Chapter 55: "Dinner, Diplomacy, and Dangerous Truths"
In which Naruto learns diplomacy isn't just for old men, Kakashi gets philosophical, and Smoker discovers who's actually in charge.
Smoker didn't particularly mind jail—if it was the kind of place with decent coffee, a working window, and a chance to breathe without every tourist staring like you'd eaten someone's child. Unfortunately, Skypiea's holding cells were none of those things. The walls were cloudstone, the guards wore capes too big for their personalities, and the ceiling dripped condensation like it was judging him.
So when Tashigi stormed into the jail office with a clipboard, a badge, and a thunderous expression, Smoker knew salvation had arrived. Dignified, paper-clutching salvation.
"I've filled out the requisition," she snapped, placing the scroll of paperwork on the desk with the kind of slap that could legally count as a punch. "The funds are to be taken from Marines: Diplomatic Emergency Account B-17. Under code... 'Overzealous Field Commanders and Their Questionable Life Choices.'"
The cloud guard blinked at her. Then at Smoker. Then back at the scroll.
"...Approved," the guard muttered, stamping it before someone sent a warship.
Smoker stood from his cloud-bench with a grunt. "I could've handled the bail myself."
"You could've also not tackled a teenage Kazekage in a café," Tashigi replied without looking at him.
He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "In my defense, the sand powers were very Crocodile-y."
Tashigi handed him back his coat, now slightly more crumpled and smelling faintly of cloudcake.
As they stepped out into the light, Smoker took a deep breath. The Skypiean air was sharp and sweet, the sky still an endless ocean of gold-tinged blue. But it didn't feel quite as welcoming as before.
"You feel that?" he muttered.
"Cold shoulder?" Tashigi offered.
"Whole island's giving us side-eye," he grunted. "We're the villains now."
They walked along the cloud road, boots echoing on compressed vapor. Below them, citizens whispered, tourists peeked from behind pastry carts, and a very judgmental fox with a bow on its tail glared from atop a dial-powered fountain.
Smoker lit a cigar and exhaled slow. "They hate us."
"They don't hate us," Tashigi said, trying to sound reasonable.
"They think we're jackbooted cloud smashers."
"Maybe a little," she admitted.
Still, there was no changing the facts. The mission had been to ease Skypiea into the folds of the World Government with soft hands and gentler laws. Instead, they'd gone in with jitte-swinging, cafe-smashing, and a complete misunderstanding involving a love-struck desert monarch.
"We need to fix this," Tashigi said, pulling out her notes again. "Gran Fall's leaning toward agreement. I think he understands the benefits—law, order, protection."
Smoker nodded, more serious now. "He's smart. He's not the problem."
Tashigi glanced sideways. "Wyper?"
"Hot-blooded warrior type. Hates the idea of control. Thinks we'll sell them out the first chance we get."
Smoker didn't argue. There was truth to it. The World Government protected countries—but only the ones that stayed in line. Disobedience came with consequences. Harsh ones.
"If Skypiea refuses," he said quietly, "they won't get another polite visit. And next time, it won't be me and a paper pusher with a conscience."
Tashigi frowned. "That's why we have to make this work."
Smoker sighed through his cigar smoke. "Then we need leverage. Something that gives us more trust with the locals."
"Conis," Tashigi said immediately. "She's popular. Respected. Has ties to Gran Fall."
Tashigi nodded. "Exactly. She might listen to us. Help us avoid another… incident."
Smoker groaned. "You want me to apologize to the barista I almost drop-kicked?"
"You will apologize to the barista you almost drop-kicked."
He grunted again but didn't argue.
Above them, the Skypiean clouds drifted lazily in the wind, carrying rumors, tensions, and faint smells of scorched pastry from the still-recovering café. The sun was shining, but the shadow of politics stretched long.
"Let's talk to Conis," Smoker said.
Tashigi tucked her notes away. "And maybe… no more tackling teenagers for a week?"
"No promises," Smoker muttered. "But I'll try."
And with that, the pair of unlikely diplomats marched forward—into the clouds, the consequences, and whatever came next.
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The skies of Skypiea, already known for being absurdly scenic, got a whole lot cooler that morning.
Smoker's newly upgraded Harley roared through the clouds like a rebellious thunder god on vacation. The jet dials beneath the chrome frame hissed with controlled fury, while impact dials along the tires added a faint boom with every sharp turn. Wrapped in his signature coat, cigar in mouth, and sunglasses reflecting the heavens, Smoker looked like the grumpy biker uncle nobody invited to the race—but who always won anyway.
Beside him sat Tashigi, clinging to the back seat with a notebook tucked under one arm and a look of barely-contained "we are so going to get fined for this."
"This thing is not street legal," she shouted over the wind.
"We're not on a street," Smoker called back. "We're on clouds. There's a difference."
Up ahead, a familiar engine sputtered with slightly less dramatic flare.
Naruto.
His own bike—sleek and aggressive with its orange-and-black color scheme—was tearing a less-than-straight line across the sky. He was doing his best, sure, but the way his knees wobbled and the occasional whoa-whoa-WHOA noises didn't exactly scream confidence.
Sakura was riding behind him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist and her face somewhere between exhilaration and the calm dread of someone realizing they should've worn longer pants in high-altitude winds.
"Do a flip!" someone yelled from a floating cloud café.
"DO NOT do a flip!" Sakura barked at the same time, gripping Naruto harder.
Naruto was too focused on staying upright to listen to either.
Then, like a smoke-powered cavalryman from an action movie, Smoker pulled up beside him.
"You're riding it like a civilian," Smoker said, his voice gravel-thick even over the wind.
Naruto blinked. "That's bad?"
Tashigi leaned forward from her seat. "You've got powers, kid. Use it."
"Also," Smoker added, "you're leaning the wrong way on curves. You want the bike to become part of you. Not something you argue with every time you hit a cloud-bump."
Sakura looked relieved that someone competent was finally involved. "Thank you. I didn't think we'd survive the bakery detour."
Smoker, without a word, revved his engine, and the Harley burst forward like a rocket dragon—spitting jets of smoke and wind behind it as he did a graceful corkscrew over a hovering dial-boat.
Naruto stared. "Okay, that was sick."
He grinned, cracked his knuckles, and shifted his weight like Smoker had said. Chakra flowed to his feet, anchoring him better. He twisted the handlebars, pushed a little with a chakra-enhanced toe, and—
"WHOOOOAAAAAAA!"
The bike surged forward, slicing through clouds with a new confidence. Sakura screamed, but it was the good kind of scream. Maybe.
"You're doing it!" she shouted over his shoulder.
"I know! I'm amazing!" Naruto whooped, spinning into a wide arc and nearly flipping a sky cart full of mango smoothies.
Back in the distance, Smoker gave a rare, small nod of approval.
"He'll survive," he muttered.
"High praise," Tashigi smirked. "Maybe you do have a soft spot for kids."
"Only the ones that don't blow up cafés."
They sped on toward Conis's café-turned-ninja-diner, smoke trailing behind them like a victory banner.
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Naruto:
Okay, so here's the thing: I wasn't trying to cause a diplomatic incident with a motorcycle.
But when someone hands you a jet-dial-powered, chakra-synced, cloud-slicing bike that looks like it was forged in the heart of a thunderstorm, and your crush is riding behind you in short jeans and holding on like you're the hero of an action flick—well, you have to show off. It's the law. (Well, it wasn't a law. Yet.)
"Hold on tight!" I yelled to Sakura.
She didn't answer, because she was busy either enjoying herself or praying to every god she knew. Pretty sure it was a bit of both.
The bike roared like a wild beast as I leaned forward, chakra flaring in my hands and feet. The cloud road extended beneath us in a streak of white and gold, like some mythical sky serpent rolling out a path just for us.
We went higher. I mean higher. Like, "I can see the curvature of the planet" higher.
Sakura tapped my shoulder. "Naruto, are we… leaving the atmosphere?"
"Nope!" I shouted over the wind. "Just flirting with it!"
And then came the best part.
I twisted the handlebars, flipped a switch that activated the jet dials—and we dove. Like a falling star, like a missile made of coolness and questionable decision-making. The bike screamed down the side of the sky road, cutting through layers of mist and passing a very confused Sky Knight mid-patrol.
I waved. He dropped his lunch.
"YEEAAAAH!" I howled. "THIS IS HOW A HOKAGE COMMUTES!"
We burst through a ribbon of cloud shaped like a donut, shot past a startled flock of balloon-fish, and zoomed right over a cloud-bakery where a poor baker screamed and dropped his tray of cream buns.
Sakura grinned now, laughing into the wind. "We're going to get arrested!"
"I KNOW!" I shouted back joyfully. "BUT DID YOU DIE?"
"NOT YET!"
We hit the final stretch, just above the café—Conis's Café of Floating Peace and (Now) Slight Chaos—and I activated the side boosters. A plume of golden fire and chakra-blended smoke blasted out as we executed a full drift, tires skidding across the compressed cloudstone.
The bike stopped with a hiss, facing perfectly toward the entrance, and our landing sent a wave of wind that ruffled every umbrella on the patio.
Silence.
And then—
"Oh my gods," someone whispered from a nearby table. "That was the hottest entrance I've ever seen."
"Did he just—"
"With a girl on the back?"
"—and sunglasses that weren't even on his face a second ago?"
(Okay, yes, I pulled them out of my pouch mid-flight. Because I'm dramatic. Sue me.)
Sakura stepped off the bike, hair windswept, cheeks flushed, and arms crossed like she had absolutely not just screamed at the top of her lungs while we freefell from sky orbit.
"…That was fun," she said coolly, adjusting her jacket.
I gave her a thumbs up. "Told ya."
Just then, a group of Sky Knights landed nearby, led by one guy with an absurdly tall hat and a clipboard.
"By decree of the Sky Transportation Board," he declared, eye twitching, "we are instituting immediate regulations for aerial vehicle travel."
I blinked. "Huh?"
"You've inspired fear, awe, and the necessity of stop signs, young man," he said, scribbling something frantically. "And possibly bike lanes. We're still figuring it out."
I grinned, patting my new ride. "Guess I made history."
Sakura rolled her eyes. "Guess you almost made a crater."
And just like that, Skypiea had its first traffic law…
Thanks to me, Naruto Uzumaki—ninja, hero, future Hokage, and unintentional legislative pioneer.
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Smoker had been in a lot of strange places during his career. Pirate strongholds. Revolutionary hotspots. That one week stuck in a snail-infested jungle he refused to talk about. But this—this floating pumpkin-themed café in the middle of a cloud ocean—might just take the steamed sea-sponge cake.
He rode in like a man who'd seen war and was currently seeing romance.
The bike let out a low rumble as the engine wound down, smoke trailing off like it was sighing. Tashigi dismounted beside him, brushing the cloud dust off her coat, eyebrows twitching.
"You were smiling," she said quietly.
"I was not," Smoker grunted.
"You definitely were. You have a soft spot for bikes."
"I have a soft spot for engines that obey physics and kids who don't crash into water towers."
"And Naruto?"
"…Learned fast," Smoker admitted, exhaling smoke through his nose. "Took what I said seriously. That's rare."
Tashigi squinted at him like she was trying to figure out if his heart had grown three sizes or if she was just dizzy from the altitude. Before she could press the matter, the smell of something utterly delicious hit their noses.
The café was buzzing—soft laughter, clinking bowls, spoons scraping gently against ceramic. Lanterns glowed with dial-light. And right in the middle of it all, a long table with a motley crew of ninja in various states of eating, lounging, or arguing over who got the last helping of cloud-fried curry rice.
But what made Smoker pause was the quiet scene at the edge of the crowd.
Conis sat with Gaara at a small two-person table by the window, candlelight dancing on their plates. It wasn't exactly romantic in the sweeping, violin-heavy kind of way—it was more like two awkward souls orbiting one another like uncertain comets. But it was peaceful. Soft. Something rare in their respective lives.
Tashigi nudged him. "Don't ruin it."
"I'm not heartless."
"You once punched a pirate into a wedding cake during a proposal."
"He was armed. With dynamite."
"Still."
Before Smoker could argue his case (he had a whole list of wedding-related injuries to justify that punch), someone waved at them.
Kakashi, lazily leaning back with a book in one hand and a bowl in the other, smiled behind his mask. "You're just in time," he said. "Choji cooked. The stew has… some sort of glowing pumpkin thing in it. It's delicious and possibly magical."
Tashigi blinked. "You're inviting us to eat?"
"Better than lurking awkwardly near the lovebirds, right?"
Smoker looked back at Gaara and Conis. Gaara was saying something quietly, and Conis was laughing softly, her fingers brushing against the edge of her plate like she was too shy to meet his gaze. Smoker cleared his throat.
"…Fine."
He and Tashigi stepped into the café. The tension faded. Naruto greeted them with a dramatic toast involving juice and zero context. Kiba immediately asked if he could race Smoker's bike. Lee proposed a celebratory run around the island. Kakashi refused to intervene.
Tashigi sat beside Sakura and started asking about Skypiean clothing. Smoker ended up between Choji and Shikamaru, who handed him a bowl and said, "You look like you need calories and therapy."
"…Pumpkin's fine," Smoker grunted.
Across the café, Gaara glanced over for a brief moment. Smoker nodded once.
Gaara nodded back.
And just like that, another kind of understanding passed between them—silent, mutual, and absolutely devoid of unnecessary words.
It was going to be an unusual dinner.
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So, picture this: we're all sitting around the table at Conis's Pumpkin Café, slurping down glowing stew, arguing about whether cloud tofu is better than sky eel nuggets, and then bam—Kakashi sensei leans back and says, "So, Smoker… how's the diplomacy going?"
I swear the spoon froze in midair. The whole table went quiet like someone just dropped a kunai on a glass floor.
Smoker, being Smoker, didn't flinch. He just muttered, "Not well."
Then he looked at Conis and Gaara—who were still in their awkward eye-contact competition over candles and stew—and sighed like a man who'd just been told his coffee machine exploded.
"We need Conis to help us," he said. "Gran Fall listens to her. She's one of the few voices in Skypiea that can tip things."
Kakashi didn't answer immediately. He just stared at Smoker with that unreadable eye of his (the one that isn't covered by a metal plate and years of emotional damage) and finally said, "What's the actual risk here?"
Smoker leaned forward, elbows on the table. "The World Government doesn't like it when people look down on them. Skypiea exists in the sky—literally above the world. That's not a good look politically. If they keep refusing… it won't stay peaceful for long."
The air got real heavy, even heavier than Gaara's sand when he's in a mood.
Now, I know what you're thinking. "Naruto, didn't you once throw paint at the Hokage monument and challenge authority every day until you were, like, thirteen?"
Yes. Yes, I did.
But this was different. This was the kind of "authority" that burned whole islands down just because someone sneezed the wrong way during a flag ceremony.
Kakashi nodded slowly. "It's not unfamiliar. Even Konoha's had its tyrant phases. Danzo. The Third during the war. The Second Hokage was a control freak in robes. At least you're honest about the system you're in."
Smoker didn't argue. "I'm not here to defend the system. Just doing what I can within it."
That actually made me pause. Because I'd seen that look before—on guys like Iruka-sensei when the village ignored orphans, or on Granny Tsunade when she had to pick between saving someone and keeping peace.
"You know what?" I said, setting down my bowl. "We'll help you."
Smoker blinked. Not the usual slow, angry blink. This one had surprise baked into it, like I'd just offered him a birthday cake with "I support bureaucracy" written on it.
"You will?"
"Yeah. Because what you're saying makes sense. And because I've seen what happens when dumb people in power decide everyone else needs to fall in line."
I glanced around the table. No one argued. Not Kiba. Not Shikamaru. Not even Lee, who was currently fist-bumping the dessert tray like it was his long-lost brother.
Smoker looked at each of us slowly, realization dawning like smoke curling up a chimney.
"You're the leader."
I gave him a grin. "Well… not officially. But unofficially, yeah."
He gave a tired half-laugh. "Should've figured. No one challenged you when you said it."
Kakashi smirked. "He's loud enough. It's hard not to follow him sometimes."
But of course, nothing was gonna happen just yet. Not with Gaara and Conis still in candlelit territory.
"So," I said, pointing my thumb toward them, "we wait for the Kazekage and the Pumpkin Queen to finish their dessert, and then we talk about saving Skypiea."
Smoker leaned back and reached for the tea. "You're weird, kid."
"Thank you," I said proudly. "I try."
And just like that, we went back to eating and waiting. Because sometimes, even in a world full of pirates, smoke monsters, and sky eels, the real mission has to wait for dessert to finish.