The next thing Boruto knew, he was in his father’s room.
He normally couldn’t enter this place, but the slightly open door had felt like it was somehow inviting him in.
Lots of photos with a smiling face greeted him.
It was a face he wasn’t familiar with.
It was his father’s face, back when he himself was a young boy, a young man.
Amidst those photos, there were pictures of Boruto himself after he’d been born too. There were pictures showing him as he grew up, too. His father must’ve looked at those particular photos a lot, cradling them one by one. He could tell because the frames had gotten worn down from his dad holding them in his hand.
And the more recent the photos of him got, the more worn they were.
“So stupid…he’s worn everything out, hasn’t he.”
Boruto saw an important looking piece of clothing hanging at the end of the line of photographs.
It was what Naruto used to wear in the past when he was reporting as part of ‘Team 7′. From when he’d been the same age as Boruto.
It had obviously gotten torn, and dirty, and damp with sweat in the past, and despite how carefully it had been cleaned and mended, the clothing clearly hadn’t been able to escape the wears and tears of time.
Why keep that kind of worn out thing? Boruto got angry.
“Old fashioned!”
He threw it away.
He couldn’t see the clothes he threw out the window as anything more than a worn out rag.
He couldn’t stand it.
He couldn’t tolerate the way his dad had devotedly taken care of this kind of smelly old rag.