Hiashi's eyes slid across his daughter's flushed cheeks. The half-eaten yakiniku plate was still sizzling, grease glistening like liquid gold on the rim.
The jaw he'd been clenching all damn day finally loosened. The panic that had been choking him since he got home and couldn't find Hinata finally ebbed out like low tide.
He'd spent the whole day verbally fencing with that old ghoul Danzō, came home, and his little girl was gone. Searched every corner of the compound, knuckles white, sleeves whipping pillars like he was trying to beat the worry out of the air.
Every nightmare flashed at once: Cloud trying round two, or Root finally making their move.
Then he saw her under the warm yellow lights of Yakiniku Q, safe, stuffing her face, and his heart finally dropped back out of his throat with a thud.
Hinata folded the scarf neatly, then whispered to Makoto, shy as hell.
"I… I have to go now."
Makoto ruffled her hair (soft as fresh mochi), fingers brushing her cool cheek. Voice low and warm: "Alright."
He took the scarf she offered, unfolded it, and wrapped it back around her snowy little neck himself, twice, letting the tassels dangle in front.
"Next time you give it to me in person, yeah?" He leaned in so only she could hear, barbecue smoke curling between them. "With your own hands."
Heat crawled up her neck; face went nuclear. All she managed was a tiny "mm!" and a nod so small it barely counted.
She shuffled to the door like she was walking on clouds, snow light leaking through the gap, dusting her tiny footprints.
Two steps out, she stopped, back still to him, voice barely louder than the wind.
"…Can I know your name?"
"Makoto."
He leaned on the table, tapping it lazily, grin in his tone.
"Makoto…" she repeated in her head, and suddenly her steps got bouncy—like a squirrel that just scored candy. She scampered to Hiashi and grabbed his sleeve like a lifeline.
Makoto waved the owner over to pay, opened his mouth to say "put it on Fugaku's tab"… and got told, "Hyūga clan head already paid. Said charge it to him."
Makoto snorted. Old man's fast when he wants to be.
He pushed the door open, snowflakes melting on his shoulders, and yelled after the retreating father-daughter duo (and Hizashi's family a little farther off).
"Yo, old geezer! Your girl's got a monster appetite—don't let her starve!"
Hinata tripped over nothing, blush exploding back full force.
Hiashi paused mid-step. Didn't know what "old geezer" meant exactly, but the casual teasing tone made his brow twitch. Still, he just dipped his head.
He'd been about to bark "this is improper!" when he saw the kid tie the scarf, but then he remembered the Grand Elder getting dragged off screaming today… and Danzō sneering "what even is the Hyūga clan?"
The scolding died in his throat.
A father plans deep for his kids. If the clan actually goes down in flames… having an in with that Uchiha psycho might be the only parachute Hinata gets.
He glanced down. Hinata was sneaking peeks at Makoto, white eyes sparkling like she'd caught starlight in them.
Hiashi's worries lightened a few pounds.
Uchiha are all batshit, yeah, but they're ride-or-die for their people. If Hinata stays on Makoto's good side, the clan drama might never touch her.
Then Hinata's soft voice floated up.
"Father… was it really the Grand Elder who saved me last night?"
Hiashi's throat bobbed. He looked at her little fingers clutching the scarf, the confusion in her eyes.
"No," he said, voice heavy as packed snow.
Her lashes dropped like frost-bent branches, but the tiny curve at the corner of her mouth gave her away.
She buried her face deeper into the scarf, nose brushing the yarn, breathing in that same scent from this morning.
Her fingertips toyed with the tassels, heart sprouting like a secret seed.
Was it you, Makoto?
Snow kept falling, blanketing Konoha white. Some answers stay buried until a curious little squirrel digs them up.
Makoto watched them disappear into the flurry, fingers still tingling from her hair. Turned back inside; the warm meat smell hit him like a hug. Stomach growled—he'd been so busy feeding Hinata he'd barely eaten.
…
Deep night, ink-black.
Cloud delegation creeping through the village like hyenas on the prowl, boots crunching snow soft as whispers.
After owning the Third Hokage in negotiations all day, they'd scared Hiruzen into keeping ANBU at a distance. Now they were "looking for late-night snacks."
Eyes sliding over every clan crest on every wall.
Plan Byakugan failed hard, Hyūga on lockdown, no second shot anytime soon.
But they were already here—empty-handed was not an option. Time to shop for other bloodlines.
They hit Yakiniku Q just as the snow eased up. Warm light and meat smell poured out when they pushed the noren aside.
Makoto was flipping fresh cuts over the grill. The Uchiha crest on his back glowed red in the coals like living fire.
Air froze solid.
Every Cloud ninja's eyes lit up like jackpot.
Two young hotheads practically drooled—Uchiha? Bring one home and you're set for life.
But the leader, Azumabito (or whatever her real name was), gave a tiny cough. Corner of her eye flicked to the old cherry tree down the street—ANBU still watching, far but locked on.
She sat, fingers drumming random beats, having a full silent argument with the squad via eyebrow Morse code.
The kids wanted to bag an Uchiha.
The veterans were screaming "hell no" with their retinas.
Yeah, Sharingan slaps harder than Byakugan any day.
But Uchiha aren't Hyūga—you don't just leash them and call it a day.
Back in the Warring States, even the Land of Lightning's daimyo hired Uchiha from halfway across the continent. They were the apex predators—only the Senju could slug it out with them.
Founding Konoha just put a muzzle on the beast. Didn't make it any less lethal.
Everyone's eyes kept flicking to Makoto.
Makoto caught it all in peripheral, lips curling into a lazy little smirk while the coals popped.
Bandits recognizing bandits. Cute.
He knew exactly what they were thinking—same playbook they tried on Hyūga.
His gaze slid over the group and snagged on two standouts.
The leader: skin dark and lacquered like polished ebony, eyes sharp as kunai, calm as deep water.
Next to her—Samui.
She noticed his stare, casually tugged her pale-gray collar closed. Skin like fresh rice flour, glowing under the lights. Short pale-blonde hair, strands stuck to her neck from the snow, jawline sharp enough to cut glass.
Aqua eyes cold as glacier melt, but the curves straining that top? Straight fire. Tall, stupidly stacked, the full Tsunade experience.
Makoto damn near whistled in his own head.
No wonder she's one of the shinobi world's legendary Twin Thunders, right up there with Tsunade.
Samui shifted, subtly rolling a shoulder that was definitely sore from carrying those monsters around in this weather. Tiny black skirt barely doing its job.
Black and white side by side—tension so thick the grill felt jealous.
Makoto took another bite, flicked open the golden panel in his mind with a thought.
[Naruto World Online]
Time to go shopping.