Chapter 7 — Dinner at the Sarutobi Residence
Friday. The end of the week.
After the final class, as everyone began packing up, Asuma came up to me. He looked tense, though he tried to act casual.
"Hey… Raigatsu," he started, scratching the back of his head. "Um… I was thinking, maybe you'd… want to come over tonight? For dinner. It's nothing special, just my mom cooking. We could sit, talk a bit. No pressure."
I looked at him calmly. He avoided my gaze.
"All right," I replied. "If your family doesn't mind."
"They don't! I mean, Mom'll be happy. And my brother… probably won't care. My dad… well, he won't say anything. Just come at six."
I nodded. He ran off quickly.
By six o'clock, I stood at the gate of the Sarutobi household — a modest, cozy home with a garden. Asuma opened the door himself.
"Hey," he mumbled. "Come in. Make yourself at home."
I stepped inside. It was warm. The scent of food, voices in the background, wooden floors. Somewhere, someone was laughing.
A middle-aged woman with thick hair and an apron emerged from the kitchen. She smiled right away.
"Oh, so you're Kiyemi?" she said cheerfully. "I'm Biwako. Mother of this shy little rascal. Come in, take your shoes off, don't just stand there."
I gave a polite nod.
"Thank you for the invitation."
"Oh, nonsense," Biwako waved it off. "Dinner's nearly ready. You two sit in the living room. Asuma, pour some tea. And if you drop any cups like last time, you'll scrub the whole kitchen!"
Asuma blushed.
We sat in the living room. The table was set simply, but nicely — rice, steamed vegetables, fish. Biwako served everything proudly, throwing in jokes here and there.
I ate quietly, calmly, composed. Attentive without being intrusive. Biwako glanced at me from time to time, clearly approving.
"May I wash my hands?" I asked when everyone was nearly finished.
"Of course, dear," Biwako nodded. "End of the hall, on the right — it's clean."
As the door closed behind me, Biwako immediately turned to her son with a sly look.
"Asuma… you're only four, and already bringing girls home? What are you going to do when you're older?"
He choked on his tea and nearly dropped his cup.
"Mom!"
"I'm just saying," she said, raising her hands. "She's a sweet girl. So serious. I like her. And clearly smarter than you."
"Mooom…"
"You've been looking at her all evening like a puppy staring at sushi," she smirked. "I'm your mother. I notice these things."
Asuma turned red and stared into his teacup.
"If anything, I don't mind," Biwako added in a whisper. "But don't forget — girls like her don't tolerate weakness. If you want to be by her side, you'll have to grow."
Shinnōsuke passed by with a cup and let out a low chuckle.
"Yeah. Just don't scare him with marriage yet."
"I'm not scaring him," she smiled. "Just giving a little warning."
At that moment, I returned. I nodded and sat back down as if I'd heard nothing. But Asuma didn't look up again.
Later, as evening approached, the door opened. A tall man entered, dressed in plain black clothing, no insignia. A strict face, but tired eyes.
"That's my brother," Asuma said softly. "Shinnōsuke. He works… in administration. Always busy."
"Good evening," I said.
Shinnōsuke nodded, giving me a sharp, appraising look.
"So you're Raigatsu Kiyemi. Top of the Academy. Nice to meet you. Asuma talks about you a lot."
"Really?" I turned to Asuma.
He blushed for the third time that evening.
"Well, I just… I mean… you…"
"All right, all right," Shinnōsuke cut in with a slight grin. "Has Mom tried marrying you two off yet?"
"Almost," muttered Asuma.
"Perfect. Then we just have to wait for Dad," said his brother dryly and disappeared into the kitchen.
The Hokage arrived closer to nine.
Even without his robes or hat, he radiated power. Hiruzen Sarutobi. Old, but with a sharp gaze. He looked at me steadily.
"So you're Raigatsu Kiyemi," he said calmly as he took off his sandals. "No clan, no sponsors — and yet every sensei's talking about you."
I stood and bowed.
"Lord Hokage."
"Here, I'm just a father. Have a seat."
He settled on a floor cushion. For a few minutes, we talked about simple things — the weather, life at the Academy. Then he asked directly:
"Tell me, Kiyemi… what do you think it means to be a shinobi?"
I answered calmly:
"It's a path. Not a game. Not for fame. To protect. The people around me."
Hiruzen nodded.
"That's the Will of Fire. Seeing beyond yourself. Willing to sacrifice. You understand that… far too early."
He took a puff from his pipe.
"Maybe you'll hold on to that will. Maybe you won't burn out. We'll see."
Later, when everyone had relaxed a little, Biwako brought out sweets, and we moved to the living room again. Asuma kept sneaking glances at me, trying to say something — then staying silent.
Shinnōsuke watched us with a half-smile. Then he quietly said to Hiruzen:
"You think something could come of this?"
"Who knows," Hiruzen replied. "But they're already changing each other. That's what matters."
As I got ready to leave, Biwako hugged me.
"Come visit again," she said. "We don't bite. Even if you're too serious and way too good at everything."
Asuma walked me to the door.
"Hey… thanks for coming."
"It was a nice evening," I said. "Thank you."
He scratched his cheek.
"Maybe… again sometime?"
I nodded. He fell silent. I left.
Later that night in the Sarutobi home:
"Asuma," Hiruzen said when his son came back to the living room, "don't let people like her slip away. But remember — this isn't a game."
"I know," the boy said quietly.
He looked out the window. At the waning moon.
And thought about those amber eyes — calm, unshaken, free of pride or fear.
And strangely… warm.