Nara Kazuki’s eyes were lifeless. At this mont, he felt that the supposedly "marvelous" system of democratic councils, so praised by so, was really just one hell of a "charming" ss.
Whenever soone brought up the word "council," Kazuki would instantly picture the sa damn scene in his head:
A group of people sitting in a bright, spacious hall, endlessly arguing over a single issue. Today they think this proposal’s brilliant. Tomorrow, that one. Yet they never reach any actual decision. They could drag out a minor topic from the first of the month to the last, even from the start of the year to the end, and still not agree.
They could argue until the council disbands and is re-elected, and still get nothing done. And yet, in Kazuki’s past life, council systems were often held up as symbols of "democratic freedom."
Kazuki stared blankly at the scene before him. To him, what was happening in the Hokage’s office looked exactly the sa.
Each elder was passionately voicing their "vision," as if their viewpoint perfectly embodied Konoha’s ideals. But in truth, they were all just jostling for the biggest slice of the pie.
"I believe if we’re going to build it, the funding ratios and return periods need careful consideration..." Mitokado Homura said with absolute seriousness. But Kazuki, having heard him earlier argue for stations being placed near his clan’s land, already saw through the man—just another politician lining his own pockets.
No sooner had Homura finished than Utatane Koharu chid in with a different opinion, claiming that proposal was too risky and suggesting a different location.
Kazuki almost laughed. These people were so caught up in their infighting that they’d completely forgotten the core question—What do the villagers actually need?
"These geezers are desperate to move every damn train station into their own clan territories..." Kazuki shook his head but kept his mouth shut. After all, he was just here to give a report—an observer, not a participant.
In this kind of situation, the so-called Elder Council was nothing more than a dull ga. A farce to protect the interests of the few.
No wonder these ancient fossils clung to power like it was life itself.
Interestingly, Danzō didn’t make a scene. He only suggested that the nas of the train stations be chosen with care—to reflect the "deep heritage of the village," and such. Kazuki couldn’t help but suspect the guy wanted to na one of them Shimura Station.
Though frankly, that kind of move felt way too cheap for Danzō. If it were really him pulling strings, he’d probably do it more subtly.
That man had always possessed unnerving patience in his bid for the Hokage seat, and he wasn’t one for amateur tactics.
The eting dragged all the way to lunchti without producing a single concrete result. But rcifully, Kazuki was allowed to leave for food.
As he walked out, he glanced back and saw Minato still smiling warmly, as always. Then he smoothly pulled a bento box from his desk drawer—a clear sign of Kushina’s handiwork, a lovingly prepared lunch.
Kazuki felt a pang of sympathy for the Fourth.
Being Hokage clearly wasn’t all glory. It looked like Minato was still in for a long, painful slog.
With a deep sigh, Kazuki left the Hokage office. He decided he needed a good al—sothing to lift his spirits.
So he wandered a bit, eventually arriving at the Akimichi clan’s famous barbecue restaurant.
It wasn’t that Kazuki particularly loved grilled at. It’s just that most of Konoha’s formal restaurants didn’t suit his tastes. The village’s world-building had always emphasized a unique local cuisine, and most of it didn’t appeal to him. Street food and barbecue were the rare exceptions.
He’d once asked Uncle Suzaku what the most high-end cuisine in Konoha was. After thinking for a bit, Suzaku answered: kaiseki ryōri.
Kazuki dropped the idea then and there.
But the Akimichi barbecue place? Their at was great. Thick cuts, rich quality. The only downside—it was pricey.
"Oh right, I should grab Kakashi..." Kazuki was about to invite Kakashi and Gai when he spotted soone.
Expressionless. Eyes dead. Like a protagonist in a dark school drama who’s hit rock bottom and decided to aim for student council president or so other bullshit.
Only—it was a girl.
And a beautiful one at that.
"Captain?" Kazuki blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected to run into Yamanaka Mai here.
Given her recent story, he’d figured she’d be holed up at ho for a while, mourning how her good intentions had been chewed up and spat out. Most people would be a little depressed after sothing like that.
"I’m paying," Yamanaka Mai said flatly.
Kazuki’s eyebrow twitched, but he followed her inside anyway.
He was curious what she wanted to say. And more importantly—he saw the money in her hand. She was clearly here to repay him. If he turned her down now, she’d probably co looking for him later. Easier to just accept it.
"Okay but... Captain, what’s with the look?" Kazuki finally asked, squirming in his seat. He couldn’t even focus on his food—she was just staring at him. Relentlessly.
Even with his thick skin, this was getting uncomfortable.
"...Nothing," she said, shaking her head, her expression unchanged. Kazuki felt like he was in a horror movie. Any mont now, she’d crack a creepy smile and whisper sothing unhinged.
"So, do you think you were wrong?" Kazuki asked, a little exasperated. Maybe he should switch careers and beco Konoha’s first licensed therapist.
But still, for the sake of his long-term plans—and for the potential Mai had as a solid team leader—Kazuki decided:
Ti to shut the windows. Ti to speak differently.
"I..." Mai’s words caught in her throat. Her eyes were brimming with emotions Kazuki couldn’t quite decipher. A pie chart of feelings he just didn’t have the legend for.
So Kazuki coughed, stood up, and closed the little private room’s sliding door and window. Mai looked at him, puzzled.
Kazuki narrowed his eyes and sat down again.
"Class," he said, clearing his throat with all the seriousness in the world, "please put down your pens and close your books. Sensei’s gonna say sothing a little different today..."
Because as everyone knows—when the teacher closes the book and shuts the window?
That’s when the real talk begins.
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