Predecessor

Connections

Sakura lists off the things she needs in her head and counts each individual item on the counter top as the cashier totals it off for her. She is unfazed by the hefty amount it costs and digs around in her pockets for her coin purse.

The spectacled old man on the other side of the counter eyes her warily as if he doesn't expect her to be able to pay full upfront. And he's right to suspect as much because Sakura pulls out a little plastic card that Ibiki has given her for emergencies like this and slides it across the tabletop over to him.

Huffing, he picks up the card and inspects it closely. He recognises the platinum colour for sure, and grumbles under his breath when he spots the familiar kanji on the bottom left corner.

"Morino-san, hm?" he grouchily murmurs. Sakura nods her head chirpily and he looks back at her, realising she doesn't full-know what she has been gifted with.

He decides it isn't his place to tell her and heaves a begrudging sigh — he's much too old to be running the store on his own now — as he scribbled the kanji in a small accounting book beneath his register. He returns the card, she pockets it and he hands her a bag.

"No thank you, I can carry it myself," she insists, expertly piling them one on top of tree other in her own arms. "See you next time, Old Man!"

But he lets out another haggard sigh, leaning back into his chair. He hopes he doesn't see her again anytime soon because nothing good ever comes out of kids coming to his store before their time.

A moment later, another head bobs in and it's a brunette. She's short and tan and dressed a little boyishly with her hair twisted into two twin buns atop her head.

She bears a wildly wide toothy grin at him as she bounds down the aisle to his counter. "Mister! Sorry I'm late!"

He heaves a haggard sigh as the child nears, putting aside his contempt for the new generation of youth that have sprung up in Konoha. They're a different type of breed, he has deduced, with their mannerless demeanours and courage to approach any challenge ahead. They ought to have more respect and mind their own business, he thinks. But he cracks a smile anyway. Secretly.

"I don't forgive tardiness," he tells her sternly with a fearsome sneer.

Her eyes shimmer with a secret and she has her hands behind her back. "I had to wait a little longer to get this but here!" And then she thrusts her hands toward him, open palms up toward the sky.

In them sits a glass jar of tea leaves. Very distinct in colour and scent, only made a certain way in a certain place. He knows what it is immediately but doesn't speak a word.

When he doesn't say anything, she relaxes her hands a little and tilts her head at him. Something flashes through her mind, a little sour that he doesn't openly acknowledge her gift to him because she knows he knows what is, and she perks up. Perhaps he needs some reminding.

"Tea leaves! I managed to finesse Kumo Oolong Tea from a merchant's daughter!" she explains, excitedly. "She's so cross with me right now for pretending to be a boy but I don't see how that's really my fault since I didn't do it on purpose."

The old man narrows his eyes slightly.

She balances the jar with one hand and scratches the back of her head with a laugh. She continues, "Mister, you just seemed so fond of those times where you could sip on this tea so I thought this was the least I could do."