Chapter 43

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The next day, the tea shop was calm, the afternoon sun casting warm light through the windows. Souta worked as usual, moving with the same steady rhythm, wiping down the counter, pouring tea, and greeting customers with his easygoing smile. He looked every bit the simple tea shop worker—harmless, ordinary.

Kushina walked in, her red hair catching the sunlight as she plopped into her usual seat. She didn't sigh dramatically this time. Instead, she just sat there, resting her arms on the table.

Souta glanced at her. "No complaints about Kakashi today?" he asked, setting down a cup of tea in front of her.

She exhaled. "Not today."

Souta smirked, leaning on the counter. "That bad, huh?"

Kushina didn't answer right away. She picked up the tea, taking a slow sip. Her eyes drifted to the steam rising from the cup, thoughtful. "It's not about the kid," she muttered after a moment.

Souta didn't push. He just let her sit with the thought. Let it settle.

Then, as if sensing the moment, the door opened again.

Mikoto Uchiha stepped in, moving with her usual quiet elegance. She wore a gentle smile, but the moment her eyes landed on Souta, something flickered behind them—something she quickly masked.

Kushina barely noticed. She had always known Mikoto to be graceful, poised, unreadable in a way most Uchiha were. It wasn't strange for her to look calm. But there was something about her presence today that made Kushina shift slightly in her seat.

"Mikoto," Kushina greeted with a small wave.

Mikoto smiled. "Kushina. It's been a while."

"Yeah, it has. How's Itachi?"

"He's doing well. Training hard, as always." Mikoto moved to take a seat, her fingers brushing against the counter as she sat down—not too close to Souta, but not far either.

The conversation moved along naturally, but something felt off. Souta wasn't speaking much, just listening, nodding, pouring Mikoto a cup of tea without needing to ask her order. He did it effortlessly, like he had done it many times before.

Kushina noticed that.

Mikoto thanked him with a small smile, her fingers grazing the cup as she lifted it to her lips. Her movements were smooth, controlled. To anyone else, it was just polite conversation. But Kushina wasn't just anyone.

She was sharp. A kunoichi. And she noticed the way Mikoto's eyes darted toward Souta a fraction too long before she quickly looked back at her tea.

Kushina frowned slightly.

It wasn't suspicion. No, that wasn't it. It wasn't even jealousy—why would it be? She had Minato. But for some reason, seeing them talk so easily, so naturally, left an odd feeling in her chest.

She had known Mikoto for years. They were close. But this? This felt like something she wasn't part of.

Souta, of course, played it smooth. He chatted lightly, never once giving any sign of something deeper beneath the surface. If Mikoto was trying to hide something, he made it easy for her. And that was what made it worse.

Kushina sipped her tea, trying to shake the feeling.

"So, how's the great Hokage?" Souta asked suddenly, glancing at her with that same knowing smile.

Kushina scoffed. "Busy. Always busy."

Mikoto glanced at her. "That's just how it is, isn't it? The Hokage carries the weight of the village."

Kushina forced a grin. "Yeah. Duty and all that."

Souta tilted his head. "And what about you?"

Kushina blinked. "What about me?"

He leaned on the counter, his expression unreadable. "What do you carry?"

Kushina hesitated.

Mikoto sipped her tea, staying silent. But Kushina could feel her listening.

"…I carry a lot," Kushina muttered, setting her cup down. "I'm a kunoichi, the damn jinchūriki." She forced a small laugh. "I'm used to it."

Souta hummed, nodding. "That's a lot of weight. But tell me…" He met her gaze. "When was the last time someone carried something for you?"

The words hit differently than she expected.

She parted her lips slightly but had no answer.

Souta just smiled. "Just something to think about."

Mikoto's gaze flickered toward him briefly before she looked away again, stirring her tea with slow, deliberate movements. Kushina couldn't read her expression.

Silence stretched between them for a moment. Then, Mikoto spoke, her voice soft. "That's an interesting way to put it."

Souta raised an eyebrow slightly. "Oh?"

Mikoto smiled faintly, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Most shinobi don't think like that."

Souta just chuckled. "Well, I'm not a shinobi."

The conversation moved on. Kushina found herself tapping her fingers against her cup, thoughts swirling in her head. That nagging feeling, the one she couldn't quite shake, only grew heavier. Something about the way Souta spoke, the way he looked at her—it unsettled her in ways she didn't understand. Or maybe she did, and just didn't want to admit it.

Minutes later, Kushina pushed her cup away and stood up abruptly. "I should get going."

Souta merely nodded, wiping down the counter. "See you around."

She hesitated, just for a second, glancing toward Mikoto. "We should catch up soon."

Mikoto smiled politely. "Yeah."

The second Kushina walked out the door, the atmosphere inside the shop changed. The noise from the streets outside faded into the background, leaving only a quiet stillness between the two left behind.

Mikoto stayed seated, absently stirring the last bit of her tea. The flickering candlelight reflected in her dark eyes.

He leaned forward slightly, voice low. "The eyes?"

Mikoto's hand stilled against her cup. She knew exactly what he meant. Years as a kunoichi had sharpened her senses, made her hyper-aware of when she was being watched, hunted. Instinctively, she let her gaze sweep the shop, scanning for anything unusual, any chakra signatures lingering too long, any foreign presence lurking in the shadows.

Nothing.

She exhaled softly, shaking her head in quiet disapproval. "No one."

The moment the words left her lips, Souta moved.

A sharp inhale—

His hand shot forward, fingers wrapping around the back of her neck. Before she could react, he pulled her toward him in a swift motion, pushing her back against the wooden wall beside her seat. The force of it sent a shiver down her spine, her breath hitching as she met his gaze—dark, unwavering, intent.

Mikoto's heart slammed against her ribs. The warmth of his palm against her skin, the sheer confidence in his movements—it stole her breath before she could even think to resist.

"Souta—"

Her words barely left her lips before his mouth was on hers.

Mikoto's fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt before she could stop herself, caught between the instinct to push him away and the undeniable pull that kept her right where she was.

The shop was empty. No prying eyes. No expectations. No village. Just them.

A quiet gasp slipped from her lips as his grip tightened just slightly.

When he finally pulled back, their breaths mingled, both of them unwilling to break the silence first.

Mikoto swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "You shouldn't have done that."

Souta's lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. "You didn't stop me."

He sat beside her, his gaze never leaving hers. "I can't help it… Every time I see you, I just want to kiss you, to hold you—to adore you."

Mikoto exhaled sharply, shaking her head.

Souta just chuckled, watching her like he already knew how this would end.

For a moment, she hesitated, then reached for his wrist, her grip firm but not forceful. Without a word, she pulled him up from his seat and led him toward the back of the shop.

Through the curtain, past the counter, into his private room.

The door clicked shut behind them. Mikoto turned to face him, arms crossed. "You can't just act on impulse like that."

Souta leaned casually against the wall. "I didn't hear you complaining."

She sighed, rubbing her temple. "Because arguing with you is exhausting."

A slow grin spread across his face. "And yet, you're still here."

Mikoto shot him a look, but there was no real anger in it. "You think too highly of yourself."

Souta shrugged. "I just see things as they are."

She stepped closer, pressing a hand against his chest—not to push him away, but as if grounding herself. "You're going to get yourself in trouble."

His fingers traced the inside of her wrist. "I think I already am."

Mikoto closed her eyes briefly, taking a slow breath. When she looked at him again, there was something softer in her gaze. "You make this too easy."

Mikoto sighed, shaking her head, but when Souta gently pulled her down onto the futon with him, she didn't resist.

The warmth of his arms wrapped around her as he pulled her against his chest. It was reckless, she knew that much, but right now, with the shop quiet and the world outside feeling distant, she let herself sink into it.

Souta's fingers traced idle patterns along her back, his voice low and filled with something unshakable. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you relax like this."

Mikoto hummed softly, her cheek resting against him. "Because I don't."

He chuckled. "Then I guess I'll just have to make sure you do."

She swatted his arm lightly, but there was no real strength behind it. Instead, she let herself enjoy the moment—his warmth, the way his heartbeat was steady beneath her ear. It had been so long since she felt this at ease.

Souta pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. "You know, I'd keep you here forever if I could."

Mikoto let out a quiet laugh. "And what, hide me in your tea shop?"

He grinned. "I'd find a way."

For a while, they stayed like that—just holding each other, breathing in the silence that stretched between them.

But then, Mikoto shifted, glancing at the clock.

"I have to go."

Souta didn't say anything at first, just held her a second longer before finally loosening his grip. "I know."

She sat up, smoothing out her clothes, and when she turned to him, there was something unreadable in her gaze. "You make things complicated."

She leaned down, brushing a fleeting kiss against his lips before standing up completely.

"Take care, Souta."

He watched her leave, the door clicking softly behind her.

For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the ceiling. Then, slowly, a thought began to take root in his mind.

Fugaku.

If he wanted to be with Mikoto officially, there was only one thing left to do—

Send Fugaku to heaven, hell, or wherever he belonged.