The Forgemage of Konoha

Daily Life 2

"Guy, let's go, it's almost time."

Shirō called out to Guy, who was still in the middle of his evening training routine.

"Alright, Brother Shirō! But you go on ahead—I'll head home and change!"

"Okay, no problem. Just don't be late."

"Yes!"

Of course, when Guy said he was going to "change clothes," what he really meant was changing into another green jumpsuit.

To be precise, that father-and-son duo—Might Dai and Might Guy—only wore green bodysuits. They didn't even own other styles of clothing.

---

"I'm back! Huh? Mom, do we have guests? Why'd you buy so much food?"

"Oh, I bumped into your Aunt Nanako at the market. Her family's coming over for dinner tonight too."

"I see. By the way, Mom, I invited a friend over for dinner."

"A friend?" Keiko's voice sharpened as she appeared from the kitchen, a curious gleam in her eyes. "Is it a girl? How long have you known her? What does she look like?"

"…It's Guy, Mom. Uncle Dai's away on a mission, and it wouldn't feel right letting him eat alone."

Sigh~

"…What was that sigh supposed to mean? I'm not even eight years old yet! If this were my past life, your assumptions would be considered criminally suspicious.*

Shirō stared at his mother in disbelief, mentally shaking his head.

---

"Shirō, come here for a moment."

Shirō turned to see his father, Qieshi, calling him from the study.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Take a seat," Qieshi said. Once Shirō settled into the cushion across from him, he continued, "I heard from your mother that your team captain's been overseeing your training this past month?"

"Yes. That's why our mission took longer than expected."

"I see. In that case, take this box of cigarettes and give it to Captain Nakamura. These are for Shinobi use."

"Dad, this…"

Before Shirō could finish, Qieshi cut him off. "Just take it. This is a gift from me to Captain Nakamura—you only need to deliver it. That's all. You can go now."

With that, Qieshi opened a scroll and began reading, dismissing the conversation.

"…Alright, I'll head out, then."

Back in the hallway, Shirō stared down at the box of cigarettes in his hand. He recognized them—Shinobi-grade cigarettes. The smoke they emitted dispersed quickly and could even be used to mask movements or enhance certain Fire-style techniques. Naturally, their price was sky-high.

And his father, Qieshi, was just an ordinary civilian in Konoha. His monthly salary barely covered household expenses. By Shirō's estimates, this single box was worth nearly three years' worth of his father's wages.

It was no exaggeration. The rewards from Shinobi missions were generous, so anything related to ninja supplies carried a steep price. This was also why, in the original series, Kakashi often treated Team 7 to ramen—Ichiraku was cheap, and even then, it was a stretch.

Because Kakashi, for all his prestige, had little disposable income. Between funding his training, buying Jiraiya's novels, and burning through mission gear, his wallet was always empty.

So this gesture from Qieshi—it meant everything. He'd gone all in for his son.

Why hadn't he done the same with Yamada, Shirō's team leader from earlier?

Simple. Yamada, as team leader, had a stake in Shirō's growth. If Shirō became a capable shinobi, it reflected well on him too. But Nakamura was different. As the mission captain, Nakamura was only responsible for mission logistics—not mentorship. If he took the time to teach Shirō, it would be out of goodwill, not obligation.

And to be frank, Nakamura was a seasoned Jonin, a far cry from Chunin-level Yamada, regardless of how elite the latter was. Nakamura had the influence and power to change Shirō's path. Naturally, Qieshi wanted to show his appreciation and build goodwill.

It was only human nature. And truthfully, Shirō couldn't fault his father—he was the same way.

He rarely played with his academy classmates. Instead, he trained with Kushina and Might Dai. Sure, part of it was the mental age gap from his past life, but the more practical reason?

Most of his classmates were background characters. Cannon fodder, essentially.

They had no major roles in the story—no future plot relevance. There was little to gain from befriending them. Maybe that was a bit utilitarian, but in a world this dangerous, realism had to trump sentiment.

Still, he didn't go out of his way to avoid people. Once he was placed on a team with Chong Jie and the others, he naturally grew closer to them. Relationships formed when lives were on the line together.

Even so, despite how touched he was by his father's sacrifice, there wasn't much he could do right now. He could only bottle that emotion deep in his heart—and repay it one day.

---

The gathering began shortly after.

Because so many guests were coming, Keiko had suggested a backyard barbecue. The lively, communal energy of a grill suited big gatherings far more than plated dishes. In the Shinobi world—whose culinary culture mirrored that of real-world Japan—barbecue felt more casual and festive.

Hotpot might've worked too, but it had its drawbacks.

Some readers might wonder—why hasn't Shirō made hotpot yet, despite being a transmigrator?

Well, two reasons.

First: how would a child justify creating such a fully-formed dish on his own? Hotpot isn't just food—it's a concept, a culture, a dining system. The idea of one little boy suddenly inventing it would raise eyebrows.

Second: in a world filled with assassins, wars, and rogue ninjas, who has the luxury to sit around innovating soup?

Shirō could only think: "If I stop training to make broth, I may as well poison myself—like an old man eating arsenic out of boredom."

For now, the legendary dish known as hotpot would have to wait. Maybe once his strength grew and the author remembered it again.

But barbecue? The barbecue was perfect.

When Shirō offered to help with the grill prep, Keiko promptly refused, saying, "Big boys shouldn't be in the kitchen."

After spending so much time around Kushina, Shirō had nearly forgotten—this world was still pretty patriarchal. Similar to real-world Japan, where men traditionally handled formal matters while women managed the home.

Even female ninja, after marriage, would often retire from missions to raise families. (Clarification for readers—I don't watch Boruto. This is just using the setting as background.)

Also, for the record: being "afraid" of one's wife isn't a weakness—it's love. Even Naruto, the most powerful ninja alive, still backed down when Hinata got angry.

So, Shirō was unceremoniously kicked out of the kitchen.

Unlike in China—where men often took charge during festivals—this society had no such tradition.

Just then, Aunt Nanako and her family arrived.

"Oh, little Shirō! You've gotten even more handsome lately. So, tell me—why don't you have a girlfriend yet?"

Shirō beamed at her first sentence, but his smile froze by the second.

"Haha, just teasing! I'm going to help your mom."

"Shirō, where's your father? Is he not home?"

"Uncle Ci Lang, he's in the study."

"Alright. Go play with Okita and the others. I'll go find your father."

"Yes, Uncle Ci Lang."

Ci Lang was Okita's father. He didn't have a surname, unlike Shirō's family, whose ancestors had once been prominent enough to pass down a formal family name.

It wasn't particularly useful, but it did allow for one cool benefit:

"You died before I even finished saying my name, trash."

Now that's a proper protagonist line.