Chương 28: A Mask For Me.

This slice of life has been going on for ages, I swear this is why I hate this show!!!! Anyways. If you don't know what happend last chapter, and I forgot to write it....that's my bad.

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Just like that, Boruto had dashed off, dragging Himawari with him, chattering excitedly about some extra spicy burger that Mitsuki had told him was on discount. His departure left an awkward silence at the table, Sumire watching the door with a sinking feeling in her chest.

Arsene, still seated across from her, couldn't resist a jab. "What's wrong, woman?" he taunted, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Feeling crushed by your utter lack of romantic prowess?"

Sumire shot him a tired but defiant look. Her shoulders were slumped, and her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, but she refused to let herself break. "I get it, okay? You win this time," she admitted, swallowing the lump in her throat. But then, her resolve flared back to life, and she clenched her fists. "But even so… I refuse to give up!" Her voice was determined, if a little shaky.

Cho-Cho leaned in with an encouraging grin. "That's the spirit, girl! That blonde idiot will figure it out eventually," she reassured Sumire, patting her shoulder. "But in the meantime, I've got actual work to do since I guess I technically work here now," she added with a mock sigh. With that, she walked away, leaving Sumire and Arsene alone at the table.

Arsene got up, stretching lazily. "Ah, well. I'll leave you to wallow in your heartbreak and sulk in your sadness," he said, though his voice lacked its usual venom. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he picked it up, glancing at his sparse list of contacts.

His second entry caught his eye: Himawari Uzumaki. It was a small, strange thing—having someone he could call a "friend." The concept still felt foreign to him, something he hadn't quite wrapped his head around yet.

Walking out of Yakiniku Q, Arsene stepped into the bustling streets of Konoha, the afternoon sun warm on his skin. People moved past him, some offering a second glance when they noticed the familiar, milky-white eyes of the Byakugan, the signature dojutsu of the Hyuga Clan.

But this time, no one seemed fearful. There were no wary stares, no whispers about the "demon-eyed boy." Instead, there was simple curiosity and, for once, acceptance.¹

It felt… good. Unsettling, but good.

Arsene found himself wandering through the village, his steps meandering and aimless. With his new Byakugan, he could see through buildings, watching the day-to-day lives of the villagers.

He'd memorized the layout of Konoha long ago, knew every alley and shadowed corner, but walking through it like this, exposed and unmasked, felt like an entirely different experience.

Eventually, his wanderings took him to the top of Hokage Rock, the monumental stone faces of the seven Hokage carved into the mountainside.

Each face looked out over Konoha with expressions of quiet pride and strength, from Hashirama Senju's wide, friendly grin to Naruto Uzumaki's determined, confident gaze. Arsene stood there for a moment, the wind tugging at his long black hair.

"It must have been amazing, huh?" he said softly, his voice almost lost in the breeze. He wasn't speaking to anyone in particular, just the wind, or maybe the memories carved in stone.

To be someone people loved and respected. To be strong and admired, not feared. To be in the light. All the Hokage had that in common: strength, fame, and the joy of being beloved by the people they protected.

Arsene closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to his original goal. He had always wanted to be strong, strong enough that no one could ever bother or hurt him again. It had been a single-minded pursuit, one born from desperation and pain.

But now… now he had power. Even more so after consuming the Chakra Fruit, the effects of which were still revealing themselves day by day. He had always craved power, but for what? To fight? To keep fighting forever?

He used to think that fighting was enough. That the thrill of battle and the relentless push for strength would satisfy him. But standing there, feeling the sun warm his face, he realized that something had shifted.

He wasn't sure when it happened—maybe when Naruto had spoken to him like an equal, or when Himawari had asked him to teach her. Maybe even when he saw people no longer looking at him with fear. Maybe when he had a proper meal with Metal Lee?

What was the point of all this training now? Was it just to fight more? To endlessly pursue a goal he no longer fully understood?

Arsene opened his eyes, looking out over the village. He had come to Konoha to become stronger, to carve out a life where he wouldn't be anyone's victim. But as he stood there, he wondered if strength for strength's sake was truly what he wanted anymore.

"Maybe there's something more to this," he murmured, almost as if testing the thought. The idea felt strange, as if it didn't quite fit him yet, but he was willing to hold onto it, even if just for a moment.

With that, he turned and made his way back down from Hokage Rock, the question still lingering in his mind but no longer as heavy as before. He'd figure it out eventually. For now, he'd keep walking forward, one step at a time, even if he still didn't fully understand where he was headed.

...

As Arsene wandered through the quiet streets of Konoha, lost in thought about his endless pursuit of strength, he was interrupted by a familiar, warm voice.

"Oh, Arsene, how are you?" The voice belonged to Uncle Shuji, an elderly tailor with a gentle smile and a voice like honeyed tea. He wasn't actually Arsene's uncle, but the affectionate nickname had stuck over the years. Shuji was one of the few people Arsene had formed any sort of personal bond with in this bustling village.

Arsene turned, a smirk creeping onto his face. "Oh, hey, Shuji. Surprising to see you're still alive," he quipped, his humor dry as always.

Shuji chuckled, the lines around his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Ah, you're still as impolite as ever, I see. How are you ever going to find a wife with that sharp tongue of yours? Women prefer gentle men, you know. Take my son, for instance…" And there he went, launching into one of his usual ramblings. Shuji loved to talk about his family, especially his son, who had married a kind, patient woman despite his earlier lack of confidence. Arsene could probably recite the stories by heart at this point.

"Are you done, old man? I've got things to do," Arsene interrupted, though his tone was more playful than harsh.

Shuji gave a mock sigh of defeat. "Alright, alright. It is getting late…" He checked his watch before looking back at Arsene. "By the way, I never got the chance to properly thank you for what you did a while back. If not for you, I might have had to close my shop for good."

Arsene shrugged, though the acknowledgment warmed something deep in his chest. He remembered that incident well. The Byakuya Bandits had robbed Shuji's shop, and Arsene had made it his mission to retrieve the stolen money, leaving behind a scene that the authorities were still piecing together. "No thanks needed," Arsene replied, waving it off like it was nothing. "Just a mere errand." But inwardly, he was quietly pleased. Praise wasn't something he got often, and even if he'd never admit it, it felt good.

Shuji tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening. "...Arsene, what happened to your mask?" he asked, noting the absence of Arsene's usual face covering.

Arsene paused, his hand brushing over the exposed skin of his face. "I… grew out of it," he said, though his voice was more guarded now. "Besides, it's better this way." He tried to sound casual, but there was an underlying tension in his words. He had started to shed the mask, but that didn't mean he was entirely comfortable with it.

Shuji frowned, looking pensive for a moment, before turning back to his shop. He fumbled with the keys, unlocking the door. Arsene lingered outside, the cold night air biting at his exposed skin. He didn't feel the chill—temperature rarely bothered him—but he did feel unsettled. "Did I insult him somehow?" he muttered to himself, perplexed. Shuji was usually so easygoing.

"I found it!" Shuji's voice called out from inside, breaking Arsene's thoughts. He reappeared a moment later, carrying a small, intricately wrapped box. "Here, for you."

Arsene accepted the box, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "...It's pretty, but what is it?" he asked, lifting the lid.

Shuji beamed, his eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and fondness. "I noticed that you switch out your eye masks every few days," Shuji explained, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. "I always felt bad that I never managed to make you the perfect one you wanted. So, I had this custom-made just for you. Trust me, it's comfortable."

Inside the box lay a beautiful set of masks: one for his eyes and another for his face, both in his favorite color—deep, sleek black. The craftsmanship was impeccable, from the soft, breathable fabric to the reinforced stitching that promised durability. It was clear that a lot of care and effort had gone into making them.

Arsene's usually guarded expression faltered for a split second, his throat tightening with a feeling he couldn't quite name. "...You never liked showing your eyes," Shuji continued, his voice softer now. "And I couldn't blame you. For years, I thought you hid them because you were ashamed, that maybe you thought they were… hideous. But I realize now that you were hiding something quite charming. Even so, change doesn't have to happen all at once. Take your time."

Arsene swallowed hard, struggling to find words. How long had it been since someone had shown him this kind of thoughtfulness? "...I… I'll pay you back," he managed, his voice rough around the edges.

Shuji shook his head firmly. "Nope! This is a gift, and I'm not accepting a single ryo from you. If you want to repay me, you can do so by wearing it every day." He smiled, patting Arsene gently on the shoulder before heading back into his shop, leaving Arsene standing there, stunned.

Arsene ran a hand over the smooth fabric of the new eye mask, his fingers tracing the delicate stitching. He wrapped it around his head, the familiar sensation comforting yet different. It was lighter, softer, and felt like a second skin rather than a burden. The old weight of his previous masks—the feeling of hiding, of being caged—had lifted, if only slightly.

Stuffing the box into one of the deep pockets of his coat, Arsene took a shaky breath and resumed his walk home. He wouldn't admit it, not even to himself, but this gift—simple yet deeply meaningful—had moved him in a way he didn't know he was capable of feeling.

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[Auther: Yo. This is the end of Arsene's little change. He'll be a lot more centered and predictable for you guys. Or at least for me.]