Chapter 11 Small Shifts

Outside the teashop, the night air was crisp, carrying the distant murmur of Konoha's streets.

Pakura walked with steady steps, but her mind was anything but calm.

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock…

His words lingered.

"Expect betrayal at any moment."

"Never let your guard down, even for a second."

What nonsense.

She scoffed under her breath. What was that guy yapping about?

She was a jonin of the Hidden Sand. She had fought, bled, and killed for her village. She knew its politics, its people.

And she knew—without a doubt—Suna would never throw her away.

Right?

Her steps slowed.

But…

She bit her lip. No. How could they?

She clenched her fists, shaking her head. I'm overthinking this.

And yet…

"A kunoichi of your level must be pretty important to your village. Seems risky sending you alone."

"You're not just some random envoy, are you?"

That had gotten to her. For just a second.

Pakura exhaled sharply, frustrated at herself.

She didn't doubt her village. She couldn't.

And yet—deep down, buried beneath years of loyalty—an ugly thought festered.

A mission to the Mist. Alone.

To a village known for its betrayals, its bloodshed, its madness.

And they sent me.

She stopped walking.

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable.

And for the first time…

She hesitated.

But hesitation was weakness.

And she wasn't weak.

Pakura exhaled through her nose, pushing the doubt aside. If the higher-ups in Suna had decided she was the best for this mission, then that was the end of it. It wasn't her place to question orders.

Still…

She wasn't going in blind.

If this mission was a trap, she would make sure it was their mistake, not hers.

Her mind sharpened, shifting from doubt to preparation. The Hidden Mist was infamous for its deception, its assassins lurking in the fog. She would not walk into their den unprepared.

Step one: Scouting. She needed information—detailed reports on Kiri's political landscape, its key players, its current conflicts.

Step two: Contingencies. Escape routes, fallback points, allies—or at least, people she could manipulate if things went south.

Step three: Firepower. They thought sending her alone meant she was vulnerable. They forgot she was a weapon. A living inferno.

Her fists relaxed.

Yes. If this was a test—if this was a trap—she would walk into it with her eyes wide open. And if they planned to bury her in the Mist…

She would burn it down first.

 ...

The days blurred together.

A visit here. A visit there. Some days Mikoto arrived alone. Other times, Kushina dropped by. And on a few occasions, both of them walked in together, chatting like old friends, unaware of the game being played around them.

Souta was patient. He didn't push. He didn't rush. He just… existed.

A constant. A quiet presence. A warmth that neither of them had known they needed.

Mikoto's first few visits were brief. She would sit, sip her tea, exchange a few words, and then leave. But something always brought her back.

The way he listened? The way his words carried no weight of expectation? Or maybe… just maybe… it was the fact that for the first time in years, she felt seen.

Not as the Uchiha matriarch. Not as Fugaku's wife. Not as a mother.

Just… Mikoto.

And that was enough to make her return.

The second time she came alone, she lingered.

The third time, she asked questions—about tea, about life, about him.

The fourth time, she smiled without restraint.

By the fifth, it was too late.

She was addicted.

Not to the tea. Not to the shop.

To him.

She didn't realize it yet, not fully. But she would.

Kushina, meanwhile, was different. Bolder, brasher. Her visits were filled with laughter, teasing remarks, and that infectious energy that made the room feel alive. Yet even she was unaware of what was happening.

Unaware that she was growing reliant on him.

Unaware that she had started coming to him with her problems, her frustrations, her thoughts.

Unaware that when she laughed, her eyes lingered on him a little too long.

Unaware that when she wasn't here, she thought about when she would be.

The cracks were forming.

Not in them.

But in the men they had left behind.

Mikoto, bound by a cold and distant marriage, found warmth in the most unexpected place.

Kushina, promised to a man who was barely there, found solace in someone who always was.

And Souta?

He simply smiled, pouring another cup.

Because the seeds had been planted. And soon, they would bloom.

 ...

The next day was like any other.

Kushina sat across from Souta, her arms folded as she leaned back in her seat, grinning at him.

"I'm telling ya, I almost blew up the training field yesterday! Stupid Minato, always throwing me into those crazy sparring drills." She huffed, crossing her arms. "One of these days, I swear I'm gonna out-speed that teleporting bastard."

Souta chuckled, pouring her another cup of tea. "I'm sure you will. Though, at this rate, there might not be much of the training grounds left."

Kushina snorted, taking the cup with a satisfied smirk. "Damn right. But, hey, at least I keep things interesting."

She took a sip, sighing in contentment. It was strange. The way she felt when she was here. Comfortable, unguarded, like she didn't have to be the Red Hot-Blooded Habanero all the time. Souta never looked at her like a ticking time bomb, never tiptoed around her temper. He just… accepted her.

That was rare.

The shop's bell chimed, breaking the moment.

A trio of women stepped inside, chatting and giggling among themselves. Their presence immediately shifted the atmosphere, their voices light and playful as they approached the counter.

"Souta-kun~!" one of them chimed, a pretty brunette with soft curls. "We missed you yesterday! Did you ditch us?"

Another, a tall, elegant woman with striking violet eyes, leaned against the counter with a teasing smile. "You know, we were just talking about how unfair it is that you don't visit us more often."

The third, a petite girl with freckles, giggled. "Maybe we should start coming here every day. What do you think, Souta-kun?"

Souta smiled, ever composed. "You're always welcome."

Kushina's eye twitched.

Something about the way they spoke—so familiar, so flirty—rubbed her the wrong way.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Tch. Didn't know you were so popular, Souta."

One of the women turned to her with an amused look. "Oh? And who might you be?"