System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 347: Chapter 346: The Breakfast of Ghosts

Konoha - The Kenway Compound - West Wing

The sunlight streaming through the expansive glass windows of the West Wing was not the harsh, unforgiving glare of the open road, but a soft, golden warmth that pulled Itachi Uchiha from the deepest sleep he had known in a decade.

For a long moment, he simply layed there, staring up at the immaculate, cream-colored ceiling. The mattress beneath him was an absurd luxury, thick and yielding, a contrast to the damp cave floors and rocky overhangs that had served as his bed since his exile from Konohagakure. He closed his eyes again, genuinely tempted to surrender to the lingering pull of exhaustion, but the morning light was just too bright, painting the insides of his eyelids a vivid orange.

With a quiet, resigned sigh, Itachi shifted from a lying position to a seated one, the silk sheets pooling around his waist.

’It has been a long while since I had such a good sleep,’ Itachi thought, his gaze drifting thoughtfully around the spacious, elegantly furnished bedroom.

Before he had selected this particular room the previous night, his ingrained paranoia had driven him to roam the corridors of the sprawling estate. He had noted the locked doors and the oppressive, immaculate silence of the compound. Naturally, he had activated his Sharingan, attempting to pierce the walls to ascertain the layout and the occupants. But he had been met with a startling phenomenon: his visual prowess had simply slid off the timber and plaster like water off glass. Whatever Alaric Jonathan Kenway had done to this house, the walls were enforced with a localized, mind-bending matrix of Fuinjutsu that completely denied any form of chakra-based espionage.

However, his brilliant mind had quickly deduced the obvious. It was statistically impossible for a man to build and maintain an estate of this magnitude solely for himself. Alaric did not live alone.

Itachi raised his hands, turning them over in the morning light.

He stared silently at his palms. The sickly, ashen pallor that had plagued him for years was entirely gone, replaced by the healthy, vibrant complexion of a man in his absolute prime. The deep, agonizing ache in his chest was absent. The world around him was razor-sharp, his vision completely restored. The Hourglass of Samsara had not merely healed him; it had reborn him.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet touched the warm hardwood floor. He walked over to the large, built-in wardrobe, sliding the wooden doors open. A row of simple, high-quality garments hung neatly inside. Bypassing the more elaborate clothing, he selected a simple, unadorned black yukata, slipping it on and tying the dark sash around his waist with practiced efficiency.

His stomach offered a low, hollow rumble.

’I have plenty of Ryo accumulated from my bounty hunting,’ Itachi rationalized, tying his long hair back. ’I might as well cast a transformation jutsu, slip into the village unrecognized, and buy something to eat.’

He stepped toward the sliding shōji door that led out into the main corridor. As he pushed it open, stepping beyond the absolute privacy seal of his individual bedroom, the ambient chakra of the house washed over him.

Instantly, his honed senses flared.

He detected two incredibly distinct, familiar signatures residing in the main house. One was the sharp, frigidly calm presence of the Ice Devil... Haku. The other was a chaotic, bubbling well of golden and red energy... the Nine-Tails Jinchūriki, Naruto Uzumaki.

Itachi paused, a single, elegant brow rising toward his hairline. He shook his head, pushing aside the tactical implications. He had no intention of sparking a confrontation before breakfast. Deciding to simply ignore them, he began walking silently down the plush carpet of the hallway, heading toward the living room, which served as the primary conduit to the main entrance of the estate.

As he glided into the expansive living room, his gaze naturally shifted toward the wide archway that opened into the dining hall.

He froze.

There, sitting at the long mahogany table, was a scene that caused the legendary prodigy’s brain to momentarily misfire.

Haku was standing near the edge of the table, offering a polite, serene smile as Naruto animatedly waved his arms, loudly recounting some chaotic story from his recent travels. But it was the two people sitting opposite Naruto, listening with rapt, adoring attention, that shattered Itachi’s composure.

Smiling and laughing warmly at the blonde Genin’s boisterous tale were the Yondaime Hokage, Minato Namikaze, and the Red Hot-Blooded Habanero, Kushina Uzumaki.

Itachi’s dark onyx eyes widened to an impossible degree. He stared at the two figures, his mind racing through the archives of history. They were supposed to be dead. They had perished over a decade ago on the night of the Nine-Tails’ attack.

Yet, as he watched Kushina reach across the table to affectionately ruffle Naruto’s spiky blonde hair, a massive, overarching piece of village lore suddenly clicked into place. The matching hair. The identical, brilliant blue eyes. The sealing of the fox.

’Now it makes sense...’ Itachi deduced instantly, the revelation hitting him with the force of a physical blow. ’Naruto is their son.’

Realizing he was intruding on an impossibly private, monumental family reunion, Itachi immediately prepared to turn around. He intended to slip out the front door without making a sound.

But as he shifted his weight, Minato turned his head.

The Fourth Hokage’s cerulean eyes locked onto the Uchiha. Instead of alarm, Minato offered Itachi a gentle, knowing smile, giving him a small, respectful nod of acknowledgment.

Itachi, caught entirely off guard by the lack of hostility from a man who should logically view an Akatsuki member as a lethal threat, didn’t know how to feel. He returned the nod stiffly, pivoting on his heel to make a swift exit toward the main doors.

As he turned the corner into the foyer, he nearly collided with a wall of solid muscle.

”Good morning, Itachi,” Alaric greeted cheerfully.

The blonde anomaly was standing a mere meter away, a relaxed smile on his face. He was back in his standard Konoha Jonin uniform, though he held two large, overflowing brown paper bags in his arms.

Before Itachi could sidestep, Alaric casually thrust one of the heavy bags toward him.

”The food in the fridge became entirely too short for the amount of people we suddenly have living in this house,” Alaric explained smoothly, treating the clan killer like an old roommate. ”So I took a quick run to the market and bought some extra things. Coffee, tea, and a few other sorts of groceries. Here, hold this.”

Itachi couldn’t help but raise a skeptical brow, but his hands moved unconsciously, accepting the heavy bag of produce and imported beans before his brain could protest the indignity of being used as a pack mule.

Alaric didn’t wait for a response, effortlessly turning and walking past the foyer, leading the way toward the dining room and the adjoining kitchen.

”Good mornin’, everyone,” Alaric called out brightly as he strolled past the occupied dining table.

Setting his bag on the edge of the counter, Alaric casually reached into one of the utility pouches on his flak jacket. He unsealed a premium cigar, bringing it toward his lips, his index finger already sparking with golden chakra to light it.

Suddenly, the ambient temperature in the kitchen plummeted.

Alaric paused, the cigar hovering inches from his mouth. He slowly turned his head to the side.

Haku was standing by the stove, holding a spatula. The ice-user wasn’t glaring, but he was offering a smile so incredibly cold, so perfectly devoid of warmth, that it could have frozen a waterfall.

Alaric swallowed his pride. He returned the smile with a sheepish, apologetic grin, immediately slipping the unlit cigar back into his vest pouch. He cleared his throat, looking down at the massive, steaming spread of food covering the dining table.

”Oh, breakfast...” Alaric noted, seamlessly changing the subject. ”Haku sure cooks fast.”

”Hey, I helped as well!” Kushina huffed indignantly from the table, crossing her arms. She aggressively elbowed Minato in the ribs, making the legendary Yellow Flash jolt and laugh sheepishly, entirely unsure of what he had done to deserve the strike. ”We’ve been entirely too shameless with staying here for free! We have to at least do our fair share of the housework, dattebane!”

Following Alaric into the kitchen, Itachi passed by the lively table. He kept his gaze carefully averted, but his peripheral vision remained locked on Minato. His mind was still struggling to process the visual paradox. He would have easily accepted the theory that Minato had somehow faked his death and lived in hiding, but the man sitting at the table looked incredibly young. He looked like he was in his early twenties... essentially the exact same age as the current Kakashi Hatake.

”Sensei, just leave your groceries on the counter,” Haku commanded politely but firmly, leaning over the back of his chair to look at the two men standing in his kitchen. ”Let me organize everything.”

Alaric raised a challenging brow, turning to face his student. ”I can just do it, Haku. It’s no big deal.”

”No!” Haku shook his head vehemently, his protective instincts over his culinary domain flaring. ”I don’t like how you put your groceries in the fridge, Sensei. It’s messy! You put the vegetables next to the raw meat last time!”

”Hey, what matters is that the food tastes good!” Alaric argued, furrowing his brows defensively. ”The stomach doesn’t care about the organizational hierarchy of the crisper drawer!”

Haku shook his head again, fixing Alaric with a stern, unyielding glare. ”I agree that the end result matters, but I am the one cooking most of the time. So let me arrange it, please.”

Alaric stared at the teenager with a raised brow, recognizing a battle he could not win without resorting to reality-bending ninjutsu. He let out a dramatic sigh, shrugging his broad shoulders. He placed the remaining bag onto the marble counter. ”Well, fine... have it your way, chef.”

Standing beside the island, holding his own bag of groceries like an awkward servant, Itachi watched the exchange in utter silence. He looked from the terrifyingly efficient ice-user to the anomaly who had slapped down a Bijuu extraction, completely baffled by the sheer, mundane domesticity of their argument.

Alaric noticed the quiet scrutiny. He turned his head, locking his piercing blue eyes onto the Uchiha.

”What?” Alaric asked, crossing his arms.

Itachi blinked slowly, shifting his gaze to the counter as he set the paper bag down. ”...Nothing.”

Alaric raised another brow, entirely unconvinced, before shaking his head and walking back out toward the dining area.

”Itachi, grab a plate and have your breakfast here,” Alaric invited casually, pulling out a chair at the head of the table. ”Haku is a pretty good cook. I don’t know about Kushina-san’s additions, though... proceed at your own risk.”

”Hey!” Kushina slammed her hands on the table, instantly glaring daggers at the blonde giant. ”I’ll have you know, I’m really good at making breakfast! Have a taste of the sandwiches I made, and you’ll feel like you’re going to heaven!”

”Oh?” Alaric looked down at the perfectly arranged platters, then back at the fiercely proud mother. He offered a skeptical smirk. ”Fine...”

A few minutes later, the entire unlikely assembly was seated around the mahogany table, partaking in the feast.

Itachi sat at the far end, eating his share of the meal with silent, impeccable etiquette, doing his absolute best not to disturb anyone. However, despite his legendary discipline, his dark eyes continuously stole discreet, measuring glances at Minato Namikaze.

Of course, in a room filled with Kage-level sensors and elite assassins, everyone immediately caught the subtle scrutiny.

Everyone except Naruto.

”...”

”...”

”...”

”Hey,” Naruto suddenly blurted out, unable to contain the pressure building in his chest. He slammed his chopsticks down onto his empty bowl, shattering the quiet clinking of tableware. ”I’ve been trying to stay silent about it, but this is really, really awkward...”

Everyone at the table paused, turning to look at the blonde Genin with raised brows, mildly confused as to what specifically was causing his sudden discomfort. However, both Alaric and Itachi paused their chewing, immediately understanding the source of his distress.

”I mean...” Naruto picked up a beautifully crafted egg sandwich—one of Kushina’s proud contributions—and took a nervous bite before scratching the back of his head with his free hand. He pointedly looked at Itachi at the far end of the table, then quickly broke eye contact, addressing his parents. ”That guy over there... Sasuke’s older brother... he’s kind of... part of the Akatsuki...?”

”...”

Minato and Kushina looked at Naruto with perfect, serene calmness, acting as though a wanted international terrorist eating eggs in their dining room was the most ordinary thing in the world.

”He also tried to kidnap me three years ago...?” Naruto continued, his voice rising in pitch as he looked around at their unbothered faces, feeling as though he were entirely losing his mind. ”Umm... he looks really scary...?”

”Ah! That’s the problem!” Alaric suddenly interjected, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline in an expression of exaggerated, sarcastic realization. ”Itachi looks scary! Of course!”

Minato and Kushina exchanged a sheepish, incredibly awkward smile, looking at their son with a mixture of fondness and pity.

”Eh?” Naruto raised a brow, tilting his head so far to the side it nearly touched his shoulder. He didn’t quite understand where Alaric was coming from, and the absolute lack of panic from the adults was infuriating. Were they crazy, or was he just overreacting? But that couldn’t be true!

”Hey! What are you talking about!?” Naruto shouted, pointing an accusing finger down the table. ”Didn’t I just say he’s a core member of the Akatsuki and literally tried to chop off my legs and kidnap me!? Are you all deaf!?”

Alaric stared at Naruto for a long, heavy moment before shaking his head with a profound, theatrical sigh of disappointment.

”I never knew you would be the kind of person to judge someone just because they look a little scary and wear a dark cloak, Naruto,” Alaric chastised, his tone dripping with mock sorrow. ”That’s kind of... incredibly judgmental on your part. I thought you were better than that.”

”HUH!?” Naruto gasped, grabbing the sides of his head with both hands, feeling the last threads of his sanity snapping. He looked around the table, seeing the deeply amused, suppressing-a-smile expressions on everyone’s faces... save for Itachi, who simply chewed his toast with an utterly blank, stoic gaze.

Naruto glared at them, his face flushing with indignation. ”Are you guys kidding me right now!?”

”HAHAHAHAHA!”

The room finally broke. Alaric’s booming laughter echoed off the high ceilings, rich and infectious. Kushina threw her head back, laughing quite loudly as she slapped the table in amusement. Haku politely covered his mouth with the sleeve of his kimono, his shoulders shaking silently so as not to offend the victim too much, while Minato simply chuckled, a warm, bright sound.

Seeing Naruto’s profound embarrassment and genuine confusion, Minato’s laughter subsided into a gentle, fatherly smile. He reached over, resting a comforting hand on his son’s arm.

”Naruto,” Minato began, his tone lightening, transforming the moment from a tease into a quiet, profound lesson. ”The shinobi world is vastly complex, and the lines between ally and enemy are rarely carved in stone. Yesterday’s most bitter enemy could very well be your best, most reliable friend today. Circumstances change, and people carry burdens that are not always visible.”

”Your dad’s right, dattebane,” Kushina added, her violet eyes softening as she looked at her son. ”A shinobi’s life is entirely too short to carry unnecessary hatred in your heart. If you see a person genuinely trying to change their ways, or fighting for a cause you didn’t understand before, then as the stronger person, you must have the grace to accept them.”

She tapped her finger against his nose playfully. ”Of course, the world is also full of deception. A truly capable shinobi must also have the wisdom to deduce the difference between an honest change of heart and a hidden blade. But you have a good heart, Naruto. Trust it.”

Naruto was still deeply embarrassed by the gaslighting, but the weight of the lesson from both his parents resonated deeply within him. He lowered his hands, offering a small, stubborn pout.

”I know that,” Naruto mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. ”It’s only natural that I know that kind of stuff, since I’ll be the Hokage one day.”

Alaric couldn’t help but smile warmly, leaning back in his chair as he watched the Uzumaki-Namikaze family interact. It was a picture of chaotic, beautiful healing.

Itachi, on the other hand, had finished his meal. He set his chopsticks down neatly, his gaze drifting from the loud blonde boy back to the parents. His analytical mind, incapable of leaving a mystery unsolved, finally pushed him to speak.

”If I may ask,” Itachi’s velvety voice cut through the lingering laughter, drawing the table’s attention. He looked directly at Minato and Kushina. ”Why did you hide your presence for so many years? You are the Fourth Hokage. Even a shadow of your influence could have quelled the unrest within the village. Why did you ignore Konoha’s internal problems to the point where the Uchiha... to the point where the tragedy occurred?”

Minato and Kushina were visibly taken aback by the question. They blinked, exchanging a bewildered, utterly confused look, before a small, knowing smile graced their lips.

Naruto, however, did not share their amusement.

”Hey!” Naruto burst out, slamming his hands on the table and glaring fiercely at the older Uchiha. ”How could you say that they abandoned Konoha!? They died protecting it! And who are you to judge, when you became an S-rank missing-nin and a traitor yourself!?”

’Died?’ Itachi looked at the fiercely protective teenager, noting the way Naruto gritted his teeth, ready to summon a Rasengan over a breakfast sandwich.

Itachi shook his head slowly, his expression remaining perfectly calm. ”Do not get my question wrong, Naruto-kun. I am not instigating that Yondaime-sama and Uzumaki-sama abandoned Konoha.” He shifted his gaze back to the parents. ”Based on their youth and vitality, I am merely asking why they chose to ’hide’ their presence through whatever means they employed.”

Haku, observing the rapid escalation of the tension, recognized that the conversation was pivoting into territory that was far too heavy for a casual morning, especially given Naruto’s volatile, highly emotional personality. Itachi’s phrasing was polite, but it carried the distinct, surgical edge of an ANBU interrogator extracting a confession.

Seeking to defuse the bomb, Haku quickly drank the remaining drops of his green tea. He stood up smoothly, gathering his finished plate and cup.

”I am finished with my meal,” Haku announced, offering a polite smile to the table before looking specifically at the blonde Genin. ”Naruto-kun, the feast was quite large today. Would you mind assisting me in the kitchen to clean the dishes?”

Naruto raised a brow, the anger faltering into sheer confusion. It was actually the very first time Haku had ever directly asked him to do a chore, and the polite, expectant smile on the older boy’s face made it feel incredibly weird to reject the request.

”Uh... sure, I guess,” Naruto mumbled, picking up his empty plates and reluctantly following Haku into the adjoining culinary space.

Seeing that Naruto and Haku had safely retreated to the kitchen, leaving enough physical and acoustic space between them, the atmosphere around the dining table settled into a more serious, adult tenor.

Minato cleared his throat, offering Itachi a slightly awkward, incredibly empathetic smile.

”To answer your question, Itachi-kun... Kushina and I didn’t actually hide anywhere,” Minato explained gently, his tone completely lacking the defensiveness of a man caught in a lie. ”There was simply a... highly permanent situation that prevented us from being present in Konoha to address those issues.”

As Minato spoke, both he and Kushina couldn’t help but cast brief, sideways glances at Alaric. The sole reason they were currently breathing, speaking, and eating breakfast was due entirely to the man sitting at the head of the table. However, adhering to their agreement, they did not vocalize the truth.

But Itachi’s Sharingan-honed perception did not miss the subtle, simultaneous shifts in their eye lines. He noted the glances directed at Alaric, and the puzzle pieces in his mind began to rearrange themselves.

Seeing that the others were finished with their meals, Alaric finally reached back into his flak jacket pouch. He retrieved the slightly battered cigar he had stowed away earlier and placed it between his lips. With a faint spark from his fingertip, he lit the tobacco, taking a long, slow drag before exhaling a plume of smoke carefully upward, ensuring it didn’t drift into anyone’s faces.

”They didn’t hide, Itachi,” Alaric said, his voice cutting through the lingering mystery. He leaned his elbows on the table, fixing the Uchiha with a stare of absolute, unapologetic truth. ”Minato and Kushina actually, genuinely died sixteen years ago on the night of the Nine-Tails’ attack.”

Itachi’s breath caught imperceptibly.

”I was messing around with the fundamental codes of the Edo Tensei, attempting to trace a soul tether for a counter-seal,” Alaric continued, seamlessly weaving the lie he had sold to Tsunade and Hiruzen. ”I accidentally inverted the matrix. I revived them. And I mean a full, biological resurrection. Not an ashen reanimation.”

Itachi became intensely, terrifyingly curious. He knew of the Edo Tensei; the sheer, abhorrent reality of Orochimaru’s use of the jutsu during the Chunin Exams was a poorly kept secret in the shinobi underworld. But physically pulling a soul back into a living, breathing body was an entirely different, god-like paradigm.

Itachi’s mind immediately fractured into a thousand desperate possibilities. If Alaric possessed the power to reverse death itself, could he revive the Uchiha clan? Could he bring back his parents? Could he restore the life of the girl he had murdered in the quiet of the night... Izumi?

A heavy, suffocating ache bloomed in his chest, but he forced his face to remain a mask of stone, burying the desperate hope beneath a decade of iron discipline. He remained utterly silent.

Alaric, reading the micro-expressions flashing across the genius’s face with the ease of reading a children’s book, took another puff of his cigar.

”Ah, and in case your mind is currently spiraling into the possibilities of me reviving someone else,” Alaric stated bluntly, shutting the door on the Uchiha’s silent hopes with surgical precision. ”It’s functionally impossible. Minato and Kushina’s revival was a complete, catastrophic accident of arithmetic. I couldn’t replicate the parameters again if I tried, and the cosmic backlash of doing so would likely wipe this compound off the map.”

Itachi stared at Alaric for a long, calculating moment, absorbing the denial. Whether it was the truth or a lie fabricated to protect the man’s power, Itachi accepted it. He gave a slow, respectful nod of his head, locking his ghosts back into their graves.

He shifted his gaze back to the resurrected Hokage and his wife.

”Then,” Itachi asked, his voice steady. ”What do you plan to do now?”

Minato and Kushina looked at each other, sharing a warm, deeply communicative smile that spoke of long nights planning their second chance at life. They turned their gaze back to Itachi.

”That...”

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