A Demon Misplaced

~Long Gone Day~

For a shinobi, to show emotions meant exposing his weaknesses.

He'd heard those words since he was a child, when he should've been playing with toys and not a kunai. From Iruka to Kakashi to Jiraiya, all of them always told him to keep his emotions in check. To not let it get the better of him.

Every time he failed—in grand style. It was so pathetic it was funny in a cruel way.

But Naruto chalked it off as just another one of his traits. He was never a true shinobi in a sense; he shouted at the top of his voice, spouted his ideals boldly, wore bright, blinding orange, and even refused to kill unless necessary. With those quirks of his, Naruto went from being the hopeless case of his class to the man who was worshipped as the Hero of the Hidden Leaf. His emotions invoked his decisions and he never once regretted them, with the sole exception of this.

Placing the blue book on the scroll, he performed a set of hand seals. Lines of kanji emerged from the blank scroll to imprison the book, dragging it downwards into the infinite emptiness of the scroll. It was gone.

Naruto sighed as he sat on the floor and lighted another cigarette.

He needed this one, putting away that particular book was never easy. It was so...hard to reseal. Each time he opened it, a false sense of comfort emerged. Basking him in warmth, the book's contents soothed his mind. Yet, he could still feel the shame in all this. Naruto ultimately developed a love-hate relationship with it, and each time he used it his respect for himself diminished greatly.

He was, without a doubt, scum.

Finishing his cigarette, he drove it against the ash tray as the flame snuffed out. After washing his face and drinking some water, he headed down to his shop where there would no doubt people would be waiting. His ramen was semi-famous in Kuoh, and he was sure the blob was up for at least one more round. Well, the clone's memories made the last part very clear.

Stepping inside, he noticed how Yashiro was slurping up the noodles as if his life depended on it. Normally, he would've shrugged it off, but now his family came with him too. His wife and two kids. All of them cheerful, happy, smiling like idiots. The young girl in particular, Honoka was her name (if he remembered correctly), was the most excitable among them. Yashiro's wife, Chie, and his son, Kazuya, seemed to be content. The family of four were ecstatic at Yashiro's promotion.

All that sentimental candy floss, right there in his shop.

"Naruto-san," Yashiro spoke, with food in his mouth. "Today's batch seems extra special."

"Maybe you're just finding it tastier than usual." Naruto was putting on his apron and hat. God, it felt so weird putting that hat on. He wondered how professional chefs wore this heavy crown on their heads.

"Food tastes better with friends and family," Chie, the plump, brown haired woman said. "Must be what's making Yashiro hungrier than usual."

Naruto stopped and stared at the family for a few seconds. "He eats 20 bowls here. Every single day."

"Well," Kazuya, the young teenager spoke. Naruto could tell the boy was slightly nervous, and embarrassed. "Dad does love your ramen. We all do, it's really good."

"It's nothing special," Naruto said. He began to cut some vegetables while putting on a mask to cover his lower face, he didn't want Honoka to ask questions about his birth marks.

"Ano," Naruto rolled his eyes as the young girl spoke up. She even raised her hand cutely, "So ramen isn't special to you, Naruto-san?"

It was raining heavily. Grey giant clouds loomed over the village, the sun shying behind them.