, he smiled faintly.

  “Ken,” Hiruzen said, gesturing for him to come in. “You made it back.”

  Ken nodded and dropped a sealed bck scroll on the desk. “Everything from the st b. Intel on the clone tech, chakra duplication, and Root signatures embedded in their sealwork.”

  Hiruzen opened the scroll slowly, scanning the contents with a growing frown. He set it down, then looked up.

  “Good work. We’ll need time to dissect this. But you’ve done more than I expected.”

  Ken didn’t answer.

  Hiruzen leaned back. “You need time to recover. Take it.”

  Ken blinked once. “Rest’s not really my style.”

  That earned a chuckle.

  “Then use the elemental stone rooms. ANBU HQ has been off-limits for new conditioning drills, but… for you?”

  He waved his pipe zily.

  “Knock yourself out.”

  Three days ter, Ken stood inside the Wind Room, breathing slow, deep.

  The chamber hummed with elemental chakra—pressure tight, air sharp. It wasn’t like training in the open. The resonance of the wind stone amplified every jutsu, forcing his body to adapt to the raw precision and timing it demanded.

  He trained without clones this time.

  Just muscle memory.

  Shōtotsu Kaze.Vacuum Bde.Flicker-dash with compressed wind coils.

  After two hours, his arms shook.

  After four, he colpsed.

  But when he stood again—his jutsu were faster. Tighter. Deadlier.

  By the end of the week, Ken finally pulled himself from HQ and returned to the small house his parents now lived in, tucked just behind the medical sector.

  He didn’t knock. Just walked in.

  His mother, Airi, nearly dropped a cup in surprise.

  “Ken! You could at least use the door like a human.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I did. You just didn’t hear.”

  Daiki appeared in the doorway, smirking. “He’s still an ANBU. That’s how they enter.”

  Ken offered a rare half-smile and sat at the low table. “Smells like soup.”

  Airi brought the pot over, muttering about “skinny ghost-sons” and “chakra-starved fools,” while Daiki just grunted and poured tea.

  They talked.

  Not about missions.

  Not about war.

  Just… normal things.

  Medicine. Vilge shops. The test Academy performance where a kid puked mid-Transformation Jutsu.

  Ken listened more than he spoke.

  And for once, it felt good.

  Later that afternoon, while walking the path toward the river, Ken spotted a familiar presence.

  Sasuke.

  Alone, seated on the bridge’s edge, legs swinging slightly.

  Ken approached.

  Sasuke looked up and straightened.

  “You came back.”

  Ken nodded. “Had to.”

  “I heard what you did in Grass Country.”

  Ken said nothing.

  Then Sasuke said, quietly, “I want to learn more.”

  Ken tilted his head. “You’re already training under Konoha instructors.”

  “They’re slow. They don’t teach Uchiha techniques. Not like we had before. I don’t know who else to ask.”

  Ken studied him—shoulders tense, fists tight, voice ft but desperate.

  “You’re not wrong.”

  Sasuke looked at him hopefully.

  But Ken shook his head.

  “You shouldn’t learn from me.”

  Sasuke blinked. “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t fight the Uchiha way. Not anymore.”

  Ken pced a hand on Sasuke’s shoulder.

  “But if you want to learn Uchiha-style—real Uchiha fighting—go to Daiki. He was a patrol officer for years. He knows the footwork, the flows, the bde forms.”

  Sasuke hesitated. “Your father?”

  Ken nodded. “Mine. Yours too, if you ask.”

  Sasuke looked down, unsure.

  Ken turned to leave.

  Then added, “Don’t chase power alone. It’ll bury you faster than any enemy.”

  And with that, he disappeared in a flicker.

  That night, Ken finally indulged himself.

  Ichiraku Ramen.

  He sat at the far end of the stall, steam rising from a freshly made bowl of tonkotsu ramen, savoring the first real meal he’d had in days that didn’t taste like rations and blood.

  The stall owner, Teuchi, gave him a knowing nod.

  “Rough mission?”

  Ken just grunted.

  “Extra egg,” Teuchi said. “You’ve got that ‘I nearly died again’ look.”

  Ken almost smiled.

  “Make it two.”

  A few minutes ter, the seat next to him scraped.

  “Hey, old man! Gimme the usual—Miso with extra chashu and no onions!”

  Ken gnced sideways.

  Naruto Uzumaki.

  Messy hair. Big grin. Energy for days. And completely unaware of who sat beside him.

  Naruto looked over.

  “Whoa—you’re ANBU, right?”

  Ken nodded slowly. “Sometimes.”

  “Cool! Do you, like, do assassinations? Or spy stuff? Or protect the Hokage?”

  Ken shrugged. “Mostly I just get yelled at for breaking walls.”

  Naruto burst out ughing. “Nice! I get yelled at for breaking fences. Or walls. Or windows. Or trees.”

  Ken finally chuckled. “You’re a menace.”

  “I prefer ‘dynamic shinobi in progress,’ thank you very much.”

  They ate for a bit in silence.

  Then Naruto asked, “So... ANBU's fun?”

  Ken paused.

  “No. But it matters.”

  Naruto tilted his head. “You always talk in weird serious riddles?”

  Ken replied with a small smirk. “You’ll understand someday.”

  Naruto slurped his noodles. “Bet I’ll understand faster if I become Hokage.”

  Ken looked at him—really looked.

  And saw not a prankster.

  But a spark.

  “Then train hard,” Ken said. “Because the world doesn’t hand that title out to anyone.”

  Naruto nodded. “I will. And I’ll make the vilge acknowledge me.”

  Ken raised his bowl. “To ramen and rebellion, then.”

  Naruto grinned and clinked his own.

  “Cheers.”