Sourai kicked a small pebble at his feet, watching it bounce a few inches before stopping.

Well, it was a nudge, so he didn’t expect it to go far. Even so, he was kicking a pebble. Yes, the Ryuzoji boy was kicking a pebble. That was what he had been reduced to. The great Sourai Ryuzoji of Kumogakure who could avoid his Jonin-sensei for as long as he wanted (of course by this he meant as long as his Jonin-sensei wanted, but the boy had an ego and it needed to be fed) was reduced to kicking a pebble.

Kicking a damned pebble out of boredom.

Oh god, Kumo used to be so fun! It used to be filled with all sorts of life and adventure and chaos and havoc! But now? Now, all he could see around him were the civilians, with the occasional ninja policing the area in case anyone like him tried to make a mess of things. He couldn’t believe he was prevented from even causing the slightest ruckus after having a ‘no messing up the place’ order put forth by his Jonin, who threatened to put him on a year’s worth of D-ranks if he misbehaved.

True, the rule was only in place to stop Sourai from making an absolute fool of himself, his mother, and then his entire clan, as well as to protect Sourai from the law, which could have devastatingly long-term effects which if it took place in jail was by pure coincidence, if they ever did catch him doing all those things he loved to do as advanced pranks: sneaking out of the village at 2 AM in the morning and taunting the gate guards, causing a racket in the marketplace by tricking the vendor to bargain down the price to near nothing… Well, fine, maybe some of it was too much, but it didn’t change the fact that his life was now so damned boring.

He kept on walking down the roads, before the smell of cooked food - delicious cooked food, too - wafted up his nostrils. He began salivating in his own mouth, and his stomach growled audibly as he realised he still hadn’t had lunch yet, and it was way past noon. Mind made up, he consciously broke off from the main path to follow the delicious smell of roasting meat, before his pair of feet brought him in front of a teppanyaki stall. He entered it and looked around, seeing it not too filled, and grinned before taking a seat at the countertop. It was made of polished wood, with a steel table top placed just above it, slightly shy of the edges of the counter itself so that customers wouldn’t burn themselves by mistake if they wanted to rest their hands there.

The chef looked at him expectantly, and it took Sourai ten seconds to realise that the chef was actually waiting for his order. He flipped through the menu before caving under the pressure in five seconds and just telling the chef, “One… um… uh… One whatever you recommend. Just make sure that it doesn’t exceed 20 ryo!”

The chef raised an eyebrow at him, obviously displeased that he was looking to save money rather than savour one of his dishes, but then decided to ignore him and added some oil onto the portion of the steel table top directly in front of him. The chef then threw some meat - Sourai thought it was chicken at first glance but that soft pink flesh could’ve been anything - onto it. Sourai then just kept waiting there, head turning left and right and hands slapping his thighs rhythmically, softly, and impatiently as he tried to find something to occupy his attention while his meal cooked in front of him. It was growing harder to restrain himself from the half-cooked piece of meat which already smelled so delicious.

Either that or his food actually stinked and he was instead breathing in the aroma of the restaurant itself.

Words: 680