Chapter 293 - Chapter 288: Through the Streets, Homeward Bound

Chapter 288: Through the Streets, Homeward Bound🌸

The streets of the Hidden Leaf Village buzzed with their usual morning chaos. Vendors called out prices, voices overlapping in a symphony of commerce. Shinobi darted between assignments, moving with purpose, their robes billowing in fleeting motion. Civilians wove through the crowd, engaged in their own daily routines, forming an ever-shifting tide of movement and sound.

But amidst the hum of life, Malik remained unseen. He moved effortlessly, passing through bodies and conversations unnoticed, carrying Sakura draped across his back, her limbs slack, her breathing steady, utterly surrendered to sleep.

It had been a long training session. Grueling. Relentless. She had pushed herself far past exhaustion, and now, with no energy left to protest, she had surrendered to rest without resistance.

Tsunade had left them earlier, vanishing without fanfare.

"Cast the spell," she had ordered, already impatient.

Malik had only laughed, but he did as he was told. A woman of her stature had no interest in being stopped by well-meaning civilians. Despite being a legendary kunoichi, she had no patience for small talk, for adoring glances or reluctant requests.

"Not in the mood to deal with civilians today, huh?" he had teased.

"Never," she had replied flatly—and then she was gone, slipping into the city unseen.

Now, Malik glided through the village, his invisibility still intact. But even the spell could not fully erase his presence—not completely.

People still felt something, even if they couldn't see him.

A tug of attention.

A whisper of awareness.

A fleeting instinct that made heads turn without understanding why.

"The Strange Fame of an Invisible Man," Malik muttered, speaking only to the empty air.

It was an odd paradox, truly—he was unseen, yet felt. Hidden, yet noticed in ways no one could explain. It wasn't just his physical form that carried weight—it was his aura, his magic, the way he existed in the world with an almost gravitational pull.

A young shop owner adjusting fruit baskets suddenly froze, fingers hovering over an apple, her brows knitting in confusion.

She stared, her gaze locked onto nothing, an empty street, where Malik drifted unseen.

"Why did I just look over here?" she murmured, shaking her head, as though dismissing the feeling, before returning to her work, stacking apples, brushing off the lingering discomfort of sensing something that shouldn't exist.

Malik simply smirked.

Even unseen, he was never unnoticed.

The phenomenon repeated itself as Malik moved effortlessly through the Hidden Leaf Village.

Time and time again, civilians would pause mid-step, their heads tilting slightly, brows furrowing ever so subtly—an inexplicable moment of hesitation, a fleeting instinct that tugged at their senses without explanation. A merchant adjusting his wares suddenly froze, his fingers hovering over a cloth, his gaze flickering toward an empty space where nothing stood. A shinobi passing by slowed briefly, his trained senses catching something out of place, though his mind dismissed it just as quickly.

Every time, the reaction was the same—a momentary perplexity, a subconscious awareness of something unseen—and then, just as swiftly, they would shake it off, returning to their daily routines.

Malik noticed. Of course he noticed.

"I swear, even when invisible, I still make waves," he mused, lips curling into a smirk as he navigated the bustling streets.

He weaved through the crowd with the elegance of someone utterly untethered by worldly constraints, dodging obstacles with the ease of a man who knew the rhythm of the world well enough to dance through it unnoticed.

A shopkeeper carrying a tower of stacked boxes waddled precariously forward, his steps slow and calculated—but Malik barely needed to adjust, shifting just enough to avoid a collision without breaking pace.

Then came a courier, moving fast, determined, his focus locked on his delivery. Malik hopped lightly over his path, his movements fluid, graceful, as though gravity itself bent slightly to accommodate his existence.

Through the ever-winding paths, he glided, unseen but felt—an anomaly to the senses, a presence that lingered in the mind for just a second longer than it should.

And as he neared the residential district, the hum of activity slowly settling into a quieter rhythm, he couldn't help but let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

Even hidden from the world, he was never truly unnoticed.

When Approaching Sakura's Home. The closer Malik drifted toward Sakura's neighborhood, the more the energy of the village shifted. Gone was the chaotic hum of the marketplace—the clatter of merchants calling out prices, shinobi rushing between assignments, the ceaseless conversations and hurried footsteps that made the Hidden Leaf feel alive at all hours.

Here, everything felt calmer, steadier—structured rows of houses standing tall in quiet dignity, their wooden frames polished with time, their gardens trimmed to perfection. Some homes were grander, bearing the quiet marks of wealth and stability, while others, though smaller, still carried an air of warmth and tradition.

Sakura still lived with her parents, her home a larger residential complex, almost apartment-like in its structure—solid, reliable, a testament to the well-earned prestige of her family.

Malik's gaze lingered on the building as he approached, his lips tugging into a slight grin, amusement flickering in his gold-and-pink eyes.

"Not that I can judge," he muttered to himself, voice light, carrying traces of amusement. "My house literally bends space like a pocket dimension."

The thought made him chuckle—his own home, an anomaly, a place that stretched far beyond its perceived limits. Reality warped within its walls, twisting and expanding in ways that only magic could explain. What was a simple doorway to others became an endless corridor within his domain—a space not bound by physics, but by Malik's own whims.

And yet, despite the grandeur of his own home, something about Sakura's felt rooted—a place built on memories, on a life carved through perseverance rather than mysticism.

He stepped forward, landing lightly on the doorstep, his movements graceful despite the added weight of Sakura still draped over his back, her soft breathing a gentle rhythm against him.

He reached out, fingers brushing against the doorbell, ready to announce their arrival.

Still invisible.

A soft chime echoed through the quiet halls of the Haruno household, signaling an unexpected visitor.

Quick footsteps followed, hurried yet measured, carrying Mebuki Haruno toward the door with the practiced pace of someone used to handling disturbances with swift efficiency. As she reached the entrance, her hand found the doorknob, twisting it with certainty, expecting to be met with whoever had come calling.

The door swung open, and her sharp green eyes scanned the space before her, focused, expectant—only to find absolutely nothing.

She frowned, stepping forward slightly, her gaze shifting left, then right, then narrowing in frustration as she stared at the empty air in front of her. A moment of silence lingered, heavy with confusion, before her brows furrowed deeper, suspicion creeping into the lines of her face.

"Malik," she muttered, not seeing him, but knowing.

From seemingly nowhere, a sigh carried through the stillness—low, resigned, undeniably familiar. Then came the snap of fingers, sharp yet effortless.

And just like that, the invisibility vanished.

Malik stood in full view—his gold-and-pink eyes gleaming, his expression laced with amusement, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. Draped across his back in deep unconsciousness, Sakura slept soundly, her soft, rhythmic breathing a clear indicator that she had long since surrendered to exhaustion.

Mebuki blinked—hard.

Her mind processed the sudden appearance, the sheer absurdity of one moment seeing nothing and the next witnessing Malik casually materialize in front of her, carrying her daughter like a completely normal occurrence.

And then—a sharp exhale.

"Malik!" she scolded, voice laced with exasperation as she planted a hand firmly on her hip, her stance shifting into something distinctly maternal yet mildly irritated. "Stop doing that!"

Malik's smirk widened, unbothered, slipping into smooth familiarity.

"Future Mother," he greeted effortlessly, his tone rich with amusement, playful yet oddly respectful.

Mebuki rolled her eyes, shaking her head, muttering something beneath her breath that Malik didn't quite catch—but he knew better than to ask.

She stepped aside, waving him in with resigned acceptance, allowing him to glide inside without further complaint.

Though, as she glanced once more at Sakura's sleeping form, a flicker of curiosity crossed her features.

"What did she do to wear herself out this much?" she asked, eyebrows raised, expecting an answer.

Malik chuckled.

"Everything."

Inside the Haruno home, Kizashi sat comfortably at the kitchen table, lazily flipping through a newspaper, enjoying the quiet morning—until movement at the doorway caught his attention.

The moment his daughter entered his line of sight, draped across Malik's back, completely unconscious, he lit up with dramatic enthusiasm.

"Ah! My precious cherry blossom has returned!" Kizashi declared, his voice booming, overflowing with exaggerated flair. He shot up from his chair, one hand pressed dramatically against his chest, the other gesturing wildly as though he had just witnessed the triumphant return of a war hero.

Malik chuckled, unphased by the theatrics, offering a smooth nod in greeting.

"Future Father."

Kizashi's grin widened, the exuberance in his expression practically radiating from his being.

"It's good to see you, Malik. Though…" he paused, eyes drifting to Sakura's sleeping form, the exhaustion visible in the tension still lingering in her muscles. "She looks like she fought the whole village today."

Malik smirked, adjusting his hold on Sakura ever so slightly, ensuring she remained comfortable.

"Not the whole village," he mused, voice light with amusement. "Just her lovely mentor."

At that, Kizashi visibly winced, a flicker of understanding washing across his features.

"Oof."

He could only imagine what a training session with Tsunade entailed.

Beside him, Mebuki sighed, rubbing her temple as though she had already resigned herself to the inevitable aftermath of Sakura's relentless training. With a quick wave of her hand, she dismissed further conversation on the matter.

"Just put her in her room," she instructed, already mentally filing away the situation to deal with later. "I'll check on her after."

Malik nodded, seamlessly adjusting his pace as he moved through the familiar halls. The walls held memories, the space familiar—he knew exactly where to go.

Pushing open Sakura's bedroom door, he stepped inside with practiced ease, carefully lowering her onto the bed, letting her sink into the soft, welcoming embrace of her sheets.

She barely stirred, the exhaustion pulling her deeper into sleep, her breathing steady, peaceful.

With a quick snap of his fingers, Malik's magic effortlessly replaced her sweaty, battle-worn training attire with fresh, comfortable pajamas, the fabric light against her skin, perfectly clean.

Sakura shifted slightly, murmuring something incoherent—a fleeting sound, a whisper of thought that never fully formed—before turning over, surrendering completely to deep rest once again.

Malik smiled, watching her for a lingering moment before gently brushing a strand of pink hair away from her face. With another wave of magic, he cleansed her completely, removing every trace of fatigue and sweat—as though she had taken four long showers in a row, leaving her refreshed despite her unconscious state.

With a satisfied nod, he turned, stepping out of the room—ready to face her parents once more.

Malik stepped back into the main area, the familiar scent of morning tea and polished wood settling around him. The Haruno home was quiet now, the hum of household routine falling into place, but the presence of Kizashi and Mebuki ensured that silence would never last long.

Kizashi sat comfortably at the kitchen table, the newspaper rustling as he folded it away, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth as he leaned forward with eager curiosity, Malik settled into a chair across from Kizashi.

"So," he began, the amusement evident in his voice, "how much of a beating did she take today?"

Malik didn't hesitate.

"She'll feel like she got hit by a moving cart for at least two days," he answered smoothly, his tone casual, matter-of-fact—as if he had personally calculated the exact hours her soreness would persist.

Beside them, Mebuki sighed heavily, the weight of that answer pressing into her already exasperated patience. She reached up, pinching the bridge of her nose, a well-practiced motion that screamed motherly exhaustion.

"Wonderful," she muttered.

"Necessary," Malik corrected, just as smoothly, offering her an easy grin in return.

Kizashi chuckled, his amusement only growing, raising an eyebrow as he regarded Malik knowingly.

"You spoil her more than we do, you know."

Malik didn't deny it. Didn't even pretend to argue.

"That's my future wife," he said with an effortless shrug, his smirk widening just slightly. "What else am I supposed to do?"

Mebuki fixed him with a sharp look, her lips pressing together in a manner that suggested she was weighing the validity of that statement. There was something unreadable in her gaze—a quiet, knowing amusement, buried beneath layers of protective skepticism.

She could chastise him.

She could insist that Sakura didn't need to be spoiled, that she was strong enough on her own.

She could remind him that her daughter was not some fragile thing to be coddled.

But…

She said nothing.

Because she knew, despite his teasing words, that Malik treated her daughter well.

Kizashi, however?

Entirely unbothered by the deeper implications of the conversation.

He threw his head back and laughed, his voice booming, his hand clapping firmly against Malik's back in approval.

"That's the spirit!"

And then, without hesitation, he launched into his usual stream of puns, terrible yet relentless, filling the kitchen with outrageous wordplay and animated gestures.

Mebuki groaned loudly, already regretting every life choice that had led her to marrying this man, while Malik?

Malik leaned back into his chair, thoroughly entertained, letting the moment unfold into the lively, chaotic family dynamic that had become so familiar, so comfortable.

The Conversation Lingers, The house hummed with warmth—the kind of effortless familiarity that made time stretch out comfortably. Malik sat at the kitchen table, leaning back in his chair, his golden-and-pink eyes flickering with amusement as he listened to Kizashi and Mebuki's ongoing banter.

They had been talking for over an hour, covering everything from Sakura's childhood stories to Kizashi's terrible pun obsession to Mebuki's refusal to let her husband encourage Malik's bad habits.

And, through it all, Malik felt at home.

Which, considering how ridiculous his life was, was something worth appreciating.

At some point, Malik stretched his arms and smiled at them both.

"Alright, it's time I make y'all something to eat."

Kizashi brightened instantly, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Ah! A meal prepared by the famous Chef Malik yet again!" he declared theatrically, clasping his hands together like Malik was offering him a lifetime of riches.

Mebuki, on the other hand, was not impressed.

"How many times do I have to tell you," she pointed at him, her green eyes sharp, "you're our guest. We should be cooking for you. I'm not letting you show off in my kitchen again."

Kizashi turned dramatically toward Malik, looking at him with a desperate, almost crazed expression, as if pleading for divine intervention.

Malik paused.

Considered.

Then grinned softly—because, of course, he had a solution.

Instead of responding outright, Malik reached across the table, taking both of Mebuki's hands in his own with a perfectly mischievous expression.

"You're absolutely correct, Mom-a-tron," he said smoothly, his grip gentle but firm.

Mebuki blinked, processing the nickname, but before she could react properly, Malik leaned forward—his golden gaze glinting with mischief.

"I shouldn't be cooking," Malik continued dramatically, shaking his head. "No, no, no—"

Then, suddenly—

He floated over the table, sweeping Mebuki into a gentle dance, leading her toward the kitchen with playful precision.

"WE should be cooking! Together! As a Family!"

Kizashi brightened even further, clapping his hands once before turning toward Malik with realization.

"Spoil us? Do you mean…!"

Malik met his gaze, and, without hesitation, they spoke in perfect synchronization—

"Shopping!!!!"

Mebuki's brain completely stalled.

First, the dancing.

Then, Mom-a-tron.

And now, shopping conspiracies.

She finally shook off her mental reset, sighing heavily.

"You already buy Sakura far too many clothes," she pointed out sternly. "Our closet can't handle any more."

Malik winked, twirling her one last time before settling her safely in the kitchen.

"Don't you worry about that now," he said lightly. "Let's get cooking. I promised to spend three full days with my Cherry Blossom Queen, and I shall do so. You get ready for a sleepover, y'all. We can talk more after Sakura wakes up."

And with that, A Moring to Night of Warmth, Cooking, and Family had begun.

And, just like that—

The house buzzed with motion as Malik, Kizashi, and Mebuki gathered in the kitchen, laughter mixing with the soft hum of shared history, preparing a meal together in pure, effortless chaos.

It wasn't just a meal.

It wasn't just cooking.

It was family.

= A good amount of time later =

A gentle breeze drifted through the partially open balcony doors, softly rustling the curtains as Sakura Haruno stirred from her deep slumber. Her eyelids fluttered open slowly, consciousness gradually overtaking the deep exhaustion that had gripped her earlier. Her muscles ached in quiet protest, a clear reminder of the relentless training session she had endured with Tsunade. Yet despite the soreness, Sakura felt oddly refreshed, as if she had been gently bathed and restored while she slept.

She sat up, stretching her limbs with a slight wince at the stiffness, her fingers brushing over the smooth, fresh pajamas Malik had undoubtedly conjured for her. She smiled softly, appreciating his thoughtful gesture, and absently patted the empty space beside her. Though Malik hadn't slept next to her, she sensed his presence nearby, comforting and familiar.

Her room was bathed in a gentle golden glow filtering through the pale curtains. Sakura's bedroom was a neat sanctuary, orderly yet inviting. Her wooden desk sat impeccably organized, a stack of medical texts piled neatly beside a small journal and pens arranged with precision. The polished wooden floor gleamed warmly beneath her feet, and the faint scent of cherry blossoms lingered, emanating from a scented candle Malik had given her.

Moving to her wardrobe, Sakura chose an outfit she rarely wore—a soft, pastel pink sundress adorned with delicate white floral patterns, falling gracefully above her knees. She complemented it with a thin, white cardigan, perfect for the late afternoon breeze. Her longer pink hair was tied neatly back with a simple white ribbon, and she applied just a touch of makeup—a hint of blush, mascara to frame her bright emerald eyes, and glossy pink lipstick that enhanced her natural beauty.

Emerging from her room, Sakura paused at the sound of chaotic yet familiar voices drifting up from the kitchen below. Her father's booming laughter echoed warmly through the house, a sign he was thoroughly entertained. In contrast, her mother's voice carried a clear undertone of exasperation, interspersed with sharp sighs and faint protests. Among them was Malik's voice—rich, vibrant, filled with enthusiastic suggestions that seemed to grow progressively more outrageous.

Curiosity piqued, Sakura descended the stairs gracefully, stepping into the lively kitchen scene. Chaos greeted her warmly: Malik and Kizashi stood dramatically by the table, wildly gesticulating, their faces alight with excitement as they conjured ever more extravagant plans for family outings, vacations, and activities that grew increasingly eccentric.

"We could all go mountain climbing together!" Kizashi declared exuberantly, eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Yes!" Malik agreed enthusiastically, matching Kizashi's exaggerated energy. "Then we'll have a grand picnic at the summit, catered entirely by yours truly!"

Mebuki sat at the table, head bowed into her palms, her shoulders hunched in visible defeat. Upon seeing Sakura, she immediately straightened, shooting her daughter a pleading glance.

Sakura offered her mother a reassuring nod, then put on her sweetest, most loving smile and clapped softly. "Honeybear\~" she cooed gently, her voice dripping affection, using a nickname she seldom uttered aloud.

Malik spun around, instantly captivated by Sakura's radiant presence. His eyes widened appreciatively as he took in her charming appearance, his grin widening at the affectionate nickname. She pointed playfully at her lips, and Malik beamed.

"A free kiss? Don't mind if I do!" he proclaimed happily, skipping towards her. Kizashi gave Malik a hearty pat on the back, chuckling loudly.

"That's my boy! Maybe I can get a kiss from my wife, too!"

Malik reached Sakura's embrace swiftly, but just as he leaned forward, her expression shifted instantly—becoming cold, precise, and ruthlessly efficient. Her fingers flashed out, pinching a precise point on Malik's neck. He froze momentarily, his eyes widening in shock before collapsing dramatically to the floor, completely unconscious.

Sakura nudged Malik's body a few times with her foot, ensuring he was truly out cold. "Sorry, honey," she whispered coolly, a faint smirk playing at her lips. "But your reign of chaos ends here."

Kizashi stared at Sakura, horrified, his voice trembling. "Don't you love him?"

Sakura's expression softened instantly into a genuine, loving smile as she shrugged casually. "Of course."

"Then why?" he sputtered, bewildered.

"Because love only excuses so much madness," Sakura answered calmly, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Enough is enough."

Mebuki's eyes lit with pride and curiosity. "How exactly did you do that?" she asked eagerly.

Sakura grinned conspiratorially, moving closer to demonstrate. "It's a specific pressure point—right here," she explained gently, guiding her mother's fingers to the exact spot. "Apply enough pressure, and they're out like a light."

Mebuki turned, eyeing her husband with newfound interest. Kizashi's eyes widened in fear, hands raised defensively. "Now, now, honey, let's talk about—"

His protests were silenced immediately as Mebuki's fingers found the point, and Kizashi crumpled quietly to the floor beside Malik.

The two women exchanged satisfied smiles before casually rolling their sleeping men into a corner of the room, tossing a few blankets over them, effectively hiding the evidence of their deeds.

With peace finally restored, Sakura and Mebuki settled at the table, sighing contentedly as they sipped tea and sampled the dishes Malik had prepared earlier. Sakura hummed appreciatively, savoring each bite.

"He really is an amazing cook," she admitted softly, eyes shining with genuine warmth. "Every meal makes me fall a bit more in love with him."

Mebuki chuckled lightly, nodding in agreement. "He spoils you, but I suppose it's not always a bad thing."

Their conversation flowed naturally, drifting through anecdotes of their day, their training, and future plans as if knocking their loved ones unconscious and shoving them unceremoniously into a corner was simply a regular part of their routine. Their laughter filled the kitchen, warm and genuine, echoing gently around the house, bringing with it the comforting sense of home.

And as afternoon gently melted into evening, the women enjoyed their peace, sharing stories, tea, and the comfortable silence that only true family could appreciate, knowing their loved ones would eventually wake, groggy yet none the wiser.

For now, Sakura and Mebuki relished their well-earned quiet, knowing full well that moments like these were precious and fleeting—especially with the delightful chaos Malik and Kizashi inevitably brought into their lives.