It's not the most ethical application of the Rinnegan's powers.
Sasuke knows this. But there wasn't any use for money after Kaguya destroyed the world, and he's broke as shit and starving.
He's been using the Rinnegan to knock strangers out, and then picking their pockets. Sasuke sighs, considering the bulging coin-purse between his fingers. There's something rumbling in his stomach that almost feels like guilt. Or maybe it's hunger. He's not quite sure.
If he really thinks about it, being a petty thief is a step up from being an international terrorist. So at least there's that.
From the corner of his eye, he catches the tell-tale flicker of an ANBU running over rooftops overhead, and he drifts a little further into the shadows. It's a habit to suppress his chakra signature at this point, to blend into the inky darkness lining the very edges of busy streets as a vibrant orange-and-pink sunset sets the western skies alight. It's a habit borne from spending five years on the run from Kaguya; Sasuke's all but invisible now, free to drift through the village.
He lets his feet wander of their own accord, the balmy air ruffling his hair and tugging at the hem of his cloak. The roar of a thousand cicadas, hidden in the many trees lining the boulevards, merges with the melody of birdsong. Under the soles of his sandals, the cobblestones radiate stored heat, a pleasant warmth.
Sasuke's used to bitter cold and chilling silence, the only sound in the air being the tramping march of White Zetsu. Now he's surrounded by life, and he's struggling to take it all in at once. He's wearing an eyepatch over his Rinnegan again, but his other eye roams over everything, greedily drinking in the sights of humanity.
Here's a baker, closing up his shop. There's a young boy in the street-his son?-tossing scraps of bread onto the road and laughing with delight as several birds dart down to snatch up the crumbs.
Here's a young couple, walking hand-in-hand, the woman throwing her head back to laugh at some joke the man beside her just told. The glimmer in their eyes matches the glorious sunset in its luster.
And here's a familiar ramen shop, small and unassuming, tucked between two staid buildings. A delicious aroma wafts out into the street, making his mouth water, and he draws nearer. There's a boy standing by the shop, golden hair glinting in the fading light.
Sasuke freezes up.
Itachi would read to him when he was just a little kid. Sasuke remembers begging his brother to read him stories about the first Hokage, the fearsome Hashirama Senju, or to tell him about the exploits of Konoha's famed Yellow Flash during the Third Great War. These were the stories he adored as a child; legends of great warriors who changed the world.
But Sasuke is a great warrior now, too. He's changed the world. It's not all it's cracked up to be. He's been there, watching as the people he loves are taken from him. All that power, all that might, all the notoriety—
What does it matter, if it doesn't change anything?
He's ripped out his own hair and asked himself this, crying tears of blood and shaking with impotent fury. He's screamed until his voice grew hoarse, howling up at the sky as if the clouds would part and answer him. And the answer is always the same-these things don't matter.
Now Sasuke doesn't yearn for tales of glory and gore, for tales of great warriors and epic battles.
He cherishes the mundane. He remembers trying to catch fireflies in the field bordering the Uchiha district, his mother laughing at his antics. He remembers Itachi teaching him how to crack an egg in the kitchen of their family home one lazy Saturday morning. He remembers watching Naruto inhale old ration bars they'd scavenged from the ruins of Iwagakure.
In the short, miserable life of Sasuke Uchiha, these are the moments where he's been truly happy.
He wishes he'd gone through life with his Sharingan permanently activated, so he could indelibly etch each and every banal moment into his mind forever. He wishes he'd spent his life writing all these memories down, because hazy recollection is all he has left now.
The wind picks up, and Sasuke shakes himself out of his fugue. He's still staring at that blond head of hair, unable to so much as move. And all he can think about—
There's an old story that only lives in Sasuke's memories. It's a tale of a future that will, hopefully, never come to pass. It's a story of an older brother who sacrificed everything he loved to save his sibling. It's the story of a golden-haired boy that pulled his best friend back from the edge of the abyss. It's a story that ends with the moon turning blood-red, and the love of Sasuke's life bleeding out in the snow.
But this, this right here—
This could be a new story. It could be a story that doesn't end in ruin, doesn't end in death. And nothing will ever bring back the people that he loved. He knows this, just as he knows that nothing will erase the pain of watching them die, either.
But that old story, with all its breathless highs and crushing lows, is over now. All he can do is move forward, and maybe do things right this time.
He's been given another chance. He's been given another chance, and he can either spend it mourning and moping, or he could make new memories.
So Sasuke walks up to the entrance of Ichiraku Ramen, casting a sidelong glance at the boy in the ratty orange shirt standing next to him. The kid's got an old frog wallet clutched in his hands, mournfully looking at the few coins inside.
"Hey," Sasuke says, his voice cracking. "I'm Juugo. What's your name?"
Familiar blue eyes gaze up at his face, eyes that blaze with naivety and sincerity and boundless optimism, eyes that make Sasuke's heart pound because he knows them.
"I'm Naruto Uzumaki," the boy declares, pointing at himself with his thumb. The world grows several degrees brighter as a radiant smile spreads over that little face, and Sasuke can't look away. And he knows what's happening here is unstoppable, is fucking cosmic in scale—
"Wanna get dinner? My treat," he says to a five-year-old Naruto.
"No take-backs!" the boy yells, grabbing the sleeve of his cloak and dragging him forward into the light. But he doesn't need to say that, because Sasuke wouldn't take this back for anything.
He's home.