Chapter 19: Dango, Old Wounds, and a New State
After visiting Itachi, the next stop was Mitarashi Anko. She lived in the central ninja apartments, the low-cost housing the village provided for its shinobi. A single room with a kitchen and bath—just right for one person.
Anko had no parents. In fact, due to the constant wars, many shinobi of this generation, apart from those born into the clans, were orphans. They were sent to the village orphanage, and once they reached Academy age, they moved into the village-provided apartments. The village covered their rent and provided a living stipend while they were in school.
For the past three years, the ninja apartments had been filled to capacity.
Knock. Knock.
The sound echoed in the somewhat empty hallway. After a long moment, the sound of shuffling feet came from inside, followed by a muffled, heavy, and exhausted voice.
"...Comin'... Who is it...?"
The door opened a crack. The girl behind it was a completely different person from the one in the mission file, whose eyes had been so full of life. At fourteen, Mitarashi Anko looked gaunt. Her signature purple hair was a messy, tangled mop, and she was wearing a baggy black mesh shirt over faded athletic shorts. The moment the door opened, a wall of scent hit him—a sour stench of rotting sweets, un-emptied trash, and the thick, stale air of a sealed-up room.
She squinted, adjusting to the light in the hallway, and looked at the person standing there. The face was familiar... especially the detached set of his eyes. It instantly triggered a memory from the Academy.
"Shū... Shūji?" Anko said his name, uncertain. She frowned, confused. "What... what do you want?"
The "star pupil" from her memory, the one who always had a cold expression, as if he were carrying some heavy burden, seemed completely different from the calm, peaceful person in front of her.
"The village should have sent you a notice," Shūji said, his voice level as he took in the sight of his former classmate, who looked as if her very spirit had been drained. "You've been assigned to my squad."
Anko scratched her messy hair, trying to remember. Her eyes were still hazy, as if she hadn't fully recovered from her long interrogation. "Ah... I think I remember something about that." She moved aside, letting him in, her movements listless and apathetic. "Come in. But... don't expect much. This... is it." She couldn't even be bothered to make an excuse.
Shūji nodded and stepped inside. His eyes quickly swept the small space. There was nothing "girlish" about it. Empty instant ramen bowls were scattered on the tatami, next to a half-eaten, now dried-out and hard skewer of dango. Snack bags were tossed in a corner. A few empty drink cans lay on their sides by the low table. It wasn't a total garbage dump, but it was clear its owner hadn't properly cared for it in a long time. The air was thick with the smell of apathy.
Shūji's gaze landed on a broom leaning in the corner. He said nothing. He walked over, rolled up his sleeves, picked up the broom and dustpan, and silently began sweeping the trash on the floor. His movements were practiced and natural, as if he were doing the most normal chore in the world.
Anko was stunned by his sudden action. When she saw he was about to sweep up the old dango, she yelped, "Hey! Don't touch that! I... I wasn't finished! Hey! That's just... rude, you know!"
"Go boil some water." Shūji didn't even look up, his tone flat but matter-of-fact. "It's basic courtesy to offer a guest hot water. Do you have tea? Plain water is fine." He deftly tossed the empty cans into a trash bin in the corner.
"You..." Anko was speechless. Watching him so naturally start to clean her room, she felt a powerful sense of unreality. The star pupil Shūji from her memories, the one with the ramrod-straight back and sharp eyes... why was he... cleaning her room like some kind of house-husband? And acting so... normal about it? She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Defeated, she just grumbled, "Yeah, yeah, I got it..." and turned to the kitchen to boil water.
From the kitchen, she heard the sound of the kettle being placed on the stove. Shūji was fast. He quickly cleared the trash from the floor and stacked the dirty dishes. He walked to the window, and with a sharp swoosh, pulled back the heavy, closed curtains. He pushed the window open, letting the sunlight and fresh air rush in, chasing out the room's staleness.
When Anko came back out with two steaming mugs, the room was already much cleaner, the air circulating. She put one mug on the low table in front of Shūji and held the other, sitting cross-legged across from him. She looked around the small, newly-clean space, her expression complicated—a mix of awkwardness at being cared for and sheer confusion at the massive change in the person in front of her.
"Here." Shūji placed a paper bag on the table and pushed it toward her. The bag was open, revealing several skewers of glistening three-color dango, dusted with fresh sugar and smelling sweet and enticing.
Anko's eyes lit up for an instant, like a match being struck, but the light quickly died. She looked at Shūji with a complex, wary expression. "...What is this? Trying to buy me off? You're... not like you used to be." She couldn't help but voice her confusion.
"Bought it on the way." Shūji picked up a skewer and took a bite himself, a look of pure satisfaction on his face. "Mm. Soft, chewy, and sweet. Try it. It's way better than that hard, dried-out one you had." His tone was perfectly casual, as if he were just sharing a simple snack.
Anko watched his undisguised enjoyment, then looked back at the dango. Her stomach let out a pathetic growl. She hesitated for a few seconds, but in the end, the temptation of the sweets—and her curiosity about this "unusual" Shūji—won out. She reached out, took a skewer, and carefully took a small bite.
The warm, springy, sweet rice cake melted in her mouth. The wonderful, long-forgotten taste made her instinctively close her eyes and let out a small, satisfied sigh.
"...It's not bad," she mumbled, nibbling on the dango, her eyes secretly studying Shūji.
This person... calmly eating dango, a bit of dust on his clothes from cleaning... was a complete and utter stranger to her.
"Is this what you've been living on?" Shūji gestured with his chin at the pile of ramen bowls and snack bags he'd collected. His voice held no judgment; it was just a confirmation of her state.
"What else?" Anko mumbled through the dango, her voice holding a what's-the-point bitterness. "There are no missions. Eating out is expensive. And I'm too lazy to go out..." What she didn't say was that she didn't want to go out. She didn't want to face the looks of pity, scrutiny, and wariness.
"The border conflict has cooled down. There's a backlog of trade-route missions," Shūji said, swallowing. "Cleaning up rogue ninja, guarding caravans, border patrols... plenty of C-Ranks and D-Ranks. The village didn't assign you any?"
Anko's hand paused. Her eyes darted away as she stared at the empty skewer. "They did. Finding pets, pulling weeds... I didn't want to do them."
Her voice dropped. "...Pointless."
"Pointless, or you just... can't find the energy?" Shūji's gaze fell on her hand, which was gripping the skewer so tightly her knuckles were white.
Anko's head snapped up. Her eyes flashed with annoyance at being seen through, but beneath it was a deep, profound exhaustion and confusion. "What's the difference? It's all the same... Anyway..."
She turned away, looking at the sunlight streaming in. "Back then... when I was with him... I always had a goal. Get stronger, learn stronger jutsu. Now..." She gave a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. "I feel... like my spine's been ripped out. I can't get motivated for anything. Orochimaru... Sensei... why..."
She bit back the rest of the words, which dissolved into a heavy, ragged breath, thick with hatred and grief.
Shūji listened quietly. He didn't interrupt, and he didn't try to comfort or counsel her.
He just picked up another skewer of dango and began to eat it slowly, as if giving her all the time she needed. The room was silent, save for Anko's slightly ragged breathing and the sound of birds outside the window.
His calm, non-reactive presence was, strangely, making her feel less pressured.
"Anger, hatred. That's normal." Only when Anko's breathing had evened out did Shūji finally speak, his voice as flat as if he were discussing the weather. "But you still have to live. Holing up here to rot, filling your stomach with instant ramen and old dango... what do you get out of that, besides making yourself worse?"
He put down the empty skewer and looked her straight in the eye. "Those boring missions the village assigned you... the pay is enough to buy fresh, hot food. Enough to buy the dango you want. And on a mission, at least your brain is too busy to think about other things, and your body is moving. It's better than just... wasting away here."
Anko just stared at him. If anyone else had said that, she would have thought they were a hypocrite. But hearing it from this Shūji—this pragmatic, almost mundane guy who had just cleaned her room and brought her fresh dango—it was strangely persuasive.
There was no fake pity. No high-and-mighty lecture. Just the simple, unavoidable truth: life goes on.
"You... you've really changed," Anko muttered, her voice complicated, but the dead, empty look in her eyes had softened. She looked down at the half-eaten dango in her hand. The fresh sugar sparkled in the light. He was right. Fresh dango really was so much better.
She suddenly shoved the rest of the dango into her mouth and chewed hard, as if trying to grind up and swallow some other, darker emotion along with it.
"But... you're right," she said after swallowing, wiping the sugar from her mouth. She looked up. Her eyes were still tired and pained, but there was a faint, forced spark in them now. "I have to move. Rotting here... is pointless." She looked at Shūji, a hint of resignation and relief in her gaze. "So, Captain. When's the next mission? C-Rank? B-Rank?"
Shūji looked at Anko, and the corner of his mouth quirked up, almost imperceptibly. "You won't be bored. Wait for the notice. In the meantime..." He stood up and looked around the room, which, while clean, still looked sparse and empty. "Finish cleaning this place. Properly. At least, next time I come..." he pointed to the clean window, "I expect it to stay this way. And. Hot tea."
"Hey! You're so demanding! I get it, I get it!" Anko grumbled, but as she watched him walk to the door, her complaining tone held no real bite. Just as he opened the door to leave, she suddenly called out. "Hey, Shūji!"
He looked back.
"...Thanks," Anko said, her voice low. She looked away, then added, "...For the dango. And the cleaning."
Shūji nodded once, said nothing more, and closed the door.
The moment the door shut, Anko sat alone in the suddenly quiet room. The air still held the sweet smell of fresh dango and sunshine. She looked down at her empty hands, then up at the clean room and the open window. Sunlight poured in, making a bright, warm patch on the floor. She took a deep, deep breath of the fresh, grassy air from outside, and then, very slowly, let it all out, as if exhaling all the stale, pent-up energy from her chest.
She stood up, walked to the corner, and picked up the broom Shūji had used. This time, she gripped it tightly and, on her own, began to clean up the rest of the trash.