With the foot traffic thinning out, Uchiha Hikari gradually started to relax—and even got curious enough to stroll around and take in the scenery.
The Uchiha were absurdly rich, and Uchiha Yorin was the type of leader who actually cared about public facilities. So the district's landscaping and infrastructure were genuinely well done.
Man-made canals and ponds, lawns and greenbelts, flowers everywhere—everything blended together with the pedestrians, gazebos, and long covered walkways. There were even children's play areas: slides, swings, that kind of thing.
If you were a jaded 21st-century city dweller, you might scoff and say it all looked like copy-paste "fake nature."
But to people of this era, the Uchiha's public green space and park facilities were basically peak modern life—perfectly matching everything they'd ever imagined a "modern city" should feel like.
And for Hikari—someone from an even older era—it was even more overwhelming.
"Is this a daimyō or noble's private estate?" she couldn't help asking.
"It's not," Yorin replied. "This is the Uchiha district's public green space—basically, a park. Anyone can come here. It's open to everyone."
"So… it's the Uchiha clan's ancestral property?"
"Close," Yorin said. "But it's not 'Uchiha.' It's Konoha. When I say 'everyone,' I mean everyone in Konoha."
Hikari didn't really understand the logic of that.
Honestly, she was more interested in the slide, the carousel, and the seesaw.
She didn't know why, but wanting to play on them made her feel… weirdly embarrassed. Like it didn't fit the cold, aloof "Uchiha image" she'd been drilled to maintain.
But she still wanted to.
And if she didn't, she'd feel irritated for no reason.
The problem was: there were already a few kids playing.
And the idea of playing alongside them felt humiliating.
Yorin understood her to the bone.
So before she could even say a word, he casually walked over to the kids, handed them some cash, and told them to go buy candy at the snack shop nearby.
The kids lit up and sprinted off in a happy swarm. Only then did Yorin turn back and beckon Hikari over.
She hesitated for two seconds, then approached, carefully sat down, and tested it out.
To little kids, the wobbly little "horse" was probably too childish.
But for Hikari, it was just right.
She played for a good while.
And for Yorin, watching a beautiful young woman genuinely smile and have fun—after a life where she'd never been allowed to "play" at all—put him in an unusually good mood.
Even something as simple as this was new and delightful to her.
She stayed there until hunger finally won. Reluctantly, she climbed down and held out her hand.
"Ration pills," she said. "I need supplies."
That was the moment Yorin felt real sympathy again.
So the old Uchiha had really fed her nothing but ration pills? When was the last time she'd eaten an actual meal?
"You're hungry?" Yorin asked.
She didn't answer—just nodded.
So Yorin, naturally, took her to eat.
And just like Konoha's public works, its food culture was booming too. Dishes from all over had taken root here, mixed together, and evolved into new variations.
Sure, you still got the occasional cursed creation—pineapple pizza, strawberry rice rolls, "stargazy pie"-type nonsense—but most of the time it was normal, satisfying stuff: General Tso-style chicken, curry pork cutlet, "Tenshinhan"-type rice dishes, and so on.
Yorin didn't choose an expensive "famous" restaurant.
As an old-school Konoha native, he knew the real treasure: cheap, solid, comforting places—basically family restaurants.
The only difference was that Konoha didn't really have room for mass pre-made meals yet—not because everyone was magically ethical, but because their industrial capacity simply hadn't reached that stage.
"Order whatever you want," Yorin said with a smile. "My treat."
But asking Hikari to choose was… cruel in a different way.
It wasn't that she was picky—she just couldn't read the menu. She'd barely eaten anything besides ration pills for most of her life.
So Yorin ordered based on his own taste.
"Braised beef. Fried chicken bites. A vegetable salad. And for the main… omurice."
Then he looked at her and added, "Once you've eaten out a few more times, you'll be able to pick for yourself."
"Understood, Yorin-sama. We'll have everything up as quickly as possible."
Yorin could basically "face-card" his way through Konoha—but he wouldn't actually abuse it. Still, having the kitchen move faster and take things seriously wasn't exactly a sin.
…
"I come here a lot," Yorin said, smiling. "It's really good. You can look forward to it."
"I'm just taking in nutrients," Hikari said, trying to sound cool.
But Yorin could tell she was quietly anticipating it anyway.
"You're not a weapon anymore," he said. "You need to learn how to live. Like a normal girl."
Hikari didn't respond. She just turned her head and stared out the second-floor window at the street below.
Yorin had picked a table with good light and a nice view on purpose. He was pretty sure she'd like it.
Right now, she simply didn't know what to do with herself.
She'd lived her entire life as a "final weapon." And suddenly someone was telling her to live normally.
But she didn't even know what "normal" meant. What else could she do besides go quiet?
Then the food arrived.
The braised beef was steaming, tender enough to fall apart—and the tendon was soft and melting. Hikari's face lit up, pure and unguarded.
The fried chicken bites didn't need explaining—ninety-nine percent of humanity loves fried chicken, especially the kind properly marinated and breaded.
And the omurice—half-runny egg, mixed with beef gravy—soaked into the rice in a way that made you want to inhale two full bowls.
And this wasn't cheap old ration rice. It was this year's new harvest.
The rice paddies here had been saturated with natural energy for generations. The grain tasted incredible—clean, fragrant, almost unfairly good.
Everything, from the staples to the sides, earned Hikari's full approval.
The only thing she didn't like was the "vitamin filler" salad.
"I don't like this," she said after one bite—instantly declaring herself a meat-only person.
Yorin turned into a stern dad on the spot. "You're eating it. Balanced nutrition."
He was gentle with her, but he didn't spoil her blindly. He knew how to be warm and firm.
Hikari: "…"
Annoyed, she still ate the vegetables in front of her.
And honestly? Compared to ration pills, even a salad tasted fresh and clean—crisp, lightly sweet, with that real produce smell.
So she finished her first proper meal since leaving the seal.
Of course, that wasn't the end—just the beginning.
After they ate, the staff tactfully vanished and even shut the door, flipping up a "closed early" sign.
…
Now it was just Yorin and Hikari. They could finally talk.
Hikari was the one who spoke first.
"Why…" she asked. "Why are you being this nice to me? What do you want from me?"
Then, like she was paying him back for dinner, she added, "As long as it's not too much… I can meet your requests."
"We're comrades, aren't we?" Yorin chuckled softly. "If I say I just want you to be happier… could you accept that?"
Hikari shook her head. No. She couldn't.
"Alright," Yorin said. "Then I'll be more direct."
He met her eyes, steady and sincere.
"Hikari—can you give me a chance to pursue you?
I like you. Will you be my partner… even my family?"
Hikari: "…"
"I… don't understand," she admitted. "So I don't know what answer to give you."
She paused, then added more quietly, "But… I don't hate it. If this continues, I don't mind staying here for a while."
"That's enough," Yorin said, smiling. "That's already enough."
~~~
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