I don't own the Naruto franchise

Ichiraku was a fool, or in the more distinguished words of his late father, a "sensible handicap." His father, the ever-charismatic and brilliant trade master had never supported the notion that his only son would deign to become something as humble as a lowly ramen vendor. "I won't stand for it! It's a foolish endeavor!" he would proclaim, his every demoralizing sentiment ending with a clap, clap, clap from his terribly dentured teeth, like the angry reprisal of thunder after a lightning storm—distinct, authoritative, and final.

Even so, Ichiraku was nothing if not thick-skinned. He had made up his mind: this was it. he would either succeed against all odds or not at all. Either way, he wasn't going to become his father's prized donkey. His older sister had worked herself to an early grave hoping no, feening for his approval. even at her deathbed Ichiraku could remember the degree to which his father viewed her—how he looked down at her from his nose, as if saying, "How disappointing." He didn't need to voice it; the contempt was palpable. Ichiraku could never forget that day or the look in his father's eyes. It was the day the mild contempt he held for his father morphed into vehement hate.

She cried that day, his sister. "Oh, is it the pain again?" his stupid lamb of a mother had said. But Ichiraku knew better. He was there the day the doctor visited her for the last time. She was beyond the pain stage of her illness; she was now in the last stage—the "gather the family for their goodbyes" stage. His sister had died trying to please a man who wouldn't know what it meant to be grateful if it shat in his cereal. Ichiraku would not make the same mistake.

"You'll be back," his father had sneered. "It might not be tomorrow, or three years from now, but when hunger strikes—and I mean really strikes—when you find yourself scrounging with mongrels on the streets, then you'll come crawling back." clap, clap, clap.

That day never saw sunlight. It was hard at first, and there were days when he felt like he might go back—days he believed he was indeed a fool. But whenever doubt crept in and his reasons for persevering became hazy, all he had to do was remember the look in his father's eyes as he gazed down at his sister's crying face. He would push on the next day, and the day after that. As the seasons went by, he would tread on, and when it became impossible, he would tread on a little more. Why, you ask? Because Ichiraku was indeed a fool.

On this day, while Ichiraku sat in his favorite chair going over the happenings in that morning's news, he noticed the cloud of gloom hanging over the head of another fool: Naruto Uzumaki, the village pariah. It was a Thursday—a "no day," his youthful daughter Ayame would say. She said she wasn't coming in today, and he didn't need her. Today, he only had one customer to attend to, and that was the fool staring down into two untouched bowls of ramen, which was very weird behavior for this fool.

"Oi, Naruto! What's wrong? You sick or something?" Naruto either didn't hear him or somehow managed to make himself deaf in the seven minutes Ichiraku was busy reading the paper. Ichiraku wasn't a betting man—well, not anymore; his wife made short work of that particular vice—but if he were, he'd know what odds to place. "N-a-r-u-t-o!" He enunciated the final letter by slapping the bowl stand with his paper, which gave off a resounding squawk!

Naruto jerked. It wasn't one of those overreacting shock jerks people made when they were surprised. No, this was a more posed, indifferent reaction—the type of response you'd have for an annoying fly that has chosen your face out of the vast expanse of the world as its point of interest. For a second, Ichiraku saw that same look in the boy's eyes, as if he himself were the annoying fly on the verge of being squashed! But before Ichiraku had time to register that this was indeed the same boy who had smiled so brilliantly at him only moments before, the look vanished, replaced by an expression of shock. Ichiraku didn't know why he thought it, but he couldn't help but think that Naruto's expression was a mockery of genuine human emotion. It was just a thought, but as soon as it came to him, he felt guilty for ever thinking it.

"You okay there, boy? Don't tell me you no longer like the taste of ramen! Now that'll put me out of business!" Naruto flashed his million-dollar grin and gave a bashful scratch to the back of his head, adding to the guilt Ichiraku felt earlier.

"I kinda zonked out there, didn't I, old man?" Naruto said with a laugh that Ichiraku returned. "Damn near had me thinking you were actually using that brain of yours for once! I was just about ready to report you to the nearest shinobi as some spy disguised as Naruto!"

"Only Naruto here, old man! No spy can imitate all this!" Naruto said, gesturing to himself.

"Ain't that the truth," Ichiraku responded with a grin.

Village pariah or not, Ichiraku couldn't help but like the kid. He was cool—maybe a bit energetic, but cool. He didn't radiate any degree of malice; there was no sense of covert narcissism about him. He was a "what you see is what you get" kind of guy, and Ichiraku could definitely appreciate that. Of course, Ichiraku could never tell him that he was a good kid. Under different circumstances, he could even see himself taking him under his wing, adopting him, and making a son of the boy, but that was under different circumstances.

Naruto was what his granny would have called "bad juju." Of course, this was no fault of the boy himself, but as a father and struggling businessman, Ichiraku couldn't risk endangering the livelihood of his family for one outcast kid. Was that a bit ruthless and cold? Ichiraku guessed it probably was. It would have been a different matter altogether if the boy were just a disliked troublemaker, but to the extent that he was vehemently despised, Ichiraku was putting himself out just by harboring him on the occasional days that he did—days that his customers somehow charted and knew to avoid. Ichiraku would feed him when he asked, chat him up when he seemed lonely, and smile at him when his eyes looked cloudy. But as far as genuine relationships went, Ichiraku could offer no more than a bowl of ramen and a side dish of common courtesy. Was it unfortunate? Maybe, but as all the people say, that's life.

Awakened from his stupor, Naruto scarfed down the remains of his ramen and made a loud, vulgar belch of appreciation.

"Amazing as always, old man! Man, I'm stuffed!" Naruto said, followed by another vulgar belch.

"Anytime, Naruto! As long as you're eating, be damn sure that Ichiraku's will be feeding you."

"For sure, old man! For sure, for sure! See you around!" Naruto said, leaving his stool and exiting the shop.

Ichiraku watched him leave, a sober smile on his face. "Today is going to be one of the good ones," he thought. He wasn't sure how or why he felt that way, but he did. He attributed it to a gut feeling or his current sunny disposition. Whatever the reason, he was certain—today was going to be one of the good ones.

I apologize to everyone who has been waiting for an update. My life isn't in the best state right now, and I'm still working through some things. Regardless, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, so please remember to share your opinions in the comments.

Also, the story is going to kick off in the next chapter, which I hope to finish by the end of next week, so stay tuned for that!