Chapter Text
Sasuke was thinking about one person when he checked into yet another inn with his new team—the one who once burned with resentment and anger.
The one who should have broken. But instead, learned to rejoice. To create. To inspire. The idiot who changed many people's lives for the better.
If he had left the village too… if he had started to hate too… could they have…?
"Hey, boss, Juugo and I are heading to the teahouse," a hand lightly touched his shoulder.
"Not interested," Sasuke replied shortly, brushing the hand off and continuing on.
"Come ooon! We've got nothing to do till tomorrow anyway," Suigetsu insisted, stepping into his path.
"You two go ahead," a red-haired head peeked from the doorway. "Sasuke and I will stay here. Right?" — Karin emerged from the room, wrapped in a towel over her bare body, her chin lifted boldly.
Sasuke immediately turned to the exit:
"Let's go."
"Hey!"
The teahouse the swordsman had noticed seemed plain from the outside, but stepping inside changed everything. Soft candlelight glimmered off lacquered surfaces, quiet laughter drifted from behind screens, and the air carried the scent of wood and green tea.
Everything here spoke of the owner's refined taste — from the curve of the door frames to the perfect posture of the maiko*. The halls were full of guests, and elegant young women fluttered among them, entertaining. Golden laughter echoed from the area where visitors played Konpira Fune Fune*.
"Right this way, gentlemen," said the chestnut-haired maiko, guiding them through the hall. With a single graceful motion, she slid open the door to a small private room.
Inside — a dark wooden table, six floor cushions, tatami mats, and walls painted with black, red, and gold landscapes.
Sasuke sat by the window, clearly not intending to participate in the festivities. A cool night breeze brushed his face. He stared indifferently at the passersby below.
"Gentlemen, my name is Aya. Another maiko and I will be serving you this evening. What would you like?"
"Pleasure to meet you, Aya-cha-an. I'm Suigetsu," said the white-haired one, instantly switching to a casual tone. The girl didn't bat an eye.
"Something to eat would be nice."
"Understood. I can offer you kaiseki*," she replied as the paper door slid open again, letting in another girl in a white-and-blue haori. She settled gracefully beside Aya across from the guests.
"Well?"
"I won," the newcomer said with a sly smile.
Sasuke turned to the voice. Something about her struck him as familiar. The new girl was undeniably beautiful: sea-blue eyes, light hair pinned up with a hairpin, a contrast of sun-kissed skin and softness.
"I'm so jealous," Aya laughed. "Gentlemen, this is Natsuko."
"Gentlemen, a pleasure," said Natsuko, locking eyes with Sasuke for a heartbeat—then quickly glancing at Jūgo and Suigetsu.
"Natsuko, keep our guests company while I bring the food."
"Of course."
"Aya-cha-an, more sake, please."
"Certainly."
"Is this your first time here?" Natsuko asked.
"Just passing through," Sasuke heard his own voice.
"Travelers?"
"Yes," Jūgo answered.
"Well, we're, uh… merchants," Suigetsu cut in, nudging Jūgo under the table. "Roaming the continent. I'm Suigetsu."
"Wow, imagine that... I'd say be careful on the roads — traveling's been dangerous lately."
She glanced at Suigetsu with a sweet smile. "But with strong arms like yours, I doubt there's much to worry about."
Suigetsu grinned and folded his arms proudly. Sasuke's brow twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Natsuko-chan, are you from around here?"
"Yes," she answered shyly, casting a fleeting glance at Sasuke. "But I don't mind it here. I love listening to guests' stories. I even write some of them down."
"You write? Like a novel?"
"More like a collection of short stories," she blushed, fidgeting with the hem of her haori.
"We'd love to read them, right, Jūgo?"
"Yes."
"Deal," she winked. "If you beat me at Konpira Fune Fune."
"Haha! I'm in trouble," Suigetsu laughed, slapping his knee. "You're not as shy as you pretend to be, Natsuko-chan."
"Oh, you," she giggled. "Alright, if I win, you tell me a story. If you win — I'll let you read one."
"You roping in guests again?" Aya's voice called from the corridor.
"Ehehe," Natsuko pressed her palm to her cheek with feigned innocence.
Soon, the room filled with the aroma of food. Natsuko played the shamisen*, while Aya kept the conversation flowing. Then it was time for the challenge.
"You know the rules?" Natsuko asked playfully, locking eyes with Suigetsu like a spell.
Sasuke found himself thinking that in normal circumstances, such looks were meant for him — if not for the jutsu hiding his face. He chose to be invisible, but Natsuko’s open flirting aimed at Suigetsu was strangely irritating.
"Of course," Suigetsu replied.
"I don't," Jūgo admitted.
"It's simple," Sasuke said, unable to hold back. Just walking through the teahouse earlier, he'd already grasped the rules of the childish game.
"You sit across from each other and take turns touching either the bowl or the table with your fist. If the bowl's removed, the other must react quickly. It's child's play."
Natsuko smiled faintly and inclined her head.
"You're not wrong, sir…"
"Jiro," Sasuke said coldly, without blinking.
"Then, Lord Jiro, you should have no trouble beating me."
"Hmph."
"Here's the bowl," the chestnut-haired maiko placed a small wooden bowl in the center of the table. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she easily repeated the rules. "Let's begin."Natsuko began singing a cheerful counting song. She and Suigetsu sat across from each other, movements growing sharper, faster. Sometimes she tapped the bowl, sometimes the table — throwing him off. Her song sped up, and Suigetsu hesitated — fist or palm? Leave it or grab it?
Natsuko caught his eye and whipped the bowl away in that instant.
"Ahhh, damn it!" he yelped, slapping the table. "Again!"
Natsuko laughed, leaning forward. The slit in her haori casually revealed more skin than expected. The maiko accepted the second round — and beat the swordsman again.
"What the hell?!" Suigetsu gasped, throwing up his hands.
"Pathetic," Sasuke sneered.
"Why don't you try then, s— look… I mean—" Suigetsu stumbled over the name.
Sasuke looked at him, then at Natsuko, his lips tightening as if he wanted to say something else. He moved slowly but surely to sit opposite her. The bowl returned to the center.
"Begin," he said flatly.
"As you wish, Lord Jiro," Natsuko said and started to sing again.
Sasuke focused. His eyes followed every flick of her hand, every change in rhythm. Unlike Suigetsu, he didn't falter once. Her movements were like an open book to him: wrist angles, tempo shifts, false gestures. And then — in a flash — he reached first. She tried to snatch the bowl away, but he tapped her hand instead. A fleeting touch. Warm skin. And... something more. Something electric surged through his veins. He knew that feeling. Natsuko's fingers trembled slightly. Her breath caught. But both of them pretended nothing happened.
She looked away and began singing again — too sharply, too fast, as if trying to drown her thoughts. Now she was trying harder. Speeding up. Tricking. But in vain.
Sasuke no longer needed to read her — he could feel her. This time, he locked eyes with her mid-song. Natsuko faltered. Her hand landed directly on the bowl.
A second of silence.
"Aaah," she sighed, flustered, pressing hot cheeks with both hands. "I... lost..."
Laughter erupted in the room.
"Wow!"
"Lord Jiro, you're dangerous!"
"Natsuko-san, your first loss?"
Still smiling, Natsuko lowered her eyes.
"Even the best maiko make mistakes..."
Sasuke tilted his head slightly. He'd won. But instead of pride, there was a faint trace of a smile left on his lips. The room buzzed, but the voices sounded distant to Natsuko, like underwater. When it was time to play with Jūgo, she still couldn't focus. Her song stumbled; her hands were unsure. He beat her easily. She merely smiled softly and bowed her head in graceful defeat.
"As promised," she said, pulling a thin, handmade notebook from under a cushion.
"My collection of stories."
Suigetsu leaned in with interest. Jūgo gently took the notebook and flipped through the pages. The paper was thin but strong. The writing — clear and elegant. Between the stories were delicate ink illustrations: landscapes, faces, scenes of life.
"Cool…" Jūgo murmured. "Did you draw these?"
"No," Natsuko smiled. "A friend helped. He has a light hand. He draws from memory, from feeling. He says you must capture someone's essence, not just their form."
Sasuke seemed not to be listening. He stared out the window, his back to them. But every word — especially that "a friend draws from memory" — echoed in his mind. Later, as the evening wound down and the lanterns dimmed one by one, the three said their goodbyes. Natsuko gathered her scrolls and notebook and watched them leave, lingering for a single moment.
Aya, escorting them out, tilted her head playfully:
"Come back for the festival tomorrow, gentlemen. We'll have a special performance. I promise it'll be worth it."
Suigetsu turned at the stairs.
"Dancing, sake, and beautiful girls?"
"All of the above," she winked. "And something even better."
"We'll think about it," Sasuke muttered without slowing down.
The busy streets swallowed the shinobi once more, and soon the three figures vanished into the night, heading back to their inn.