Naruto: The Sarutobi Who Can't Spark

INTERLUDE (1.2)

Her voice wasn't particularly loud, but in that cruel twist of fate, the restaurant had fallen into one of those rare lulls in conversation. The words carried further than they should have. A nearby couple, mid-bite, paused, exchanging curious glances.

That was all it took.

Lyla, sharp as ever, caught the movement. Her brows knitted together as she turned, her gaze landing on Maya just in time to see the confusion flash across her face.

Then, there was Claire. Still humming under her breath, still lost in her own world—until she wasn't. Her gaze followed the rippling shift in the atmosphere, flicking from the couple to Lyla, then finally to Maya, who sat stiffly beside Evan, her eyes locked onto him with a look that could burn through steel.

The realization clicked into place.

Evan barely had a second to process before the silence around him grew thick, and heavy with unspoken accusations. Every glance, every second that passed, was a nail in the coffin.

His pulse kicked up. He could see the inevitable unraveling, the dominoes tipping, the moment spiraling out of his control.

Silence.

Thick. Heavy. Unforgiving.

Drawn by some unspoken forces, all three girls rose from their seats at the same time. Lyla and Claire's footsteps echoed as they converged toward Evan, Maya, and the waitress, their expressions ranging from disbelief to pure annoyance.

Evan barely swallowed the lump in his throat. He had faced disciplinary committees, furious teachers, and even a gym coach whose car he may or may not have filled with balloons last semester—but nothing compared to this.

Maya, the closest, folded her arms, her expression unreadable… anger maybe? Her tone was as sharp as a blade. "Evan. Explain."

Lyla stood just behind her, clutching a napkin in her hands like it was the last shred of her faith in humanity. Her voice was quiet but firm. "You… you had dinner plans with all of us?"

Claire, still trying to piece together the betrayal, frowned, her nose scrunching in disappointment. "Wait… does that mean I wasn't special either?!"

Evan's brain went into overdrive. He needed a way out—fast. Maybe he could convince them this was all a misunderstanding? A tragic scheduling mix-up? A weird social experiment? A prank for his YouTube channel—wait. He didn't even have a YouTube channel.

He opened his mouth, scrambling for words, an explanation, a miracle—anything.

Nothing came.

Meanwhile, Wixx sat back, chewing leisurely on his food, watching the chaos unfold with mild amusement. He had zero intention of intervening. This was far beyond his willingness to interfere, and, frankly, beyond his understanding. Besides, watching Evan flounder under the weight of his own reckless charm was far more entertaining than getting dragged into the wreckage himself.

Evan, sweating now, forced out a chuckle—the wrong move.

Maya's eyes narrowed, her patience slipping. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all." He held up his hands in surrender. "Listen, ladies, this is—"

"You were juggling us," Lyla cut in, her voice colder than the iced tea Wixx had just sipped. "That's what this is, right? You thought you could just… what? Rotate between tables and we wouldn't notice?"

"I mean…" Evan hesitated. Choose your words carefully.

Claire let out a sharp gasp, her hands flying to her hips. "Oh my god. You actually thought you could get away with it."

Evan winced. "I wouldn't say get away with—"

"Then what would you say?" Maya's voice was deceptively calm, and that was somehow worse.

He took a deep breath. "Look, I—"

Before he could finish, the worst possible thing happened.

A second waitress arrived.

She looked between the scene unfolding, her confusion evident as she held a tray with yet another dish. "Mr. Evan? Your steak, as requested."

Dead. He was officially dead.

All three girls turned back to him in sync. Like synchronized swimmers preparing for a collective dive—except the pool was made of fire, and he was the one drowning.

Wixx exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he muttered under his breath, "Oh, buddy… you're toast."

Evan had never wanted to disappear more in his entire life. His charm, his quick wit—useless. There was no talking his way out of this one.

Then, as if the universe had heard his desperate plea, the fire alarm went off.

A shrill, piercing wail filled the restaurant, followed by flashing red lights and the immediate clatter of chairs against the floor. Panic spread like wildfire—diners jolted in shock, waiters froze mid-step, and the restaurant erupted into a frenzied scramble toward the exits.

This general panic gave Evan his only shot at survival. He didn't waste a second.

Seizing the opportunity, he pivoted on his heel and bolted toward a nearby table. Wixx, ever the picture of calm, had barely reacted, leisurely chewing on a piece of perfectly spiced lamb. Watching the scene unfold.

"Time to go!" Evan hissed, grabbing Wixx's arm.

With a sigh, Wixx allowed himself to be yanked from his seat. His other hand still held a chunk of meat, gripped delicately in his gloved fingers.

As they pushed through the frenzied crowd, Evan risked a glance over his shoulder. The girls were still at the table, momentarily disoriented by the sudden alarm. It wouldn't last long.

With one final tug, Evan dragged Wixx through the restaurant doors and into the cool night air.

As they ran, Wixx shook his head, panting. "You pulled the fire alarm, didn't you?"

Evan grinned. "A magician never reveals his secrets."

"But you don't do magic."

"I do now."

Then, voices rang out—some irritated, some confused, all of them angry.

"You coward!" Maya's voice cut through the commotion.

"I hope your steak burns!" Lyla added.

"You still owe me dessert, you snake!" Claire shouted.

But Evan didn't stop. Didn't look back.

They sprinted down the street, laughing breathlessly as Evan threw off his jacket like some kind of action hero making a getaway. Behind them, sirens wailed as fire trucks sped toward the restaurant. The night air was cold, but the adrenaline rushing through Evan's veins kept him warm.

They finally stopped in an alley a few blocks away, and both of them bent over, catching their breath.

Wixx raised a single brow. "Smooth."

Evan smirked, brushing his hand through his hair. "Please, I had it under control."

Wixx snorted, taking a deliberate bite off of the meat in his hand. "Right. That's why you ran like your life depended on it." He wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I give it a week before they all come after you."

"A week?" Evan scoffed. "I'm surprised they haven't formed a hunting party already."

Wixx smirked. "You do realize you're never going to get away with this, right?"

Evan leaned back against the brick wall, running a hand through his hair. "Oh, I know. But that's a problem for future Wixx."

Wixx shook his head, crossing his arms. "So, what's the plan for next year?"

Evan grinned mischievously, his eyes gleaming with untamed energy. "Next year? I think I'll take a vacation… maybe fake my own death."

9 years later.

As Evan slipped into his finely tailored black suit, the weight of the day was already starting to settle on him. His fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted his tie, the knot tight against his collar. The reflection staring back at him in the mirror was older and wearier, the usual spark in his eyes dulled by grief. He barely recognized himself. He had been to funerals before, but none had felt like this. None had left a hollow ache so deep in his chest that he feared it might never go away.

Nine years have passed since that chaotic Valentine's Day. Nine years of reckless adventures, late-night talks, and unbreakable brotherhood. Nine years of knowing that no matter what storm he stirred up, Wixx would always be there to drag him out before he drowned. And now, Wixx was gone.

The funeral was held in a small cemetery on the outskirts of town. The sky was an endless stretch of gray, the wind carrying the faint scent of rain. Rows of black-clad figures stood silently, heads bowed, the occasional sniffle breaking the quiet. It was the kind of quiet that felt deafening as if the world itself was holding its breath. Evan could barely register the murmured condolences as he made his way toward the casket, his chest tightening with each step.

Wixx had always been the one to keep him grounded, the steady hand that pulled him back when his own recklessness threatened to spiral out of control. He was more than a friend—he was family. The kind of family that wasn't bound by blood, but by something stronger. And now, standing before the polished wood, the finality of it all hit Evan like a punch to the gut.

He swallowed hard, clearing his throat as he placed a hand on the casket. "You always said I'd get myself into trouble one day," he murmured. "Guess you weren't wrong. But this time, it's different, Wixx. Because you're not here to pull me out of it."

His fingers curled into a fist. The air was thick—heavy, suffocating. His pulse hammered in his ears as tears burned at the edges of his vision. He forced himself to blink them back, but it was useless.

Then, a memory surfaced.

Wixx, arms crossed, watching Evan's latest stunt unravel. That ever-present smirk tugged at his lips, a slow shake of his head as he muttered, "One day, you won't be able to talk your way out of it. And when that day comes, you're on your own."

Evan let out a shaky breath. "I'm not ready for that."

A hand landed on his shoulder, grounding him. He turned to see Maya, her eyes filled with quiet sorrow.

"None of us are," she whispered. "But keep going. For him."

Evan swallowed hard, his throat tight. His fingers twitched at his sides as if trying to grasp something—anything—to hold onto. The guilt that had been gnawing at him for days surged forward, sharp and unforgiving.

Evan swallowed hard, his throat tight. His fingers twitched at his sides as if trying to grasp something—anything—to hold onto.

"He was this close to beating it, you know," he murmured, his voice raw. "And it was my fault. I brought those damn wicks."

Maya's breath hitched, but she didn't flinch. Instead, she stepped closer, her hands resting gently on his arms. "No, dear. It wasn't your fault." Her voice was soft, and steady, like an anchor in the storm.

But Evan shook his head, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. "You don't know that." His chest felt hollow, caving under the weight of unspoken guilt. "Maybe if I hadn't—"

Maya didn't let him finish. She just pulled him into a hug. And that was all it took. The walls he had tried so hard to keep up crumbled instantly. His breath stuttered, and before he could stop it, a muffled sob slipped out.

He squeezed his eyes shut, fists clenching the fabric of Maya's coat as if it could somehow hold him together.

Then, the priest's voice broke through the hush, solemn and final. The moment had come.

Evan let go, stepping back as if the distance could help him breathe. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his gaze locking onto the casket as it descended—slow and deliberate.

The first raindrops fell, cool against his burning skin. Light at first, then steady, like the sky itself had broken alongside him.

He didn't move. Didn't wipe the rain from his face. He just stood there, letting it soak through his suit, letting it drown out the sound of dirt hitting wood. Letting it soak through his suit, anchoring him in the cold, in the silence, in the crushing reality of goodbye.