Naruto-ReBorn as a Baker

Chapter 314: The Countdown to Chaos (and Malik's Predictive Precision)

The fourth day had arrived, dragging with it a tension so thick it could have been bottled and sold as curse repellent.

Haku's home—once the epitome of serene hospitality, a sanctuary stitched together with soft light, warm wood, colorful stones, and bricks, perhaps with a hint of the scent of perpetual lavender—now bore the unmistakable signs of an impending storm disguised as a house party in denial.

The normally pristine parlor, famed for its meticulously curated arrangement of cushions and low tables carved from moonwood, looked like someone had let an anxious bear loose in it and told it to "just express itself." Pillows were squashed and lopsided, tragically deflated from hours of nervous sitting, half-hearted napping, and a brief, ill-advised attempt at a cushion fortress (courtesy of Gen'yūmaru, who insisted it was strategic cover, not stress nesting).

A beautiful, hand-painted scroll of tranquil crane imagery hung at an angle no crane would approve of, and the once-glorious crystal vase of preserved winter blossoms now stood tragically upside-down on the windowsill, the flowers inside arranged in what could only be described as "emergency interpretive chaos."

And then there was the teapot. Elegant. Ornate. Possibly older than some kingdoms. Its final insult: Kamira had stuffed it with things that could be explained as prank materials for later, rigged for a harmless but spectacular, slightly sticky confetti detonation—only to forget about them. Now it sat there, gathering dust ominously, like it knew its purpose had been denied and it would never fulfill its potential.

Every corner of the house showed signs of uneven, worried pressure—doors ajar just slightly, cloaks and clothes slung over nice-looking furniture that wanted to be seen and used but were ignored, and half-eaten snacks abandoned mid-bite as another wave of speculation overtook the group.

Despite the ongoing attempt to maintain dignity and composure, they were all waiting.

Silently.

For Malik.

Haku stood by the hearth, stirring his fourth tea of the hour and refusing to make eye contact with the melting sugar cubes in his cup. Kamira lounged upside-down in a comfy-looking chair that tried every five minutes to fall and crash them both into the floor, making their argument weirdly personal as she used an amazing mix of her chakra and Gelel energy to keep them both stuck to the roof. Fugai had resorted to sharpening her nails again—her eyes darting around the room like she was expecting Malik to arrive covered in wounds, hurt, and his face full of existential dread.

Even Little Haido, normally a ball of cheerful chaos, had given up his zoomies to sit patiently by the entrance, tail thumping slowly like a countdown timer.

The walls pulsed. The tea steeped. The silence got heavier.

And somewhere—definitely not far enough away—Malik, divinely late and dramatically inconvenient, was preparing for what came next.

✦ Hour 91: Patience Begins to Crack

Gen'yūmaru was seated near the tall window, posture composed but the knuckles of his left hand gently tapping the edge of the table—tap...tap…tap—precise enough to match the cadence of a soldier's march, but betraying unease all the same.

Haku stood nearby, arms folded, gaze fixed on the distant snowy tops of buildings and rock formations. His normally placid expression was tense. His voice came low.

"It's been too long."

Gen'yūmaru nodded once. "We've reached the limit."

Haku exhaled deeply. "I've called to him in dreamspace. Nothing."

"I tried our mental link twice." Gen'yūmaru's brow furrowed. "No feedback. Not even static. If I didn't know better—"

"Don't." Haku's eyes narrowed, suddenly sharp. "He's not gone. I'd feel that."

There was a beat of silence, weighty and mutual.

Then—

Ranke burst into the room, short-circuiting the tension like a lightning bolt to a kettle.

Her hair, partially unbound, fizzled with suppressed static, and her expression screamed, I am moments from violence. She pointed dramatically at Haku.

"Okay, Mr. Calm-Face, what's the plan? Because I've counted every snowflake outside that window. Twice. If we don't bust into that fox-cursed temple in the next hour, I will fry the mountain open."

Kamira finally floated down from the ceiling and then lovingly sprawled lazily across a chaise with a silk ribbon tied around her thigh for no apparent reason, twirled a lock of hair. "Oh good, are we discussing spontaneous divine burglary now? Let me go fetch the emergency glitter."

Fugai, silent as ever, leaned casually against the far wall, arms crossed and gaze unreadable. Meanwhile, Little Haido gnawed contentedly on a thick rope—one that, according to its original purpose, was meant for tying something important. He gave a single bark, as if announcing his personal redefinition of "important."

Haku massaged his temples. "Breaking into the sanctum would violate the treaties with the Council. And Inariko's magic—"

"Is too smug for my taste," Ranke interrupted. "We've tried dreams, we've tried chakra pulses, and Malik is officially MIA."

Kamira smirked. "I mean, technically, he's probably floating in a dream hammock being spoon-fed compliments by a talking fox mural."

Gen'yūmaru, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat. "Let's keep our assumptions grounded. Malik could return at any—"

The door opened.

Ranke froze. "If Malik walks in now, I'm gonna punch him. Then hug him. Then punch him again."

Zabuza emerged from her room with the sluggish precision of a sleep-deprived woman who wasn't done being drunk—blanket cloak dragging behind her like a makeshift lazy train, face sculpted into an expression of pure, unfiltered displeasure. Her hair was askew in dramatic angles, her eyes barely open, and her posture communicated one universal truth: she had absolutely no patience for the current soundscape.

She paused in the hallway, gaze sweeping over the gathered group like a tired predator assessing a buffet it wasn't ready to emotionally commit to. After a beat of silence—long enough to make a few people shift uncomfortably—she delivered her verdict in a voice that somehow sounded both exhausted and threatening:

"If any of you start screeching again, I'm going straight for your emergency scroll wine. All of it. And when it's gone—" her eyes narrowed, "—there will be violence. The kind that doesn't even come with a warning label."

Having said her piece, Zabuza turned with the dramatic flair of someone whose patience was kept in a locked box under her bed and shuffled back into her room. Her blanket trailed behind her like a cape of vengeance, the door closing with a finality that made even Little Haido stop mid-tail-wag.

The silence that followed was not peaceful.

It was respectful.

Fugai looked at the others. "She's awake."

Kamira sighed. "It begins."

✦ Hour 93: The Breakdown They All Expected

It started with Ranke muttering under her breath. Then pacing. Then storming into Haku's kitchen, where she proceeded to rearrange every cabinet by lightning-blasted instinct and rage.

Kamira, mildly amused at first, lost interest when Fugai—clearly irritated by Ranke's talking—growled audibly and took Haido outside to snarl at snow for ten minutes.

Kamira stood dramatically, hands outstretched. "Okay, now I have no one to tease. You both got angry. That ruins the ratio. Rude."

Gen'yūmaru attempted to interject.

"Ranke," he started.

Boom.

The light fixture above him sparked violently.

He stepped back.

Haku, voice still soft but dangerously close to exhaustion, spoke up.

"Everyone stop."

They did, stunned into temporary silence by the steel beneath his tone.

He turned, hands on his hips, and said softly, "He's alive. You all feel it."

Ranke gritted her teeth. "So why isn't he here?"

Haku looked upward, as if praying.

"Because Malik was probably too busy emotionally disarming a centuries-old fox goddess and cuddling with whatever evil is in the temple back to humanity through the sheer force of empathy and sarcasm."

Kamira blinked. "Honestly? That tracks."

"I'm going to check the Temple and see if the gate is still sealed," Haku said.

"I'm going with you," Gen'yūmaru added immediately.

Fugai nodded. "I'll bring the dog."

✦ Hour 94: Chaos Reconciled

As the group steeled themselves for what would inevitably be described later as a "tactfully aggressive diplomatic procession" (read: polite siege), a soft shimmer sliced through the charged air in Haku's parlor. The spiritual wards etched into the ceiling flared a sharp gold, pulsing like ancient heartbeat monitors detecting something... or someone.

Then—

A rush of warmth unfurled through the room like steeped jasmine tea poured over silk. It filled the air with a sweetness that wasn't cloying—just enough to say, "Breathe, darling. Things are about to get strange, but in a lovely way."

A ripple of light followed: pink-gold energy bloomed outward from an invisible point, shimmering like sunlight reflected off blush-colored crystal. The wards cooed, the ice mirror in Haku's shrine hummed, and a hole opened in the wall with all the drama of a reality politely rearranging itself.

And through it—with grace reserved for collapsing bread loaves and startled cats—Malik shot back into existence.

He gasped like someone who'd held his breath across dimensions. His limbs flailed in brief, aesthetic confusion before landing squarely on the ceremonial cushion placed beneath Haku's sealed shrine ice mirror—not for dramatic entrances, but now clearly rebranded as such.

Malik blinked rapidly, his hair tousled like it had been styled by multiple angry breezes, and his fingers twitched as if someone had poured charm straight into his bone marrow and forgot to stir.

He didn't speak immediately. Mostly because words weren't assembled yet. But once breath found words and words became thoughts, Malik looked around—and promptly began narrating.

"Oh wow," he whispered, eyes sweeping the shrine room. "Okay. First off, this place is giving a peaceful bachelor studio energy. I see your sacred relics, your old spirit jars, your incense that smells like nostalgia, and your chaos corner with the half-folded blankets and forgotten snack tray."

His gaze moved to the slightly lopsided shelf where someone (probably Haku) had stacked ceremonial books, a meditation flute, and—yes—a bowl of what appeared to be extremely judgmental cherries. Malik nodded like a collector appraising a newly acquired artifact.

"A little messy," he added under his breath, dusting snow off his shoulder, "but very warm. And I like the detail—those Yuki clan Ice mirrors? Very on-brand. Tells me this is a home, not just a shrine. A place someone thinks in. Breathes in."

He spotted a forgotten cloak drooped across a dusty old relic and it was standing out something fierce on the stand and chuckled to himself. "Yup. Definitely owns this now. Sorry not sorry, Haku. Much love. Your vibe is now my vibe. I needed a place to open a portal and this was the quickest option."

As Malik still didn't rise to his feet—still shimmering faintly with residual dimensional drama—the group stared from the parlor, barely able to process his return with anything close to logic.

He gave a little wave. "Hi. Please tell me someone steeped tea. I've been un-existed for like… several chaos units."

He sat up slowly, blinking, just in time to see Ranke explode through the doorway.

She didn't say a word.

She sprinted.

And promptly tackled him in a blur of lightning and unfiltered emotion.

"YOU ABSOLUTE–"

Hug.

"I WAS GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Hug intensifies.

Malik wheezed. "Hi. Missed you, too."

Behind her, Kamira leaned against the doorframe. "Told you he was fine."

Fugai crossed her arms.

Haido barked.

Gen'yūmaru exhaled in what might have been relief.

And Haku stepped forward last—quiet, still. He knelt beside Malik and gently took his hand.

"I knew you'd come back," he whispered.

Malik, exhausted but smiling, whispered back, "I heard all your dreams, by the way. You overshared."

Haku blushed.

Zabuza poked her head in.

"Tea's cold, sparkles. You better have brought souvenirs."

Malik blinked at them all—at his chaotic, beautiful, battle-worn family—and flopped dramatically into Haku's lap.

"Next time," he muttered, "we leave the foxes alone."

Everyone ignored him.

Except Ranke, who punched him lightly in the shoulder.

It had been four days.

And it was good to be home.