A month ago, fate—or maybe just dumb luck—had thrown him into Hana Hyuga's path again. He'd been cutting through a side street near the market, head down, plotting his next move with the Uchiha mess, when he'd nearly crashed into her.
She'd been carrying a small basket of herbs, her pale eyes widening in surprise as she stumbled back, the basket tipping. He'd caught it—and her arm—before either hit the ground, muttering a quick apology. She'd blinked up at him, those unsettling Hyuga eyes locking onto his, and instead of a cold stare, she'd smiled—small, shy, but warm with recognition.
"Souta?" she'd said, voice soft but tinged with surprise, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "It's you—didn't expect to run into you again so soon."
He'd paused, caught off guard, then smirked to cover it. "Yeah, guess I've got a talent for bumping into you. You good?"
She'd nodded, steadying herself as he handed the basket back. "Thanks to you. Still quick, I see." Her head tilted, studying him like she was picking up where they'd left off. "It's been a month since I last saw you around."
He'd scratched the back of his neck, smile widening. "Long enough to miss me, huh?"
"Long enough to think of an excuse," she'd replied, her tone cryptic but playful, then she'd paused, eyes glinting with an idea. "Teach me how to make tea."
He'd blinked, thrown. "Tea? Where'd that come from?"
"You've got steady hands," she'd said simply, like it was obvious. "And I'm awful at it. Other says my tea's like dishwater. Figured I'd rope you into helping me out since we've crossed paths again." She'd wrinkled her nose, a flicker of frustration breaking her calm, and he'd laughed despite himself.
"Dishwater? That's brutal," he'd said, still puzzled but caught by her earnest stare. "Alright, fine. I'll teach you—but don't blame me if it's still terrible. You've gotta bring something to work with."
Her smile had brightened, unexpected and genuine. "Deal. One month from now, at the compound."
And that was that—no arguing, no backing out. Hana Hyuga had reeled him in with tea lessons as her excuse, and now, a month later, he was trudging toward the Hyuga Compound like some fool on a mission.
Part of him wondered if this was a bad move, even one like Hana, could draw unwanted attention. But that reckless streak, the one that kept him tangled with Mikoto and Kushina, saw potential. A tie from last month, persistent and maybe useful, couldn't hurt.
The gates loomed ahead, flanked by two stoic Hyuga guards. Their pale eyes flicked to him, assessing, and he flashed a lazy grin. "Souta. Here for Lady Hyuga. She's expecting me."
One guard nodded, silent, and waved him through. The compound sprawled out—clean lines, manicured gardens, air thick with pine and faint flowers. He followed her vague directions from a month back—"Past the third courtyard, left at the koi pond"—trying not to stick out. His world was back alleys and dive bars, not this polished realm of tradition and quiet power.
He found her by a small pavilion near the pond, kneeling on a mat with a low table set before her. She wore a simple pale blue kimono, dark hair tied back loosely. A tray waited beside her—teapot, cups, tea leaves—and she looked up as he neared, that shy smile flickering again.
"You actually came," she said, a hint of surprise in her voice, like she'd half-expected him to bail.
"Promised I would," he replied, dropping onto the mat across from her with a casual sprawl. "So, dishwater tea's how should we start?."
She laughed softly, barely audible, and slid the tray toward him. "I really am terrible. Tried everything: too long, too short, too many leaves, too few. It's always off." She fidgeted with her sleeve, a rare slip in her Hyuga poise.
Hana frowned, uncertain. "I don't know what my thing is."
"Yet," he added, smirking. "That's why I'm here. Step one: stop overthinking it. Tea's simple. Water, leaves, heat. You're not doing somthing complex."
She huffed, but her shoulders relaxed a fraction. "Show me, then."
He nodded, taking charge. "First, water. Too hot, and you scorch the leaves—makes it bitter. Too cold, and it's weak. Watch." He poured from a kettle she'd prepped, steam curling up as he gauged the temperature by feel—warm, not scalding. "Green tea like this? Just under boiling. Let it sit a sec."
Hana leaned in, watching his hands as he measured out the leaves—two pinches, no more, no less—and dropped them into the pot. "Not too much," he said, catching her eye. "You drown it in leaves, it's like drinking mud."
She nodded, intent, and he let the tea steep, counting silently. "Thirty seconds. Any longer, and it's stew." He poured it into two cups, the liquid a pale, clear green, and slid one to her. "Taste."
She hesitated, then lifted the cup, sipping carefully. Her eyes widened. "It's… good. Not bitter at all."
"See? Steady hands, steady pour. You've got this." He took a sip from his own cup, leaning back on one hand. "Now you try."
Hana took a breath, mimicking him—pouring the water, measuring the leaves, timing it. Her movements were stiff at first, too precise, but she followed his steps. When she poured the tea, it was a shade darker, but she handed him a cup anyway, biting her lip. "Well?"
He sipped, letting the flavor settle. "Not bad. A little strong, but not dishwater. Progress."
Her face lit up, a rare burst of pride, and she tasted her own. "You're right. It's… decent."
"Decent's a start," he said, grinning. "Keep practicing."