Naruto-ReBorn as a Baker

Chapter 313: "Stretching, Snuggling"

Malik blinked.

Once. Twice.

Groggily.

The world reassembled around him in slow, drowsy fragments—the faint hum of residual magic in the air, the scent of frost laced with warm pine, and the soft glow of ancient runes etched into crystal walls. His limbs felt like they had been folded into a thousand origami shapes and then gently steam-pressed. Every fiber of his being ached—not from injury, but from that strange, particular fatigue that followed deep magic and emotional excavation.

He groaned softly.

"Ugh… I feel like I got emotionally steam-cleaned. Did I win? I feel like I won."

With some effort, he stretched—arms flopping out like starfish across the glowing floor, legs kicking lazily through the last bits of fading dream-ice. His magic core felt like it had been drained through a pasta strainer. But he was still whole, still breathing. A little soggy around the edges, but perfectly Malik.

From the shadows beside him, there was a soft huff.

A low, amused chuff echoed through the chamber.

And then—padding.

Click, click, click.

Malik cracked one eye open again.

A magnificent, snow-white fox prowled gracefully around his splayed-out form—luminous fur pulsing faintly with threads of gold and silver chakra, her nine tails sweeping regally behind her. Her sharp eyes glinted with delight and wicked intelligence, and every step seemed calculated for maximum elegance.

She circled him once.

Then again.

Then a third time, this time stopping right by his head, snout twitching.

"You know," she said, her voice echoing into his mind like a musical trickle of mountain stream, "for a mortal, you're… deeply strange."

Malik grinned without opening his eyes. "The highest form of compliment. Thank you."

Inariko chuffed again, then shimmered—her fox form dissolving like falling petals into light. When it cleared, she stood tall and smug in her half-human form, her delicate robes floating around her like she was the star of an endless moonlit opera.

"Well. You're alive," she mused, brushing a strand of white-gold hair behind her long fox ear. "Messy, mildly singed, emotionally wrung out like damp linen—but alive."

"Victory," Malik said weakly, trying to sit up.

Except… he couldn't.

Something was… on him.

Or more accurately—

Something was clinging to him like a weighted blanket forged out of desperate affection and untrained biceps.

Inariko arched a brow and casually pointed behind him.

Malik twisted his neck—and saw a pair of arms wrapped tightly around his waist. A body pressed against his back. A breathy sigh in his ear.

Kōsetsu.

The monk, once a phantom of pure shadow, now very real, very warm, and very emotionally overloaded, was latched onto Malik like a sea otter with abandonment issues.

Malik blinked slowly. "...Oh."

He twisted a little more and saw the man's face—peaceful, utterly asleep, brow slightly furrowed even in dreams.

"That's—okay, no, this is kind of cute," Malik muttered, unable to suppress a crooked smile.

Then—

KREEEAK.

Kōsetsu's grip tightened dramatically.

Malik's eyes bulged.

"OKAY OW. Nope. No. Gentle vibes only please—!"

Kōsetsu, dreaming still, hugged harder.

"I'M NOT A STRESS BALL," Malik wheezed, his ribs creaking.

Inariko chuckled, covering her mouth with long fingers.

"Kōsetsu," Malik gasped, wriggling, "I know I am warm and soft like a premium pillow, but my spine is not adjustable and my bones are sensitive. You're breaking me through appreciation—please—dial it down."

The monk stirred, then blinked blearily and looked up at Malik with a comically slow realization creeping across his face.

"I—oh no," Kōsetsu murmured, pulling back instantly. "I'm—I'm so sorry! I didn't know I was squeezing you that hard! I—oh no, I've crushed you—have I hurt you? Was it the ribs? Your aura? Your spirit bones?!"

"Spirit bones?" Malik gasped, rolling over. "You've been in a shadow bubble too long."

Kōsetsu immediately turned toward Inariko, bowing low in embarrassment. "Apologies, Great Inariko—I was… apparently smothering the chosen savior."

Inariko didn't just smile—she unleashed that unmistakable, wide, razor-curved fox grin that always spelled mischief first, mayhem second. Her eyes glittered with a little too much enjoyment, the way one might watch a firework go off in a library and pretend it was an accident.

"He's been through worse," she said breezily, flicking an invisible speck from her sleeve. "While the two of you were off being... let's say 'occupied,' I personally witnessed a flaming wild beast yeet him through a priceless musical staircase. He giggled the entire way down—like some sort of enchanted windchime with bones."

Malik stopped mid-step and shot her a sharp, scandalized look over his shoulder, the kind only someone both wounded and deeply annoyed could deliver.

"First of all," he began, voice clipped, "please refrain from diving into my memories without permission. That's not public record, that's trauma with decorative flair."

He took a breath and raised a finger.

"Second, that particular event occurred back when I still had access to my full healing magic, which, in case you've forgotten, I doudt it though because you just used the word 'yeet', was quite literally the only reason I wasn't left as a smoldering heap of musical rubble."

Another finger went up.

"And third—" he narrowed his eyes, voice rising with escalating indignation, "—I was not 'giggling.' That sound was a high-frequency expression of unimaginable agony. It sounded like laughter because my lungs were compressing like an accordion under internal flame stress. And that smile? That was a grimace. An elegant, pain-induced grimace. There's a difference."

He huffed, arms crossed with great ceremony. "I do not like pain. I merely endure it with style."

Inariko just kept grinning, all smug and sharp-toothed and utterly unconvinced.

"Mmhmm," she said, as if she were filing the entire outburst under "Future Teasing Material, Vol. 2."

Malik groaned, pushing himself up. Kōsetsu tried to help him to his feet and half-lifted him instead. Malik sagged in his arms like he'd accepted his fate as a fashionable plush keychain.

"Why is everyone taller than me?" Malik muttered under his breath. "Honestly. I'm being coddled like an espresso cup."

Still, when he finally got his balance back, he dusted himself off dramatically and struck a victory pose.

"Well," he said smugly. "I think I did a pretty swell job. Didn't take too long either!"

Inariko blinked. Then grinned.

"Three days," she said with a smirk.

Malik froze.

His smile cracked.

"WHAT? THREE WHOLE DAYS?!?!"

Inariko scratched behind one of her ears casually. "Closer to four now. It's nearly dawn."

Malik dropped to his knees in slow despair. "FOUR DAYS?! That's not 'quick'—that's a vacation!"

Inariko gave a nonchalant shrug. "I take naps longer than that."

Kōsetsu, sheepish but oddly serene now, nodded. "Time… is relative."

Malik shot them both a flat look. "You two are way too cute to be this chill about eternal isolation and surprise naps."

He paced a little, gesturing now with full Malik-style flourish.

"I have people waiting on me! Impatient people. I was supposed to go in, be dazzling, emotionally disarm the ancient fox goddess with clever banter, liberate a lonely shadow monk, and leave with a dramatic sparkle. Not disappear for nearly a week!"

Inariko tilted her head, thoroughly amused.

"You did do all of that."

"Sure—but now the others are going to think I DIED!" Malik wailed.

He groaned and began listing with finger counts.

"Let me explain the breakdown of my team's emotional apocalypse. First—Ranke. If I don't show up soon, she'll explode. Not emotionally. Literally. Lightning will happen. Property damage is not a hypothetical. And when she gets cranky—Fugai gets cranky."

Kōsetsu blinked. "Isn't Fugai the quiet one?"

"She's quiet because she's constantly trying to tune Ranke out," Malik replied dramatically. "So when Ranke won't shut up, Fugai gets snappy, and when both of them are snappy, Kamira can't stand it, because she needs one person to tease. If everyone's mad, no one is fun for her. That sends her spiraling."

Inariko sat on a glowing cushion conjured from snowflakes, clearly entertained.

Malik continued. "Then there's Gen'yūmaru. Gods bless that man, but he can handle a battlefield better than he can handle three cranky women. He'll try diplomacy and get roasted alive. Emotionally."

Kōsetsu listened with wide-eyed fascination.

"And then there's Haku, my sweet, polite, emotionally intelligent boy who will spend the entire time trying to please everyone. While internally dying."

Inariko smirked. "And Zabuza?"

Malik stared. Then shuddered.

"Zabuza Momochi," he whispered. "The Demon of the Hidden Mist. She's in the same house. Twin Goddesses of Love above—I hope she's either asleep, drunk, or ideally both. If she's awake while they're all arguing? The house is going to turn into a very fashionable crater."

He crossed his arms, scowling adorably. "I didn't even get to warn them I was fine. Because I'm not even in my body right now! I'm still floating around the dream realm while my real-world self is probably cuddled up in some ceremonial bean bag!"

Inariko gestured coyly toward the distant gleam of light in the dream's horizon. "Well then," she said brightly, "Let's go fix that."

Kōsetsu offered Malik his hand again. This time gently. Respectfully.

Malik took it with a sigh, muttering, "When I wake up and Ranke throws a lightning bolt at me for 'taking my time,' I'm blaming you both."

Inariko grinned. "Tell her I kept you on divine business."

"Oh I will. And she'll STILL zap me."

With a laugh, the three stepped forward—toward the seam in the dreamscape where reality pulsed bright.

It was time for Malik to wake up.

And face the delightful consequences of being fashionably late to his own rescue.

-some time later-

The dreamscape was quieter now.

Still touched by echoes of memory and magic, the crystalline air pulsed with a soft golden haze, flowing in eddies around Malik as he floated—slow, unhurried—between scattered remnants of ice and starlight. Kōsetsu drifted just a step behind, a little unsure of his presence in this strange liminal plane. Inariko padded ahead, her nine tails flicking lazily in her fox form before she reshaped herself into her elegant, humanoid silhouette once more.

Malik's brows furrowed lightly in concentration. His fingers splayed outward, glowing faintly as he extended a spark of magic—an astral thread—to reach anyone outside this realm. The link was instinct now. Familiar. Comforting. He reached for Ranke's static-charged presence, for Kamira's mischievous ripple, for Fugai's steady glacier heartbeat… for Gen'yūmaru's composed pressure, Haku's silken warmth.

But nothing answered.

No ping. No pulse. No sense of distant recognition.

Just mist. And the hum of the fox's domain.

Malik lowered his hand with a frustrated sigh. "Ugh. It's like trying to text someone from inside a snow globe covered in runes and divine sarcasm."

Inariko smirked, amusement gleaming in her gold-ringed eyes. "It would be adorable if it weren't also futile."

He gave her a sideways look. "Oh, do elaborate."

She tilted her head. "The bonds you have with the people you love—they're strong. I could feel them… even through the snow. If you had been in nearly any other place, I think one of them might have dream-walked into this realm on accident."

Malik blinked. "That… actually checks out."

"But this mountain was crafted to remain hidden from the world," she continued, gliding effortlessly beside him. "Even before I truly slumbered, I wove it with purpose—sealed edges, veiled skies, layers upon layers of magic that say: stay out."

She walked a few more steps, arms behind her back. "In doing so, I sealed out chaos. But also communication. Intuition. Echoes."

"So I'm trapped in an introvert's dream fortress?" Malik muttered.

"You're lucky your magic still functions here at all," she countered, and the playful tone melted into something closer to reverence. "Dream-walking… conjuring spells… invoking soul links even in this pocket of existence? Most wouldn't have lasted five minutes near the seal chamber. You cast magic as though you were born in it."

Malik raised a brow. "Now, now. Flattery in the last hallway before I re-enter my body? Shameless."

Inariko smiled thinly, but her voice was thoughtful. "You feel mortal. You walk like one. Breathe like one. But… I saw your soul ripple." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You're something else. Something with divine rhythm in his blood and too much story for one lifetime."

Malik smiled softly. "I've been called worse."

She opened her mouth, perhaps to share more—perhaps even mention some of what she'd seen while watching him ferry Kōsetsu through shadow and grief—but she stopped. There were things she had glimpsed that were Malik's own. Private pieces layered in laughter and loneliness. She would keep those to herself.

"Thanks for the update," he said lightly.

He began to descend, slowing his pace. The vibrant forward momentum that defined him from the start began to ebb, and now his feet touched the glittering dream terrain, his steps suddenly heavier, his expression quieter.

He began walking.

Not floating. Not gliding.

Just… walking.

Inariko didn't miss the shift.

Kōsetsu followed silently, eyes lowered, sensing a stillness settling over Malik that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

The dreamscape stretched long before them—abstract stars overhead, illusionary snow swirling in gentle spirals. Malik's gait was calm, but his golden eyes had dimmed slightly, turned inward.

He didn't say much.

Didn't need to.

He was trusting them now—his chaotic, combat-ready, emotionally unstable people. Trusting them to not be too insane in his absence. Ranke, who would definitely blow something up if left unsupervised too long. Fugai, who'd get involved out of sheer irritation. Kamira, who would weaponize everyone's moods into spicy commentary. Gen'yūmaru—trying his best. And Haku… his Haku… likely wearing himself thin trying to keep everyone from combusting.

They'd know he wasn't dead. His link with them would've shattered if he was gone.

So they'd wait. He believed that.

But it didn't stop the ache in his chest—the need to be there. To catch their glances. To roll his eyes at Ranke's sarcasm and sip tea while Kamira staged elaborate emotional sabotage at breakfast.

To see Haku. Soon.

Soon.

Inariko fell into step beside him, watching him out of the corner of her eye. The quiet made her itch.

It was… not unpleasant. But new.

"I will say one thing," she finally offered, voice slow and drawn-out like a silk ribbon. "You technically didn't reach my innermost chamber."

Malik glanced sideways, brows raised. "Excuse me?"

She gave him her best slow, dangerous smirk. "My sanctum is deeper. You passed through the seal chamber, yes, and walked through my heart… but you never entered the final tier. The chamber where my first altar rests."

He blinked, wary. "...Are you implying what I think you're implying?"

Inariko's smile turned positively radiant. "If you want something—say… off the top of my head… a proper 'date'—you'd have to reach the inner sanctum. Just once. To say you'd truly earned it."

Malik opened his mouth—flirtation loading.

Then stopped.

His expression shifted—subtle, but sincere.

He looked her full in the eye.

"The truth is," he said softly, "I didn't come here looking for romance. Or a goddess' favor. Or even your approval."

He gestured gently toward Kōsetsu. "Helping him was the right thing to do. Helping you felt right too. And it's been—beautiful, really."

Then his voice dropped. Steady. Deep.

"But I came for Haku."

Inariko's face didn't fall. But the corners of her eyes dipped. Almost imperceptibly.

Malik continued. "I came here to make sure he was safe. To bring him home. You and Kōsetsu—you're amazing. Powerful. Enigmatic." He smiled. "And funny. But I only ever crossed through the snow and illusions because of the man waiting for me outside."

He bowed his head slightly. "I want to get to know you better. And I'll be there for Kōsetsu if he needs anything—truly. But as far as my heart goes… it already belongs to him."

There was no dramatics in the air. No celestial fury. No jealous flicker.

Only quiet.

Kōsetsu bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you," he said gently.

Inariko stood very still for a moment longer—her hand lingering over one of her tails thoughtfully.

"I understand," she said softly.

She didn't show it outwardly, but the inner fox within her stirred restlessly. There was a part of her—ancient and divine—that longed to be loved, worshipped, chosen. She'd been locked away so long. Forgotten. Watching from shadows. And now someone had danced through her riddles, brought warmth to her sealed temple, and walked away gently.

And yet… she respected it.

She respected him.

Because, in the end, that's what made Malik so radiant.

He didn't just offer magic. He offered meaning.

She smiled again—genuinely this time. "Then go, Dreamwalker. Wake. Return to the mess you left behind."

Malik gave a long sigh. "If my body's been stuffed into a linen sack and tossed in a broom closet, I blame all of you."

And with that, they stepped forward—toward the pulse of Malik's waiting body.

And toward the embrace of chaos, love, and consequences waiting beyond the mountain of snow.