Chapter Text
- How will I know he's the one, the only one?
- When you meet him, you'll think, "please, whoever but him."
The plane jolted, and Naruto woke up.
Instinctively, he grabbed the armrest, trying to steady himself, not understanding where he was or what was happening. His ears were ringing, and his head was buzzing.
"We're landing," said a soft voice nearby, somewhere in the sleepy haze - it was Kakashi.
While rubbing his eyes, fragments of images still floated in his head - he had dreamed of the roar of the engine - it's all about the turbines, right? - and also gunshots and voices. Someone was calling him. Someone important. Who was it? Naruto couldn't remember. Everything was a blur - faded nightmares and colorful shards of dreams shattered by turbulence. Nothing could be made out anymore.
Something was bothering his neck, and feeling the wide frame of his headphones, Naruto pulled them off and they landed with a plastic clatter on the shelf in front of him. He exhaled. The plane jolted again.
Damn it.
No, the plane definitely wouldn't become his favorite mode of transportation. Could this shaking compare to car rides? Or the comfortable berths of a train? Or even the cozy cabins of small ships they sailed on last summer? Sit or lie down and gaze at the world outside the windows with insatiable eyes, because there's always something interesting out there. Always something new. But here, you sit in your cell like an egg in an egg cooker and rattle. You can't stretch your legs or change position. Or maybe it's just because he's not used to it? It is his first time, after all. And a direct "Rome-Tokyo" flight is no joke.
To be fair, he had a luxury seat - by the window. And for a while, Naruto watched with a mix of longing and anticipation as the patchwork of fields and vineyards drifted into the distance. Then Italy disappeared, swallowed by the sea, and under the wing stretched an endless blue, occasionally interrupted by lines of white feather clouds. At that moment, he felt a strange emotion - he missed something. Missed something he never thought he would. His childhood wasn't the easiest. His Italy wasn't the friendliest. But it was his Italy.
Narita greeted them with the running lights of the landing strips, the shaking, and the darkness. Night hung over Tokyo, draping the world outside the window in black. Only isolated pools of light were visible in the distance - city lights and airport buildings.
A city, foreign and unknown, lay under the landing gear like quicksand, pulling him in - forever. And Naruto didn't know what to expect from it. The land of his ancestors. The country of his parents. He was at least half a part of this country, about which he knew almost nothing. More accurately, of course, he knew it remotely - Kakashi had prepared him well. But it's like considering someone familiar only because you've seen them on TV and then meeting them in person. At least he had nothing to be disappointed in - he hadn't been enchanted. But he still hoped, of course, that Japan would accept him and become his second homeland. After all, they had already burned almost all the bridges with the first one.
"Get ready," said Kakashi, who was now fully awake and sitting in the neighboring seat. "They'll announce soon."
Naruto didn't waste time and began to pack his modest carry-on into his backpack. A dead phone, headphones, a promotional leaflet he had picked up from a stand in Rome and flipped through at the beginning of the flight, half a chocolate bar, and some gum. They didn't have much in the baggage compartment, let alone here.
The plane jolted again, unpleasantly and unexpectedly, making his heart jump along with everything else, hitting the back of his head on the headrest. Not painful, but annoying.
"Does it always shake like this on a plane?" Naruto asked, rubbing the sore spot.
"Usually much worse," Kakashi smirked.
Ah, so they were lucky.
Leaning back in the airplane seat just in case, Naruto looked out the window again. They were coming in for a landing quickly, as announced almost immediately by the onboard communicator, along with instructions on what to do and what not to do. They had to sit still and endure the shaking - neither of which he was inclined to do, but had no choice.
The landing lights jumped up, running in long lines of glowing dots. His heart skipped a beat, as if in freefall.
Tokyo hit the landing gear, putting a period on his past life and unmistakably opening a new chapter of the unknown.
---
Naruto opened the window, and the kitchen filled with fresh air. The rain had settled the dust, and the sharp coolness made him feel more awake. The electric kettle clicked, signaling that breakfast was ready.
They had bought the kettle two days ago with those funny Japanese money, always a lot of it, but never enough.
The tight lid wouldn't come off the plastic edge of the round package, and he had to tug at it several times before reaching the inside. Noodles rustled dryly and then drowned in boiling water. Delightful aroma of beef and spices wafted through the kitchen. Naruto inhaled it with pleasure, covered the plastic cup with the clear lid, and smiled.
Food of the gods.
And now - five minutes to wait. And oh, what five minutes. The hardest five minutes of his life.
To occupy himself, he wandered back to the room Kakashi referred to as "your room." Naruto didn't consider it his or feel that way. Just a room in an apartment that had been loaned to them very simply by one of Kakashi's old friends.
A pile of clothes lay on a chair in the corner, from which Naruto pulled out T-shirts and shorts each morning, then placed them back on top after washing and in the evening. The pile wobbled, swayed, leaned dangerously, but held. And the longer it went on, the more it reminded him of Jenga. He almost lost.
With a heavy sigh, he grabbed a few T-shirts from the top and carried them to the closet. He should have done this long ago. Perhaps right after arriving. But first there was jet lag, then they went shopping for urgent living necessities, then laziness set in, and then Naruto got used to it. If Kakashi, who had popped in that morning, hadn't called for order and conscience, it would have continued this way. He and the T-shirts were doing fine. Why ruin a well-established system?
Muttering under his breath, Naruto stuffed his meager belongings into the empty shelves in the closet, following the principle - where it landed, it would live. A black-and-white work uniform hung on the back of the chair. He lovingly smoothed it over the sturdy fabric and left it hanging. He'd need to fold and tuck it into his bag. Preferably neatly, but however it turned out.
He had worn it many times. First for training, then for real work. A real Japanese job in Japan. He never dreamed he would be accepted so quickly. Didn't look for job ads online. Just walked into all the places that looked like potential workplaces - especially if they had a "Help Wanted" sign - and asked if they needed an extra hand. The method worked flawlessly. They weren't even bothered that he was just a bit underage.
Naruto wasn't ashamed or afraid of any job. In Italy, he had worked in a pizzeria, a shoe repair shop, a summer café, and a restaurant. In his spare time from helping at Kakashi's auto shop, of course. And there was plenty of it, considering that the number of orders didn't always require four hands. Odd jobs not only brought him extra money, which they were always short of, but also a pleasant feeling that he was easing some of Kakashi's burden and somehow repaying him for years of care and, as far as possible, a happy childhood.
From under the last T-shirt on the chair, a colorful leaflet slowly fluttered to the floor. Naruto bent down and picked it up, only to feel joy and then horror a moment later. He had looked everywhere for it, and it had been here all along!
An old photo with white creases on the corners and a web of cracks on the glossy surface. A woman with a beautiful smile and long copper hair and a blonde man embracing her. She in a light blue dress with white stripes. He in a white short-sleeved shirt and equally white pants. They looked like actors from a classic movie poster. Happy, joyful. Alive.
Mom and Dad.
It was the only thing he had left of them. In Italy, Naruto kept this photo under his pillow, and when he was little, he would take it out before bed and look at it for a long time, imagining what his life could have been like if they were alive. Where would they live? How would they celebrate? How would they argue? Surely his parents would tell him to put his clean clothes in the closet and throw away the ramen lids instead of leaving them on the table. They would argue. And then make up. What gifts would they give him? Would he have brothers and sisters? Would they go to parent-teacher meetings?
Naruto imagined all this. And he fell asleep, wrapped in these thoughts like a soft blanket.
No, living with Kakashi was good. But when Naruto was five, he asked him - are you my dad? Why don't you call yourself dad like the other kids' dads on the playground?
Kakashi grew sad and said he wasn’t Naruto’s father. He handed Naruto a photo and said his parents were no longer alive. They loved their son very much but passed away. Kakashi, who was their friend, now takes care of him.
That was the end of their conversations when Naruto was five. But in the following years, he asked many questions, dozens, even hundreds. Some were answered, but mostly not. As he grew older, his questions became more complex.
Who were they? Where did they live? Why did they die?
Kakashi, seemingly tired of these questions, said, "When you turn sixteen, I’ll tell you more. Not before."
On his sixteenth birthday, Naruto woke up, dressed, washed, took the photo, and went to Kakashi. It was the first birthday where he got not only a gift but also the truth.
The truth that his parents were killed the day he was born. They had a large business, and it was likely competitors who did it. The killers were never found. From the moment his father died, everyone who worked with him was in danger, including Kakashi. But he couldn't let his friends' son end up in an orphanage. He became Naruto’s foster father and flew to Italy with the newborn in his arms, where he had friends, connections, and the ability to hide.
Listening to this, Naruto cried. Later, he didn’t. Then he was angry, tormented, staring at the photo for hours, thinking about the life that was taken from him — a life where he could have known them, known what they were like, and maybe understood himself better. Why he was born. And what to do with that.
That was the truth. But it wasn’t all of it.
Another piece of the truth Kakashi handed to him in the spring, right before the last summer of his school years.
"Your father had a business. You have an inheritance. And exactly at eighteen, you can claim it according to the will."
"So pack up, Naruto, we're going to the Land of the Rising Sun, ninjas, and instant ramen."
And now he had returned to his parents' homeland to learn the whole truth. To claim what always belonged to him.
The corner of the photo was curling, and Naruto gently smoothed it with his thumb. His stomach growled. He sighed and tucked the photo under the pillow.
Lunch was ready.
After such a heavy and exhausting task like cleaning, ramen always tasted even better than usual. How did they make it here? There was nothing like it in Italy. Probably nowhere else either. Immersed in savoring the masterpieces of Japanese culinary artists at about ninety euro cents per pack, for which in his native Italy he would surely get a slap, Naruto didn’t notice the door slam.
He only knew Kakashi was back when he entered the kitchen, bringing with him the smell of rain and ozone.
"So, already washed and dressed? Excellent."
Naruto saluted with the chopsticks, still feeling awkward with them, and reported, "I unpacked."
"Glad to hear it," Kakashi said, taking off his windbreaker, "or I would have had to take punitive measures."
Naruto smirked, feeling like a ten-year-old again. Punitive measures usually included banning internet access, TV, and free roaming around the town. He’d like to see how he'd try to stop him now, but punitive measures had turned into a myth by the time he was fourteen.
The rain-soaked windbreaker found its place in the hallway, and Kakashi returned, noisily pulling out a chair, turning it around, and sitting on it, folding his arms on the wooden backrest.
"I need to talk to you," he said.
Naruto gulped down the ramen broth, wiped his mouth, and placed the chopsticks on the table.
"Huh? About what?"
Kakashi paused as if gathering his thoughts. Naruto rocked on the back legs of his chair, waiting.
"Remember, I talked about your inheritance? That we need to deal with some papers and settle a few things."
Naruto frowned but nodded. He remembered.
"I met with a representative of some old friends. They agreed to help us, so there won't be any paperwork."
Kakashi fell silent, looking out the window at the fields of identical gray high-rise buildings, reaching for the sky with TV antennas and satellite dishes.
And he didn’t look happy about the reduced workload at all.
Naruto rocked back on his chair again.
"But?"
A tired look shifted to him.
"But there's an important nuance... concerning your father's business."
Kakashi paused and returned to gazing at the high-rises outside the window.
"It’s hard to explain briefly," his tone turned unexpectedly irritable. "You know what, let them tell you themselves. They suggested meeting tomorrow to talk. How does that sound? Any plans?"
"Well... I work tonight... Who are they? And when do they want to meet?"
Another pause, as if Kakashi was choosing his words carefully.
"They are people who helped me a lot back then. People who worked with your father. Without them, I probably wouldn’t have managed to get you out of Japan and hide successfully all these years."
Naruto was about to rock on the chair again but jerked, lost balance, and crashed to the floor. Kakashi hid his face in his hands and shook his head. Naruto was already back on his feet, gripping the back of the chair.
"What?! They knew my father? And mom? They knew her too?"
"Yes. Both of them. And quite well."
His heart skipped a beat and dropped into his stomach. Naruto felt his throat go dry and his hands weaken. He had never met anyone besides Kakashi who knew his parents. Kakashi was the only link to that past, which was taken from him without even a chance to experience it. And now—such an opportunity. It must not be missed.
"Of course, I want to meet them!" Naruto exclaimed so loudly and abruptly that he scared himself. "If necessary, I'll take time off work, find someone to cover my shift."
Kakashi smiled wryly.
"The meeting is in the evening, so it’s not necessary. You'll have time to sleep. And... don't get too excited yet, Naruto. They are... very peculiar people. I’m not sure you’ll like them. Or what they have to say."
Naruto crossed his arms over his chest, piecing the facts together.
"Wait. You said they knew my parents well and want to help us... So they are unlikely to say anything bad about mom and dad? Then why shouldn't I like them?"
"They almost certainly won’t say anything bad about your parents. But they will tell the truth. And, knowing you, I’m not sure you’d want to hear that truth."
Naruto was utterly confused and felt like he was on a TV show. Are these additional questions or still the main ones? Are they giving him a hint or leading him off track?
"But I want to know the truth!" he repeated helplessly what he had said many times before. "Whatever it may be! No matter what my parents were like, they couldn’t have been bad people. I'm sure of it! I’ve seen the photos!"
Kakashi nodded, apparently not wanting to continue this conversation.
"Alright. If you agree, then you’ll find out everything tomorrow. I think this time it really will be everything."
Naruto felt a smile spread on his lips. Inside, he had a nervous anticipation like the night before a holiday. When it seems impossible to sleep and all thoughts are about the next day and presents.
It doesn’t really matter if he likes these people or not. What matters is that they will tell the truth about mom and dad. They can provide missing pieces of the puzzle that Kakashi doesn’t have. They are different, new people who had their own connections and communication with his parents. They can reveal a side of them that Kakashi simply doesn’t know. And they can’t make things up — Kakashi will be there to ensure that.
The plan seemed flawless. The hardest part remained — to wait for the right moment.
"So, I'm personally starving. I bought some decent food and I'm going to cook it," Kakashi rubbed his hands together. "If you want, join me."
Naruto just blinked in surprise. What was he talking about? He had just eaten the most decent food in Japan.
---
When the time passed noon, there was absolutely nothing to do. Just like yesterday and the day before. And it was good that he had at least found a job, because if he lived like this constantly, he wouldn’t last long before losing his mind.
Naruto lay in his room, staring at the gray ceiling. The clouds had cleared, and the sun had come out, drying everything the rain had left behind. Now, a breeze blew in through the open window, carrying the damp, oily smells of the big city.
A truly big city, unlike any he had lived in before. Tokyo turned out to be just like the pictures — gray boxes, glass skyscrapers, colorful neon lights, busy streets, deserted narrow alleys. It smelled of smoke and dust, fried rice, exhaust fumes, fish and steel, ocean and wood. Before landing, Kakashi had said, “This is your hometown. You were born here, get acquainted.” And as their plane descended, slicing through the torn fabric of the night fog, Naruto looked at the lights of Narita and the perfect, almost unreal, slightly truncated cone of Mt. Fuji. Something inside him trembled and stilled, not from the overloads and turbulence, but as if he was supposed to remember something.
But he didn’t remember. Which was normal, given that he was taken from here almost immediately after he was born.
Tokyo was foreign to him. Unfamiliar, crowded, tidy by day and predatory by night, grinning with the lights of shop windows and signs, drawing him into its concrete innards. Against this backdrop, the tiled roofs of Palermo came to mind with a special longing, climbing the green slopes on one side and sinking into the blue water on the other. The honking of cars, rapid speech, music in the poor quarters, the omnipresent hot sun, the smell of baked goods.
There was no smell of baked goods in Tokyo. Everywhere in Tokyo, there were hieroglyphs. Tokyo had no soul. Or maybe the city simply didn't want to show its soul to someone who was also a stranger to it?
Life had prepared him for this since birth. Kakashi had prepared him for the return. Naruto had learned Japanese, knew all the prefectures, could cook rice, and had even tried sake. But all this crumpled and fell apart before the concrete-glass snarl of Tokyo, for which he was not ready. For its smells, sights, and people. Its sounds, rhythms, and speeds. He closed his eyes and saw Palermo’s rooftops again. Felt the warmth of sun-heated walls under his fingers and the sweet and sour taste of Sicilian lemons on his tongue.
It was as if he was made of different sounds, smells, and words. And switching to hieroglyphs and rice was hard. Seemingly impossibly hard.
Are they staying here forever? Will he ever get used to it? Or will he keep dreaming of tiled roofs while waking up in a world of glass and concrete?
Naruto closed his eyes, letting the sun’s reflections, bouncing off the window, seep under his eyelids. It was unusually noisy — their place was near a busy road, and the constant background hum kept intruding into his thoughts.
He needed to try and sleep. At least a little. It’s better to come to work rested. And tomorrow is an important day. Just thinking about it filled him with a mix of fear and anticipation, making him want to skip work and sleep until the next evening. But he could use the money.
Naruto opened his eyes, turned on his side, reached out, and fumbled for his phone on the nightstand. Making sure all five alarms were set, he pushed the plastic device with the glass screen away and flopped back onto the bed.
Tomorrow he would learn about his parents. And maybe even find out what Kakashi had refused to tell — who exactly might have killed them and if there was any chance of finding them.
He slipped slowly into sleep, lulled by the noise of cars and the heartbeat of the metropolis. When he woke up, the sun was already hidden behind the boxes of buildings and the dark blocks of factories on the horizon. He struggled to open his eyes and yawned widely, as if he hadn’t been persuading himself to sleep just hours earlier but had collapsed from exhaustion.
In the kitchen, Kakashi was frying fish with rice, and it smelled so good even in the room. But he had to scarf down his dinner in a rush because only the second-to-last alarm went off, and the previous ones had been missed.
When Naruto stumbled out of the shower, clean and smelling of some lotus-scented gel, it was already about seven in the evening, and he needed to be there by nine. He almost remembered which metro station it was, but nerves and the rush always made him panic and knocked the ability to think clearly right out of his head.
Moving like a fireman late for a burning gas station, Naruto pulled on a T-shirt and jeans, packed his uniform into a bag, not forgetting the ugly bow tie with the Velcro. About to dash out of the house, he glanced in the mirror, was dissatisfied, and, with his travel card clamped in his teeth, tried to ruffle his spiky hair. They would stick up anyway, but he had to at least try. Should he grow it out?
At the doorstep, Naruto froze and slapped his forehead. He returned to his room, grabbed the black vest from the chair, and also stuffed it into his bag. Snatching his windbreaker off the chair — it promised to be a cool evening — he dashed into the corridor. He could put on the windbreaker and zip it up in the elevator anyway.