Bathroom.
Just as he was washing his hands in preparation for dinner, Mikoto appeared at the doorway.
Makoto turned and stepped aside to make room for her.
"Please, go ahead."
Mikoto gave him a faintly mocking smile.
"I didn't expect Lord Hokage to be someone who cooks. Were you just now helping Miss Ayano prepare dinner in the kitchen?"
The insinuation was clear, causing Makoto to raise an eyebrow slightly.
Mikoto stepped up to the sink, leaning slightly forward to turn on the faucet and wash her hands.
As she bent down, her half-length skirt stretched taut, accentuating a captivating curve.
Makoto's gaze lingered unconsciously on the enticing arc below her waist.
After washing her hands, Mikoto turned back toward him.
Whether or not she noticed his wandering eyes was unclear.
She held up her wet hands and asked, "Do you have a towel?"
Makoto gestured toward a light-colored towel nearby. "That one's mine."
"Then forget it," Mikoto responded casually.
Instead of taking the towel, she simply wiped her wet hands on the brown knit sweater she wore, rubbing them across her chest.
Makoto could clearly see shimmering droplets clinging to the soft fabric fibers.
After wiping her hands dry, she brushed past Makoto without a second glance and left the bathroom.
The lingering fragrance of her passing made Makoto's lips curve into a playful smile.
This woman certainly had her ways.
It seemed Fugaku really had followed his advice.
For a man, making such a choice was undoubtedly more painful than death itself.
But as a father, what other option did he have when faced with Makoto's conditions?
And women like Mikoto, who were forced to endure for the sake of their families and children—well, Makoto always found them deserving of his tender affection.
At the Dining Table.
Makoto sat at the head of the table.
As there were guests present, Ayano did not join them.
The dishes were slightly more sumptuous than usual.
Ayano's culinary skills had improved to a commendable level, prompting Mikoto to praise the excellent flavors after tasting them.
She then remarked that Ayari was living far too comfortably now, with meals served on command, chores taken care of, and even servants to look after the child.
All she had to do was feed the baby occasionally without dealing with any crying or fuss.
The Uchiha clan, despite being large, never had the strict hierarchical mindset or social structure of the Hyuga.
Even the clan leader was purely a figure of leadership, so the idea of having household servants was virtually unheard of.
While hiring a nanny was possible, Mikoto personally found it entirely unnecessary.
This divergence in lifestyle was also tied to the history of the two clans.
Before the establishment of Konohagakure during the Warring States era, the Uchiha were mercenaries who sold their strength for payment.
In contrast, the Hyuga had long been a distinguished clan akin to noble families in various countries.
Tracing further back in history, this difference made sense.
The ancestor of the Uchiha was Indra, a figure abandoned by the Ninja Sect, while the Hyuga's ancestor was Otsutsuki Hamura, whose position was unquestionably significant despite not being part of the sect's official lineage.
Ayari simply laughed at Mikoto's comments, saying, "Why go through that kind of life when I can enjoy the luxury instead?"
Mikoto chuckled. "It seems you're truly living up to your title as the Hokage's wife."
Makoto feigned displeasure. "What do you mean by that? Such words could be considered treasonous."
Hearing this, Mikoto rolled her beautiful eyes at him, unintentionally exuding an enchanting charm that made Makoto's heart skip a beat.
There were no outsiders at the table, and they all knew it was just banter, so Mikoto paid no mind.
Amid the casual conversation, the topic shifted to Itachi.
Ayari said, "Isn't Itachi about to graduate early from the Ninja Academy?"
Makoto nodded. "That's right. Keeping him in school any longer would be a waste of his talent."
Ayari was more concerned about whether such a young child could get along with the older kids in the graduation classes, who were around twelve or thirteen years old, and whether he might be bullied.
Makoto reassured her, "Don't worry. The teammates I've arranged for him are excellent. And even if he does get bullied, he can just fight back."
Ayari pouted and scolded, "What kind of way is that to teach a child? And you're the Hokage too."
Mikoto laughed. "Although Itachi is young, he's very mature and rarely gets into conflicts with others."
Makoto agreed. "His temperament is indeed far beyond his years. With the right guidance, his future achievements will be limitless."
Ayari smiled sweetly at Mikoto and said, "Did you hear that? The Hokage himself praised your son."
Hearing such words naturally filled Mikoto's heart with joy.
She glanced at Makoto and asked with a smile, "Lord Hokage holds our Itachi in such high regard—do you think he could become Hokage in the future?"
Makoto chuckled. "Being excellent doesn't mean he has to become Hokage. He'll have his own aspirations, so don't burden him with too much pressure."
Mikoto's smile deepened. "I get the feeling you're hoping your son will become Hokage instead."
Makoto narrowed his eyes slightly, thinking to himself that this woman really had no reservations when speaking.
Ayari interjected, "Why can't my son become Hokage? His dad is the Hokage, and he'll definitely surpass him one day!"
Mikoto responded dismissively, "Sure, your son is the best."
Just then, Makoto felt a faint itchiness at his lower leg.
He glanced discreetly at both Ayari and Makoto.
The two continued their conversation, with Ayari seemingly trying to convince Mikoto about her son's potential, while Mikoto maintained a composed demeanor.
Makoto's expression remained neutral as he resumed eating, listening to their banter.
The sensation at his lower leg became increasingly distinct—something was slipping beneath the hem of his pants, brushing against his ankle in an awkward yet persistent manner.
Finding the situation amusing, Makoto began to savor this unexpected and peculiar stimulation.
After dinner, Ayari and Mikoto sat and chatted for a while longer as Ayano came over to clean up.
"It's getting late. I should be going," Mikoto said as she glanced at the darkened sky and then at Makoto.
"Let me walk you out," Makoto offered, rising at the same time.
The two left the brightly lit living room and stepped into the dimly lit corridor, making their way toward the front gate.
Makoto walked close to Mikoto, catching the faint fragrance that lingered on her.
Every woman had her own unique scent—Ayano and Ayari, even as sisters, each had their distinct allure and fragrance.
"It's been a while since you've visited my home, Lord Hokage," Mikoto remarked.
"Work has kept me busy; I haven't been able to find the time," Makoto sighed.
Then he smiled, "If you miss me, Mrs. Mikoto, you're always welcome to visit me at the office."
Mikoto chided playfully, "Lord Hokage, that's hardly appropriate. Is it okay to tease a married woman?"
Makoto chuckled. "Just a joke—why take it seriously?"
Despite what had happened under the table earlier, both of them maintained a polite facade.
"I've recently learned a few new recipes. You could bring Ayari over to my place to try them," Mikoto suggested.
"Sounds good. I'll check if Ayari is free."
"And if she isn't?"
"Then I suppose I'll have to come alone."
This man had just been talking about how busy he was with work, yet Mikoto couldn't help but scoff inwardly.
At the front gate, Makoto also came to a stop.
"Goodbye, Mrs. Mikoto."
As they said their farewells and Mikoto was about to leave, Mikoto suddenly felt a sharp sting on her rear.
She turned around abruptly to see Makoto grinning, waving cheerfully at her.
Without saying a word, Mikoto's expression remained unreadable in the darkness.
She simply turned and walked away from the Hokage's residence, her figure disappearing into the night.
The street was quiet and empty, leaving only her solitary steps echoing in the stillness.
The way home felt endlessly long, and for the first time, she noticed just how many streetlights lined the path.
Itachi was still waiting for her at home.
"Despicable, truly despicable... Uchiha Mikoto..."
"Heh... hehe..."
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