Presenting the identification papers from Sunagakure and receiving the Konoha entry permit.
Though the alliance between Sunagakure and Konohagakure is ostensibly for deterring other nations, both villages maintain certain restrictions. Shinobi cannot freely enter or leave either village, but non-shinobi individuals can do so without much difficulty, provided they follow the proper procedures.
As a blacksmith from Sunagakure, I had come to sell ninja tools to Konoha shinobi. With swords stored in a scroll, I loaded them onto a portable cart and began walking through the village. However, these weren't the finely crafted weapons typically sold in Sunagakure. Instead, they were standard items prepared by a Sunagakure ninja tools shop for the purpose of selling in Konoha. I could have crafted inferior swords myself, but the thought of deliberately making poorly made blades was intolerable, leaving me no choice but to settle for these.
At last, I managed to enter Konohagakure.
Thinking back on the hardships of getting here was deeply moving. From nearly dying in the desert to having to hide quietly for a while after spotting Mist shinobi in a small country along the way, the journey had been grueling. But finally, I had arrived.
Now, there was just one problem remaining—what kind of person is Hatake Kakashi?
I knew nothing about the person I was searching for. But as someone from Sunagakure, I couldn't go around asking Konoha residents questions about him. Looking back, I regretted not properly questioning the customer in Sunagakure who had brought up Kakashi's name. Still, after calming down, I realized there was no need to worry so much.
I just needed to rely on my memory. Recalling the scent of Zabuza's Executioner's Blade—a mix of iron and blood that I had smelled many times years ago when he visited my family's blacksmith shop.
Closing my eyes, I sharpened my senses.
That alone brought back the scent as vividly as the smell of my family's forge.
…But it was useless.
Strange. I used to be able to tell when Zabuza was in the shop just by that scent, but now I couldn't pinpoint anything. Had my senses dulled over the years? I couldn't detect any trace of the Executioner's Blade's scent, only the tantalizing aroma of a nearby ramen shop. …I was hungry.
"Come to think of it, he might be on a mission… I should wait for a while."
I knew shinobi led busy lives. It wasn't far-fetched to consider that possibility.
Searching for Hatake Kakashi outright would be difficult given my position. To avoid risks, it was better to stay in the village for a while and wait for an opportunity to locate the scent of the Executioner's Blade.
Once I decided that, my next move was simple.
"Welcome!!"
Parking my cart in an out-of-the-way spot, I entered the ramen shop and sat at an open seat. Though the seating was limited, the shop was empty, likely because it was just past the typical lunchtime rush.
As I sat down, the savory aroma grew stronger. It had been a long time since I smelled ramen—likely because in the Land of Wind, a desert region, there was little demand for it. It reminded me of home.
"Um… I'll have seafood ramen and water, please."
"Ah, sorry, miss. We don't serve seafood ramen here."
Without thinking, I had ordered a type of ramen common in the Land of Water. But it seemed this shop didn't have it.
Feeling a bit bad for the mistake, I was about to grow uncomfortable, but the smiling waitress handed me a menu with a cheerful demeanor that put me at ease.
"Um… then I'll have this, please."
"Coming right up!"
Choosing a dish highlighted in bold on the menu—likely the shop's recommendation—I placed my order. The owner, a man with a deep voice, responded energetically.
Watching him work, I couldn't help but be reminded of my parents before they were killed. My father, in particular, used to call out to customers in the same lively manner before succumbing to despair.
Why was it that this unassuming ramen shop kept evoking memories of home? For someone like me, often said to only show emotion when dealing with swords, a faint smile crept across my face.
"But you're a new face, miss. Are you traveling?"
"…I'm a merchant. I came from the Land of Wind to sell swords."
"The Land of Wind, huh? That's quite the journey for someone so young!"
With no other customers around, the owner struck up a friendly conversation. He seemed genuinely impressed by my long journey. Yet, despite chatting, his movements in preparing the ramen were precise and efficient, nearing completion with astonishing speed.
This wasn't the work of a mere cook—it was the motion of a master craftsman.
His dedication was evident in every movement. I, too, had dedicated myself wholly to my craft, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of respect for him, despite the different fields we worked in.
"Here you go! One large pork bone miso ramen with extra chashu!"
With a loud thud, the bowl was placed in front of me. The presentation was flawless—no missteps like a finger accidentally touching the soup. Everything about it was perfect, exuding an undeniable presence.
Breaking my chopsticks, I dug in.
The overwhelming flavor spreading through my mouth spoke volumes about the owner's years of dedication. Moved, I let out an earnest compliment.
"…Exquisite."
The supreme taste, born of his efforts, resonated deeply. I couldn't stop eating. To have this experience so soon after arriving in Konoha—I must have done something right in life.
"I'm glad you liked it. But hey, miss… you're a craftsman, aren't you? Likely a swordsmith from the Land of Water."
"—!?"
His words froze me in my tracks.
Unconsciously clenching my fists, I felt a chill run through me. The owner pointed to my hands.
"It's your hands. Lots of burn scars and calluses—those are the hands of someone who works with fire and a hammer."
"…I'm from the Land of Wind—"
"No one from the Land of Wind would order seafood ramen without looking at the menu first."
"…I surrender. You're too perceptive."
It seemed my life hadn't been filled with good deeds but rather mistakes.
Thinking back, I couldn't recall any particularly virtuous actions. But for a ramen shop owner to see through me, rather than a shinobi, was unexpected. Life, at the age of 15, was proving to be far more complex than I had imagined.
"Well, it'd be trouble if the shinobi noticed, so be careful."
"…? You're not going to do anything?"
"Doesn't seem like you're up to no good. Someone dedicated enough to a single purpose to have 'craftsman's hands' isn't likely to be a troublemaker."
"…I can't argue with that."
"That's right. Whatever level of craftsman you are, miss, I've got seniority in age and experience."
The man's generous spirit and recognition of me as a fellow craftsman deeply moved me.
"…So, miss, what brings you to Konoha?"
"…It's true that I came from the Land of Wind, and I'm here to sell swords. But my main goal is to find someone. There's someone in this village who wields an incredible blade. I came all this way just to see it."
"That's some real craftsman spirit. Who is it?"
"A shinobi named Hatake Kakashi. I hear he's famous among shinobi, but I don't know him."
Trusting my gut, I decided to be honest. If the owner knew Kakashi, it would be a stroke of luck. His reaction—a surprised look—gave me hope.
"Kakashi-san? He's the teacher of one of my regulars. I could ask them to arrange a meeting for you."
"Please! I'd be so grateful!"
Jumping to my feet, I bowed deeply.
"Come by the day after tomorrow around lunchtime. I'll have an answer by then about whether he's willing to meet."
"Thank you. I won't forget this kindness."
"Alright, well, someday, you can make me a fine kitchen knife."
His words, spoken without a hint of modesty, acknowledging me as a craftsman, stirred something in me. I nodded firmly.
Not a large sword like the Executioner's Blade, but an ordinary, perfect kitchen knife—that's what I would make for him. I swore it to myself as I left the shop.
---
After the girl left, Teuchi, the owner of Ichiraku Ramen, cleaned up the dishes she used with his daughter, Ayame. The conversation had been pleasant, the exchange between two craftsmen enriching.
Still, one thought lingered in his mind.
"...But did Kakashi-san ever have such an impressive sword?"
Hatake Kakashi—her person of interest and one of the shop's regulars.
Teuchi had seen him many times, especially recently. But no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't recall Kakashi ever carrying a particularly remarkable blade.