The walk back to Naruto's apartment was quiet, save for the distant hum of the village settling into the late hours. Anko kept a steady pace, her hands in her pockets, her eyes scanning the shadows like she expected trouble. Naruto followed, his belly full for the first time in days, but his thoughts were heavier than ever. The word demon clung to him like damp clothes, impossible to shake off. He kept replaying every glare, every whispered insult, every time he'd been chased or cornered. There had to be a reason, something bigger than just being "different."His apartment building loomed ahead, a rundown stack of bricks that looked like it might collapse under a strong breeze. Anko stopped at the base of the stairs, turning to face him. "You live here?" she asked, her tone neutral but her eyes flicking over the peeling paint and cracked windows."Yeah," Naruto said, shoving his hands into his pockets. He braced for a comment—people always had something to say about his shabby home—but Anko just nodded."Get some rest, kid. And maybe don't go punching shinobi for a while, yeah?" She smirked, but there was a warmth in it that caught him off guard."Thanks," he muttered, not sure what else to say. "For the ramen. And… you know."Anko waved him off. "Don't get sappy on me. Just stay out of trouble." She turned to leave, then paused, glancing back. "You ever need to talk, I'm around. Don't make a habit of it, though." With that, she vanished into the night, her footsteps fading into the quiet.Naruto climbed the creaky stairs to his apartment, his mind still spinning. Inside, the small, cluttered space was as lonely as ever—empty ramen cups stacked in the corner, a single blanket on his thin mattress. He dropped onto the bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. The question burned brighter now: Why do they hate me?He thought about his life, piecing together fragments of memory. The orphanage that kicked him out when he was five. The shopkeepers who overcharged him or refused to serve him. The kids who wouldn't play with him, their parents pulling them away like he was diseased. And always, always, that word—demon. It wasn't just anger or fear in their eyes; it was something deeper, something old and festering. Like he was a walking wound they couldn't bear to look at.Naruto sat up, his jaw tightening. He wasn't a demon. He was Uzumaki Naruto, and he was going to find out the truth. Maybe it was in the village records, or in the stories the old folks told when they thought no one was listening. Maybe the Hokage himself knew—Naruto had seen the old man watching him sometimes, from a distance, with a look that wasn't hate but wasn't kindness either.He stood, pacing the small room. Tomorrow, he'd start asking questions. Not loud, not reckless—he'd learned his lesson about drawing attention tonight. But he'd watch, listen, and dig. The library, maybe, or the training grounds where the older shinobi talked. Someone, somewhere, knew why the village treated him like this. And if they wouldn't tell him, he'd find out on his own.A flicker of hope sparked in his chest, small but stubborn. Maybe Anko was right—maybe he was tougher than he looked. He'd survived this long, hadn't he? Survived the hunger, the beatings, the loneliness. He could survive this mystery, too. And when he found the truth, he'd show them all he was more than their whispers and their fists.Naruto lay back down, staring at the ceiling again. For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel quite so alone. Anko's words, her unexpected kindness, lingered like the warmth of the ramen in his stomach. Tomorrow, he'd start his search. Tomorrow, he'd take the first step toward understanding why the village saw a demon in a boy with whisker marks and blue eyes.
