Konoha Year: 36
By the time Haruki turned two and a half, the neighborhood knew him by name.
Every morning, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, he would waddle down the stone path in front of the Arai house, still in his night robe, waving to the elderly couple who lived next door.
"' Morning, Granny!" he chirped at old Mrs. Tashiro, who always sat on her porch feeding birds.
"Good morning, little Haruki," she said with a smile, tossing another handful of seeds. "You're growing taller every week."
"I'm big now," Haruki said proudly, stretching his arms above his head. "Mama said so."
The Hidden Leaf was a large village, but within the narrow lanes of the civilian district, there was a rhythm, gentle, familiar. Neighbors helped neighbors, children played in the narrow alleys without worry, and people greeted each other by name, not by rank.
Haruki grew up at the center of that rhythm.
When his father worked in the shop, Haruki would bring him water and sit with a small lump of clay, copying his movements as best he could. He made odd, lumpy cups and crooked bowls, often presenting them to passersby as "super special ninja cups." Most took them home with a smile and tucked them somewhere safe.
When Mika walked through the market, Haruki followed behind carrying her cloth bag, stopping every few steps to wave at vendors or stare wide-eyed at the shinobi who passed through in dark flak jackets, masks, or colorful headbands.
One day, he saw a group of Academy students practicing under a jounin's watchful eye near the training grounds. He stood behind the wooden fence, fingers wrapped around the slats, eyes wide.
They threw kunai. They made hand signs. One of them even breathed fire.
"Whoa," Haruki whispered.
When Mika found him there, still watching twenty minutes later, she gently took his hand and walked him home. He didn't say anything that day. But the wonder in his eyes lingered long after the training had ended.
***
As the months passed, Haruki's curiosity bloomed.
He asked questions constantly. About everything.
"What's chakra?"
"Why do ninjas wear sandals even in winter?"
"Why do they jump on roofs?"
"Can I learn to jump on roofs?"
Kenji answered with patience, laughing more often than not. Mika answered with stories, safe, distant ones from scrolls and village tales. But sometimes, in the quiet moments, a shadow passed through her expression.
One night, while Kenji and Mika sat folding laundry by the warm hearth, Haruki came in holding a stick like a sword, a towel tied around his shoulders like a cape.
"I'm Haruki the Shinobi!" he declared. "I fight bad guys and protect Mama!"
Mika smiled gently. "And what about Papa?"
"Papa makes ninja cups," he said with a nod. "That's very important."
Kenji chuckled, ruffling his son's hair. "Thanks, boss."
As Haruki's third birthday neared, the subject of ninja came up more often, not just in play, but in thought also.
He watched shinobi with reverence. He listened to older boys tell stories in the square. One afternoon, he sat on the porch with Kenji and asked, very seriously, "Papa, why can't I do fire jutsu?"
Kenji paused. "Well… only some people can do that. They learn it through training. And… with chakra."
Haruki nodded, thoughtful. "Do I have chakra?"
Kenji didn't know how to answer at first. "Maybe a little. Everyone has a bit. But not everyone becomes a ninja."
"But I want to become one," Haruki said softly, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve.
Later that night, after Haruki had gone to sleep, Mika and Kenji sat by the window, the moonlight spilling across the floor.
"He asked me if he could do fire jutsu today," Kenji said.
Mika didn't respond at first. She was staring out into the dark street, arms wrapped around her knees.
"Did you tell him no?"
"I told him it takes chakra. That it's hard. But I didn't say no." He looked down at his hands. "I didn't want to be the one to break something in him."
Mika's voice was quiet. "I used to dream of being a kunoichi when I was little. I'd watch the older girls throw kunai and imagine I could do it too. I even practiced behind my parents' shop."
Kenji looked over, surprised. "You never told me that."
"I stopped after I saw one of them come back from a mission." Her voice tightened. "A girl. Barely fifteen. Her arm was broken. She had that empty look in her eyes. Like the world was too heavy for her."
Kenji said nothing. The silence spoke for both of them.
The next day, they decided to talk to Haruki, truly talk.
It was the evening before his third birthday. The three of them sat on the porch steps, Haruki curled up between them with his favorite blanket draped over his lap.
"Haruki," Mika said gently, brushing his bangs from his eyes, "Papa told me you've been thinking about becoming a shinobi."
Haruki nodded, looking up at them. "I want to help people. Like they do."
Kenji smiled softly. "That's a good reason, Haru. A very good reason."
"But being a ninja is hard," Mika added. "It's dangerous. Some of them… they get hurt. They have to fight. A lot."
Haruki's brow furrowed. "Do they cry?"
"Sometimes," Kenji said. "Even grown-ups cry."
Haruki thought for a long time. Then he said, "But… they still help people."
Mika looked away, blinking quickly.
"You're right," Kenji said. "They do."
Haruki leaned against him, small and warm. "I don't want to hurt people. I just want to protect you and Mama. And Obaa next door. And the frog pond."
Kenji let out a quiet laugh. Mika gave a soft smile, though her eyes shimmered.
"Well," Kenji said, "if that's your reason… we'll do what we can to help you."
Haruki blinked. "Really?"
"But no jumping off roofs," Mika said quickly.
"Okay," Haruki grinned. "Just… small jumps."
That night, after he fell asleep, Kenji and Mika sat in the quiet again.
"He's serious about it," Mika whispered.
Kenji nodded. "He is."
"Even if he doesn't have strong chakra… he'll try."
Kenji looked at the door to Haruki's room, where faint snores drifted out.
"Then we'll be there," he said. "For every step."
And outside, beneath the sleeping stars of the Hidden Leaf, the dream of a small civilian boy stirred quietly, ready to grow, no matter what path it took.