Chapter 350: The Care That Made Aoki Feel Uncomfortable

Red lanterns swayed under the night wind, their faint glow flickering behind shimmering silk curtains. Aoki had intended to slip quietly inside, his mind set on capturing his target. Yet, it was in that very place—bathed in crimson light and veiled shadows—that Aoki first encountered Kurisu.

That day marked the beginning of their story. From that moment on, Aoki and Kurisu began crossing paths more frequently.

Though Aoki spent most of his days on the road as a bounty hunter, the two always managed to carve out moments to meet again, even if only briefly. A few days together before parting once more—yet those fleeting encounters only drew them closer.

In time, their feelings blossomed. What began as mutual fondness slowly deepened into love. Aoki gathered the courage to confess, and months ago, he had asked Kurisu to marry him. Kurisu accepted—calmly, yet with unmistakable certainty—and from that day forward, their lives had taken a different course.

With the Third Great Ninja War finally over, they decided to return to Aoki’s home village—Konoha. That was the reason for their return.

Kuzan and Michiyo fell silent upon hearing this. A glimmer of emotion stirred in their eyes, and then, almost simultaneously, warm smiles softened their expressions.

They looked at Aoki and Kurisu with genuine sincerity, and in near unison, offered their congratulations on the marriage. The words were simple, spoken lightly, yet they carried weight, sealing the long conversation with a warmth and closeness that was hard to replace.

“Kurisu, just tell me—if Aoki ever makes you cry or leaves you in sadness, I’ll make sure he regrets it!” Michiyo declared boldly. Her voice was firm and emotional, brimming with the kind of sincerity only a grown woman could muster—a woman accustomed to playing the roles of both elder sister and protector to those around her.

Her gaze sharpened, piercing directly at Aoki, as though silently measuring whether he was truly worthy of standing beside Kurisu. Even the way Michiyo gripped the chopsticks in her hand appeared stiff, betraying a displeasure she made no effort to fully hide.

Kuzan, seated not far from Michiyo, merely nodded slowly. His gesture was simple, yet firm. He didn’t need words—for with that single nod, Aoki could feel that Michiyo’s warning also carried Kuzan’s weight behind it.

Kuzan’s demeanor affirmed the same message, though delivered with calm authority. It was the natural presence of a man hardened by labor at his forge, a blacksmith who had grown accustomed to making decisive choices with steady hands.

Kurisu, hearing Michiyo’s words, couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at her lips. The smile was slight, barely a curve, but her eyes shimmered with light. Warmth spread quietly in her chest, though she herself resisted reading too deeply into it.

For Kurisu knew well that their relationship was but an act—a fabricated bond they maintained out of circumstance. Yet, the genuine concern from those around her still managed to stir her heart.

Meanwhile, Aoki sat frozen in awkward silence. His posture was stiff, hands clasped tightly on his lap, and the smile he tried to muster refused to surface.

The situation left him at a loss. Everyone behaved as if he truly was Kurisu’s husband, when in truth the reality was far different. The thought pressed heavily on his chest, as though he had been forced into a role he never chose, yet was compelled to play.

And still, the heartfelt care displayed before him—Michiyo’s protective stance, Kuzan’s firm nod—only added to his discomfort.

Not because he resented their kindness, but precisely because it made their pretense seem all the more real. That was what unsettled Aoki most: the fragile lie they had built together suddenly felt solid, as if one careless moment might cause it to collapse entirely.

“Well then,” Kuzan spoke at last, breaking the silence. His tone was calm, but carried genuine interest. “Will you reopen your family’s restaurant, Aoki?”

Kuzan’s eyes held a steady curiosity, the gaze of an old acquaintance who truly wished to know the answer.

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