Naruto: Starting as the Third Hokage with Tears in His Eyes

Chapter 369 Perilla Leaves, Symbol of Peace

In another corner of the village, in a small shop shrouded in warm light and rising white mist, a small-scale brainstorming session is also taking place.

Ichiraku Ramen.

"Oh, Tosang! Oh, Tosang! What kind of ramen are we making for our winter festival?"

A little girl with two cute braids was lying on the bar counter, watching her father, who was busy at the counter, with her big, dark eyes.

Her name is Ayame, and she is the future second-generation successor of Ichiraku Ramen.

"Um……"

The young shop owner skillfully sliced ​​the char siu into evenly thin slices by hand, while pondering his daughter's question.

He was a young man in his early twenties, with a look of hope for the future and confidence in his skills.

"It's a winter festival... so of course we have to make the most special ramen!"

"What kind is the most special?"

Ayame swung her legs, picked up a pen, and started doodling on a clean napkin. "I'm going to make ramen that glows! Like the fireworks of the Uchiha uncles!"

"Haha, glowing ramen? Tosang doesn't know ninjutsu."

I was amused by my daughter's naive thoughts.

He wiped his hands, walked over to his daughter, and looked at the ramen bowl she had drawn on paper, which had wings and was still glowing. He began to really think about it.

Glowing light... of course not.

But special is necessary.

Today's Konoha is no longer the military fortress that had to tighten its belt to make ends meet just a few years ago.

More and more shops are opening up Hokage Avenue: the Akimichi family's barbecue restaurant, the Uchiha family's dessert shop, and even Sakumo Hatake has opened a farm-operated store.

The competition is getting fiercer.

If Ichiraku Ramen wants to stand out in this grand celebration, it must offer something truly touching.

But what exactly is it?

A richer broth? More chewy noodles? Or more luxurious toppings?

Shouda fell into deep thought. He always felt that these were just superficial things, and something was still missing.

It's missing something... the soul.

Just then, the wooden door of the ramen shop was pulled open with a whoosh.

A gust of cold wind, carrying the unique crispness of winter, swept in, momentarily halting the warmth inside the store.

He subconsciously raised his head and habitually called out, "Welcome!"

However, when he saw the person's face clearly, the second half of his sentence got stuck in his throat.

A tall figure stood at the doorway, backlit, his outline somewhat blurred. But as he entered, an invisible pressure emanated from him.

It was an old man.

An old man with gray hair and a face etched with the lines of time.

He was dressed in dark casual clothes that seemed out of place in this era, and he wasn't wearing the Konoha headband. But his upright posture and the natural composure he exuded made it seem to me that he wasn't a guest, but a moving mountain.

"It looks somewhat familiar..."

There were a few customers slurping noodles in the shop, but the moment the old man came in, they unconsciously quieted down their eating.

One of the ninjas, who was slightly drunk and shouting loudly, sobered up instantly after the old man glanced at him casually. He lowered his head silently and pretended to be studying the Naruto scroll in his bowl seriously.

The atmosphere in the entire ramen shop became strangely quiet because of this person's arrival.

The old man didn't say anything, but walked straight to the corner of the bar and sat down.

That's where the light is dimmest and the least noticeable.

He extended his wrinkled but bony fingers and pointed to the most basic item on the menu—the signature tonkotsu ramen.

"Okay, okay, please wait a moment!"

He snapped out of his daze, quickly responded, and turned to start making noodles.

For some reason, he felt a chill down his back and his movements were stiffer than usual.

"Oh, Tossan~"

Changpu leaned closer and whispered, "That grandpa... he's kind of scary."

He gently flicked his daughter's nose to signal her not to be rude.

The noodles were cooked quickly.

The hand-beater carefully placed the steaming hot ramen in front of the old man.

"Please enjoy your ramen."

The old man, Madara Uchiha, nodded slightly in response.

He picked up his chopsticks, his movements as steady and precise as his personality.

Unlike other ninjas who would rush off in a flash, he first picked up a strand of noodles and examined it for a moment under the light, as if appraising a work of art.

Then, put the noodles into your mouth and chew them slowly.

The entire process was conducted without making a single unnecessary sound.

Quiet, focused, with an almost ritualistic solemnity.

Madara Uchiha was indeed savoring the moment, and reminiscing about the past.

The broth is very rich, a mellow flavor resulting from long-term simmering of pork bones and chicken frames.

The noodles are hand-pulled, with just the right amount of wheat flavor and chewiness. The char siu is a perfect balance of lean and fatty meat, melting in your mouth.

very delicious.

A very pure, delicious flavor that belongs to the food itself.

He ate slowly, taking a sip of soup and a bite of noodles, savoring every flavor on his tongue.

The warmth of the food slid down his esophagus into his stomach, and then slowly spread to his limbs and bones, dispelling the cold that had accumulated in his body for nearly a hundred years.

Although I've tried it once... this is truly a... wonderful feeling.

Across from the bar, a man nervously wiped a bowl that was already very clean, pretending to be busy, but secretly observing the mysterious customer out of the corner of his eye.

Ayame, on the other hand, had no inhibitions whatsoever. She rested her chin on her hand, staring intently at Uchiha Madara with her large eyes, seemingly trying to figure out why this strange grandfather ate so slowly.

The bowl of noodles was finally empty.

Madara Uchiha drank every last drop of soup.

He put down his chopsticks with a soft snap.

Then, he took out his money pouch from his pocket and left a thick stack of banknotes on the counter.

That amount is enough to buy ten bowls of ramen.

"Sir...this is too much..." Shouda quickly said.

Madara Uchiha had already stood up, ready to leave.

He didn't seem to care about the amount of money; to him, these colorful pieces of paper were no different from pebbles.

Just as he was about to turn around and step out of the store, he suddenly paused.

Without turning around, he simply stood with his back to his hands, speaking in a flat, almost indifferent tone.

"The soup base is good."

My hand paused for a moment.

Then he heard another sentence.

"Perhaps we could add some perilla leaves to enhance the flavor."

After saying this, Madara Uchiha seemed to fall into a moment of silence, and then let out a barely audible whisper, like a sigh.

"...I really miss it."

As soon as he finished speaking, his figure disappeared outside the door, as if he had never been there.

The cold wind blew in from outside the shop, but the man was completely unaware.

He just stood there blankly, repeatedly pondering the old man's words.

Perilla leaves...

Perilla leaves?

A thought flashed through his mind like lightning.

I remembered it when I typed it out.

A long, long time ago, when he was a child, his grandfather would hold him and tell him stories.

The story says that during the Warring States period, when everyone was in danger, his great-great-grandfather would pick a few perilla leaves from the roadside after each bloody battle and chew them slowly.

That spicy yet fragrant flavor could soothe his stomach, which was churning from the battle, and also allow him to temporarily find a moment of peace amidst the nightmare of mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

It was a taste of... peace.

His breath hitched.

He understood instantly.

The old man just now wasn't offering a simple suggestion about the flavor.

He was reminiscing about a time buried deep in history.