🎉🎉🎉STIN: Chapter 127/133

Chapter 127: Rampage

"Boom!!!"

A sudden, explosive roar tore through the air. The bluestone ground beneath their feet shattered like brittle glass. From deep underground, a primal force, ancient and beast-like, broke its chains and surged upward.

Thick, nearly tangible strands of violet-black chakra shot into the sky and spread outward. The chakra radiated pure hatred, thick enough to blot out the sun. In an instant, it smashed through Kumo's carefully constructed defenses. The shockwave surged with choking dust, tearing through the village like a living beast. Buildings groaned and collapsed. Rubble rained down like hail. Screams of terror mixed with the sound of destruction, and in mere moments, a peaceful village was plunged into hell.

Ryo tilted his head slightly, letting the wind, thick with dust and sand, sweep across his sharp features. In the distance, the violet-black beam marking a tailed-beast's rampage pierced the sky. His eyes showed no panic, only cold analysis.

"Oh? The Eight-Tails is loose," he said, his voice low but strangely clear through the chaos. "Kumo's sealing technique really is something... about as durable as wet paper." His tone was flat, sarcasm cutting like a blade. He didn't take his eyes off the chaos and continued, "What's more impressive is you, Orochimaru. Just a few days, and you managed to send that beast over the edge? What did you use?"

From the shadows nearby, Orochimaru calmly sealed several vials of strange liquid into a scroll. His pale face flickered in and out of the dusty light.

"Heh, just a little catalyst," he replied with eerie satisfaction. "A formula tailored to specific mental waves. Designed to amplify those souls full of hatred and despair." As he stored the scroll, his voice blended regret and delight. "On a tailed-beast, a mass of negative energy, the effect is overwhelming. Sadly, it only works once. After this, the other villages will begin developing countermeasures. A shame for the art."

Ryo's expression didn't change. "Once was enough." He picked up an empty bottle from the table. A few drops of violet liquid clung to its sides. He opened it and took a sniff. It was odorless and colorless, like purified air—calm and terrifying. This unremarkable substance had triggered the entire disaster. Scientists really were pure creatures of logic, cold and ruthless.

He tossed the bottle among the shattered stones at his feet and looked toward the heart of the chaos. "You want to watch, or are we leaving?" He knew the rampage wouldn't last long. That Raikage named "A" would arrive soon. Total destruction of Kumo? Unlikely. The core goal was complete. A blade had been driven into the heart of the village, with dirt thrown on Iwa. The rest was Orochimaru's work. Ryo hadn't been idle either, having taken a stroll through Thundercloud Gorge and collected a few "local souvenirs" for Kushina to try.

Orochimaru had just put the scroll away when he turned, that signature cold, eerie smile spreading across his face. "Ryo-kun, interested in watching an encore performance?"

Ryo's lips twitched faintly. "Of course. Wouldn't want to miss it. Free ticket to a beast match? Can't say no to that." He noticed Orochimaru's wide sleeve seemed unusually heavy. Most likely he'd pocketed a horn fragment from the Eight-Tails.

"Roar!!!"

The sound tore through the dusty sky, filled with destructive intent. As the smoke cleared slightly, a massive, crimson chakra monster stood at the center of the village, rampaging without restraint. Its shape flickered between forms—sometimes serpentine, sometimes octopus-like. Beneath the cloak of chakra, skeleton and muscle flashed faintly. Chaos incarnate. The Jinchūriki, Fukai, had already been consumed by hatred. Hachibi's violent will had taken full control. The only thought now was destruction.

Its massive limbs swept out like meteors, trailing violent gales. "Boom! Crash!" Solid hotel walls were shredded like paper. Another swing carved deep scars in the ground. Market stalls were flattened. Screams, debris, and terror formed a desperate chorus. Villagers and merchants fled in panic like ants beneath a storm.

"Earth Release: Multiple Earth Wall!"

A hoarse roar rang out. Tsuchidai, Kumo's acting commander, led a group of dust-covered Jōnin straight into the chaos. Slamming his palms onto the ground, Tsuchidai pushed chakra out with force. Massive earthen walls erupted, rising like cliffs and layering upon one another. A temporary defense appeared in the Eight-Tails' path.

"Hold it here! Seal squad, now! Reinforce the seal!" Tsuchidai's voice cracked from strain. Sweat and dust dripped down his face as his bloodshot eyes locked onto the rampaging chakra beast slamming against the walls. Each impact shattered cracks through the defenses. "Where is the Raikage?! Why isn't he here yet?! Someone, check!"

"Report! Carrier pigeons and fast-response shinobi have been dispatched. The Raikage should be en route!" a Jōnin shouted, veins bulging with effort as he maintained the jutsu. "But this thing… its hide is too thick! Regular ninjutsu doesn't even leave a scratch!"

"Damn it. Hold the line, no matter what!" Tsuchidai gritted his teeth. He had never felt more powerless. Facing a tailed-beast, shinobi felt like cannon fodder. Their attacks might as well have vanished into the void. Even elite jutsu could only delay its wrath for seconds.

Ryo and Orochimaru stood atop a building that hadn't yet collapsed, observing the battlefield. Flames and red chakra flickered in their eyes. Orochimaru stood silently, arms folded, his pale figure bathed in shadow.

"What exactly did you put in that vial," Ryo finally asked, "that could turn a tailed-beast into such a pure engine of destruction?" He recalled the liquid clearly. Nothing about it made logical sense.

Orochimaru chuckled dryly, his throat letting out a rasp like a snake's hiss. "Heh… it's simple. Tailed-beasts hate those who cage them. Jinchūriki hate the curse placed on them. I just amplified that hatred a little. Then nudged the sealing technique along." He spread his hands, casual and elegant. "All it takes is a spark."

Ryo's eyes narrowed. In the end, he muttered only two words. "Psychological bomb." In his mind, he'd flagged Orochimaru as a high-risk contaminant. But he had to admit, the bastard was effective.

At that moment, the Eight-Tails' form shifted again. Its crimson chakra condensed and hardened. In an instant, the outline snapped into shape. Scaled black skin. A massive skull. A single giant, blood-red eye filled with pure destruction. The most terrifying part was the vast buildup of energy in its mouth. A chilling silence took hold. The air around it vanished. Light warped inward.

A dark, ominous sphere formed, growing rapidly.

The Tailed-Beast Bomb.

"Looks like," Ryo said flatly, his voice colder than before, "we should move back." He had no desire to be coated in fallout. Sure, Flying Thunder God could get him out, but cleanup was a pain.

They didn't wait. The two vanished instantly, flickering like smoke into the shadows. After a few quick jumps, they landed on a distant, abandoned watchtower. From here, the crushing pressure of the bomb could still be felt, crawling down their spines.

"Roar!!!"

It was complete. The Eight-Tails launched the bomb, hurling the mountain-crushing sphere toward the center of the village. A shriek echoed in its wake. Every Kumo shinobi who saw it felt their blood run cold.

It was over. This strike would wipe out half the village.

Then, in that final second—

"Ah!!!"

A flash of lightning shattered the world. Like a divine spear ripping through space, it struck.

"Boom!!!!!!!"

Even louder than the Tailed-Beast Bomb, the sound was like a god hammering the sky. A thunderclap that flattened everything.

The lightning beam struck the bomb directly and smashed the Eight-Tails' jaw in the same breath. The deadly sphere of energy wobbled like a bubble, shrank, then vanished in the blinding light. The Eight-Tails' massive head snapped upward. Its body was flung back like a ragdoll struck by an invisible giant.

"Rumble… rumble rumble..."

The enormous beast gouged a deep trench across the village, destroying everything in its path.

The lightning faded.

A towering figure now stood at the heart of the battlefield. Muscles bulged beneath a dark combat uniform. White hair bristled like blades. His face was carved from stone. Blue lightning crackled around him like living serpents.

The Sandaime Raikage had arrived.

"Raikage-sama!!!" "He's here!!!"

From the brink of despair, Kumo erupted in cheers. Relief washed over them like a flood.

The Raikage stood immovable, scanning the battlefield and the wounded Eight-Tails with calm eyes. His voice cut through the noise.

"Tsuchidai. Begin rescue operations. Evacuate civilians. Find the cause of this. This is my responsibility."

Far on the watchtower…

"…Terrifying speed and taijutsu," Orochimaru murmured, eyes narrowing. His arms tensed. His unnaturally modified body froze for a second. Only Ryo noticed.

"It's time to go," Ryo said calmly. The main event was over. Staying would be foolish. "If we linger, ANBU will track our trail from the impact. Getting caught would mean being hunted by an enraged Raikage and all of Kumo. Not worth the mess." He didn't mind a fight, but he hated pointless complications. Especially now.

Orochimaru's smile faded. His expression turned cold. Ryo's judgment was accurate. The Raikage's strength had exceeded expectations. If they were discovered, the plot would collapse. Worse, Danzō would pin the blame on them for unauthorized actions. Even a mad scientist like Orochimaru knew when to pull out.

Ryo's hand was already on Orochimaru's shoulder.

Flying Thunder God Technique.

Like ink vanishing in water, the two disappeared the instant they stepped off the tower.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 128: Orochimaru’s Overt Scheme

Kumogakure, once alive with lightning and raw power, was now a wasteland. Collapsed walls and shattered pillars littered the ground, scorched beams and broken tiles revealing a scene of utter destruction. The air was choked with the stench of blood and dust. Rescue teams hurried through the rubble, stretchers draped in white cloth occasionally revealing rigid limbs underneath, drawing muffled sobs and anguished cries from bystanders. Shinobi hauled stones from the wreckage, searching desperately for survivors. Their faces were streaked with dirt, their eyes hollow with exhaustion and grief.

The source of the devastation, the Eight-Tails' berserk rampage, had left wounds far too deep. Although the Sandaime Raikage arrived in time and risked his life to lure the rampaging beast away from the village center, the destruction caused in mere moments had already carved irreparable scars. Homes were annihilated, families shattered. Once-busy streets were now haunted by the moan of wind through debris.

After the Sandaime led the Eight-Tails toward the Thundercloud Gorge, command fell to the acting commander, a senior Jōnin and tactician the Raikage trusted deeply. He immediately launched a sharp and uncompromising investigation, his gaze cold and razor-sharp as he combed the ruins for any overlooked trace.

The first to be discovered were the two ANBU responsible for monitoring the Jinchūriki. Seriously injured, they were rescued from the collapsed wreckage and stabilized by the medical unit before being dragged before the commander for a brutal interrogation. The air in the room still held traces of fluctuating chakra.

"When was your last report? Has Fukai shown any abnormal behavior recently? Any contact with suspicious individuals?"

His voice was calm but carried a crushing weight. Each word slammed into the ANBU like iron.

Still bruised and bloodied, the two struggled to answer, brows furrowed in confusion and fear. Finally, they shook their heads.

"Reporting… Fukai-sama's mood has been relatively stable lately. He followed his usual patrol routine. No signs of outside interference. The rampage… it came without warning..."

"No warning?" The commander's frown deepened. No unusual contacts, no emotional instability, then what triggered the outburst? Could the seal have failed? But Kumo's Jinchūriki sealing method had been refined through countless tests. It shouldn't have failed so suddenly.

An ominous chill ran down his spine. Something was wrong. Someone had bypassed all surveillance and triggered this explosion with surgical precision. The method was too clean. Too calculated. It sent shivers through him.

The investigation widened like a spider's web. Every step of Fukai's past week was scrutinized, his meals, his patrols, every person he had spoken to. All threads led to a seemingly insignificant location, a small noodle shop on the village outskirts.

According to the ANBU, Fukai had visited this modest shop nearly every day in the past week, always ordering the same signature dish. For a Jinchūriki burdened with endless restrictions, that little shop offered rare peace.

But the commander's instincts screamed danger. Without hesitation, he gathered his elites and stormed the shop.

What they found confirmed his worst fears.

The wooden door was ajar. Tables and chairs overturned. The stove cold. The floor littered with broken bowls and scattered footprints. The entire space radiated silence. Not a trace of life remained.

"Search every inch," the commander barked. His eyes swept the room like a hawk.

Soon, a Chūnin uncovered several nearly-incinerated paper scraps hidden in a crevice near the stove. Barely visible. If not for a meticulous search, they would've been dismissed as ash. But on the greasy wooden table sat a lone transparent glass bottle. At its bottom was a thin layer of coagulated, dark purple liquid.

The commander's heart sank.

"Send this bottle to forensics. Now. Drop everything else. I want results immediately," he snapped. His voice brooked no delay. He carefully collected the burned fragments. Their texture and color, unmistakably from the Land of Earth.

This was Orochimaru's handiwork.

He didn't need to frame Iwagakure directly. He only had to lead Kumo to that conclusion.

The cruelest traps require no lies, only the truth carefully arranged.

The commander wrapped the fragments in chakra-resistant scrolls. This evidence was critical.

As he stepped out of the ruined shop, his gaze swept over the devastated village. Wounded shinobi moaned, civilians wept in the ruins. The scent of blood hung heavy in the air.

All of this had come from one carefully orchestrated scheme.

Rage surged through him like molten iron. His fists clenched, nails digging into flesh.

"Iwa. Ga. Kure," he growled, each syllable soaked in murderous intent. Even if this was a setup, the trail pointed only there. It was a direct provocation. And Kumo could not ignore it.

The village needed justice. The dead needed closure. If someone owed a kindness, it would be repaid in blood.

Kumo had no other choice.

Before the commander could act, a deafening roar echoed from the Thundercloud Gorge. A sound like a war drum shaking the heavens.

The battle at the gorge decided Kumo's fate.

Lightning and thunder intertwined in the heart of the gorge. The earth was split with deep fissures. Massive craters dotted the terrain. Huge chunks of rock had collapsed.

At the center stood the Sandaime Raikage, Kumo's strongest shield and spear. His body was wrapped in lightning chakra, forming armor of blinding blue arcs. Every step cracked the earth with power. This was the Lightning Release Chakra Mode.

Opposite him was the berserk Eight-Tails, massive and wild, with a bull's head and eight lashing tentacles.

But something was wrong. Despite its overwhelming size, the Eight-Tails was breathing heavily. Its tentacles moved sluggishly. Its bloodshot eyes weren't just furious. They were desperate.

"Get lost, you stubborn old man. I just want freedom. Let me out of this damned place," the Eight-Tails roared. It wasn't mindless. This was rage born from pain and suppression. It wanted to escape. To run free.

But the man before it, wrapped in lightning, blocked its path.

"As long as I still stand, you won't take a single step out of Kumo," the Raikage answered. His voice cracked like thunder. His body bore scorch marks and bleeding wounds, but his presence remained immovable.

It was a battle of stamina and sheer will.

The Eight-Tails growled in frustration. A creature of near-limitless chakra, now struggling against a single human. This wasn't just a fight. It was humiliation.

Then the Raikage raised his hand. Four fingers extended.

That technique.

"Hell Stab One-Finger Nukite."

With a thunderous roar, the Raikage condensed his lightning chakra into a single spear of destruction. His fingers became a blade of thunder. The air screamed as it tore forward.

The Eight-Tails panicked. The move had injured it countless times. Instinct took over.

"Roar. Die."

It opened its mouth wide. Yin-Yang chakra swirled, forming a condensed Tailed-Beast Bomb. It wasn't large, but the speed of its formation was terrifying. The ground beneath them cracked under its pressure.

The Raikage's expression shifted.

He knew how deadly a Tailed-Beast Bomb at this range could be. The shockwave alone could wipe out their entire division.

Without hesitation, he accelerated, lightning wrapping around him as he shot forward like a living bolt. His target, the very core of the bomb.

Too fast.

Too reckless.

The Eight-Tails was stunned. It never expected the Raikage to charge straight into the bomb's mouth.

The moment's hesitation was fatal.

The bomb, already completed, detonated.

The Eight-Tails jerked its head down to dodge. Not to fire, but to avoid the suicide charge.

Boom.

The Tailed-Beast Bomb exploded at point blank.

A blinding flash swallowed the gorge. A blare louder than thunder followed. The shockwave flattened the area in a perfect circle. The gorge's rock walls were shredded. A massive crater replaced the battlefield. The explosion rocked even the shinobi stationed far outside the gorge.

As the dust slowly settled…

"Ugh…" The Raikage staggered. His lightning armor flickered violently.

The Eight-Tails fared no better. It had taken the brunt of its own explosion. Smoke rose from its head. Its tails were limp. Blood poured from its nose and mouth. It collapsed, unconscious.

"Cough… bastard…"

The Raikage looked at the beast. The last of his strength ebbed away. His knees buckled.

Just before he lost consciousness, he saw the commander and a squad of elite Jōnin rushing toward him through the smoke.

(To be continued.)

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Chapter 129: The Real Culprit

"Raikage-sama!!"

Tsuchidai's urgent voice tore through the air as he led a team of elite Jōnin into the heart of Thundercloud Gorge. Dust still clung to the ground. The battlefield was a scene of total destruction. Beside a massive crater lay the towering figure of the Third Raikage, his mountain-like body collapsed, a charred wound cutting across his chest and abdomen. The wound's shape eerily resembled the technique he was known for—Hell Stab.

A cold terror gripped Tsuchidai like never before. "Quick! Get a stretcher! Send him to the hospital, call the highest-grade medical team!" he shouted, voice shaking.

"Yes, Commander Tsuchidai!"

Several Jōnin moved swiftly, lifting the unconscious Raikage with utmost care and rushing toward the Kumo hospital. His condition left an oppressive silence hanging over the team.

"Where is the Seal Squad?! Move, now! Contain the Eight-Tails immediately!" Tsuchidai turned and bellowed into his communicator-nin, the veins on his forehead bulging. "This cannot be left unattended!"

Within the gorge, orders rang out. Though shaken and grieving, the experienced shinobi of Kumo divided into two forces. One escorted the Raikage out, dust trailing behind. The other, under Tsuchidai's direct command, charged toward the still-raging but weakened Eight-Tails.

In the distance, the outline of Kumogakure loomed faintly through the haze. Built along the mountainside in grand fashion, it now stood wreathed in columns of smoke. Rubble and scorched ground stretched as far as the eye could see. The cries of the wounded and dying floated from the ruins, piercing every shinobi's heart. The village they had built and defended with pride—restoring it would take more than just time. It would take blood, resources, and resolve.

Tsuchidai wiped his face and glanced between the ruined gorge and the smoking village. A suffocating sense of powerlessness weighed down on him, slowly building into fury. This wasn't a natural disaster. It was an act of war. And someone would pay.

In the hospital, the Third Raikage stirred. His brows furrowed deeply. His eyes opened slowly. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled his nose, and a pale ceiling came into view. After a moment, the images from just before he lost consciousness returned—pain, the Eight-Tails' rampage, his own desperate final move.

"Raikage-sama, you're awake!" Tsuchidai rushed to the bedside, bowing deeply. His voice trembled between relief and anxiety, his eyes full of concern.

The Raikage coughed hard, shaking his head to clear the dizziness. With effort, he propped himself up using one thick, muscled arm. The motion pulled at the wound in his chest, sending sharp pain through his body. But he didn't utter a sound. His piercing blue eyes locked on Tsuchidai with steely force. "Tsuchidai. The Eight-Tails. Is it sealed? What's the village's status?"

Tsuchidai's relief vanished. His expression sank as he inhaled deeply. "Raikage-sama, the Eight-Tails has been successfully subdued and is currently sealed within the village's central barrier. We are waiting for a new Jinchūriki to be chosen for the final transfer."

He paused, then his voice grew heavy. "But the village… has suffered massive damage. The core areas were completely destroyed. Countless residents, merchants, travelers… those who couldn't evacuate in time… died instantly." He clenched his jaw. "Especially the commercial district. The losses are catastrophic. Our reputation, our economy…"

Even in a world where power ruled, when large numbers of civilians died and trade collapsed, even a major village like Kumo had to face consequences. Without transparency, without reparations, no one would dare set foot in the Land of Lightning again. No one would trade with Kumo. The economy would choke.

Suddenly, a terrifying pressure radiated from the Raikage's body. The air in the room turned heavy. His signature thunder-brows twisted, fists clenching the edge of the bed so hard that sparks of chakra pulsed and cracked the nearby wall.

"Have we found the truth?" The Raikage's voice was low and cold, like distant thunder. "Who. Did. This. Who triggered the rampage?"

This was no accident. He was sure of it. Fukai had a solid will, a steel-hard mind. He wouldn't just lose control out of nowhere. Someone made this happen. And the Raikage wanted a name.

"Raikage-sama," Tsuchidai said firmly, his eyes burning with rage. "That's what I came to report. I propose we launch an immediate, large-scale purge within the village."

His voice grew sharper. "This Eight-Tails incident was clearly the work of an enemy agent. An assassination plot to destabilize Kumo. And based on the evidence we have… all signs point to Iwagakure."

"What? Iwagakure?!" the Raikage's eyes widened. His longtime rival Daino-ki's detestable face flashed in his mind.

"Exactly." Tsuchidai pulled out a scroll and unsealed it. "We traced Fukai's movements before the rampage. He visited a certain tavern frequently. The original owner was found murdered in an alley. Replaced by a spy."

"Using that cover, the spy poisoned Fukai's food over time. A rare neurotoxin that suppressed chakra circulation gradually. Colorless. Odorless. Almost undetectable. It weakened his will and allowed the Eight-Tails' consciousness to slip through the cracks."

He laid out the timing with grim precision. "And right now, Ōnoki is gathering troops on the border. Their target is Konoha. His son Kitsuchi is still trapped in Konoha's hands. They're afraid we might strike their flank while they're distracted. So they created chaos here. To tie us down."

"For the sake of saving his son, that bastard reached his hand into our village. Cold, precise, despicable." Tsuchidai's teeth clenched. "Of course, it could be someone else framing Iwa. Konoha. Suna. But Konoha's tied up in Ame. Suna's broke. And Kiri? Hiding in the mist, barely functioning. No guts, no strength."

Everything pointed back to Iwa.

"Ōnoki!" The Raikage's chest rose and fell like a storm. The pain in his wound flared. But he didn't care. Rage surged through him. Chakra exploded from his fists like lightning ready to split the earth.

Boom!

The steel hospital bed crumpled under his grip like paper. A shockwave burst outward. Wall-hangings crashed. Windows shattered. The entire floor trembled like an earthquake had hit.

"Mobilize the army!" the Raikage roared. "Now! Tsuchidai! I'm going to make Iwagakure pay a hundredfold!"

His shout wasn't just for revenge. It was to reignite the village's morale. Kumo needed a target. It needed clarity. Honor. Revenge. And a warning to the rest of the world.

Whether Iwagakure was guilty or not, they were guilty now.

"Raikage-sama, please! Control yourself!" Tsuchidai flinched, eyes wide from the explosion of force. The hospital was still full of patients. One more outburst could bring the building down.

"Hmph. A bed like that can't restrain me," the Raikage growled. He ripped off his bandages. His chest was bare, his torso covered in battle scars. One in particular stood out—a jagged lightning-shaped wound across his chest. His gaze lingered on it for a moment, eyes narrowing with bitterness.

Shame.

The greatest shame of his life.

He, the so-called shield and spear of Kumo, wounded by his own technique. Hell Stab. A perfect attack, but at a cost. In that final moment, when he charged the Eight-Tails to stop a direct hit on the village, he had launched the thrust at such speed, he couldn't fully control it. The result was obvious.

He would never say it out loud. Not even to Tsuchidai. If Ōnoki ever learned the truth, he'd laugh himself to death. For Kumo's pride, for the title of Raikage, this disgrace would be buried forever.

Tsuchidai saw the flicker of emotion in the Raikage's eyes. He understood there were questions best left unasked.

There was something about that wound. But now wasn't the time to think about it.

The war order had been given. That mattered more.

Suppressing all doubt, Tsuchidai straightened. The village's military force had to be gathered. The army must be prepared. He glanced once more at the wound across the Raikage's chest, then turned and left the room with firm steps.

(To be continued.)

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Chapter 130: Trouble Falls from the Sky?!

News of the Eight-Tails' rampage in Kumogakure spread like wildfire across the shinobi world, carried through countless covert but highly efficient channels.

Konohagakure, Hokage Office

"Oh? Orochimaru and Ryo… they really didn't disappoint this old man."

Hiruzen set aside a top-secret scroll, a rare, genuine smile creeping across his weathered face, tinged with mischief and satisfaction. He carefully stored the scroll, then walked to the window, gazing toward the Land of Lightning. Deep in his experienced eyes flickered a trace of schadenfreude, like someone watching a neighbor's roof go up in flames.

"Hidden Cloud… looks like it's your turn." He gently stroked his pipe, his voice calm and pleased. With the enemy's backyard ablaze, it was the best news Konoha could ask for. Especially when the Land of Rain frontlines were pushing them to the brink. The pressure eased, if only slightly.

Sunagakure, Wind Tower

The Third Kazekage set down an intel scroll. From beneath his gold-sand mask came a muffled hum.

"The Eight-Tails lost control? At a time like this?"

He passed the scroll to his trusted advisor Chiyo. His voice carried deep suspicion. "The intel is confirmed. What do you think? Could Iwagakure really be behind it?"

Chiyo didn't respond immediately. She took a slow sip from her still-warm teacup, letting the aroma settle before calmly setting it down. Her aged eyes narrowed.

"To slip past Kumo's internal security and directly target their Jinchūriki with such precision…" Her voice was low and deliberate. "That's not something average forces could pull off."

Ebizō added, frustrated, "The latest casualty report is in. Because of the internal purge triggered by the Eight-Tails' rampage, the intelligence network we spent years embedding into Cloud… especially the deep-infiltration agents… they're all gone. Not a single one made it out."

He pressed his temples, trying to suppress the sting. Cultivating even one agent buried deep in an enemy's inner circle took enormous time and effort. Now it was all ash.

"So, your suspicion is…" The Kazekage's frown deepened.

"No one but Iwagakure," Chiyo said firmly. "They're the only ones with the motive and the means. Ōnoki's ambitions are no secret, and his grudge with the Third Raikage runs deep. The border skirmishes between them have never truly ceased. If not for mutual deterrence, full-scale war would've broken out long ago. And now, with Kumo thrown into chaos, the one who stands to benefit most is Ōnoki."

She paused, then her voice turned cold. "Kumo's misfortune may be amusing to others, but we must not forget our own risk. Kazekage-sama, we must immediately reinforce security around Bunpuku. Not a single flaw allowed. The moment the tailed beasts become targets, every village that has one becomes a potential battlefield."

The room's atmosphere turned grim.

Watching others burn was only fun until the fire reached your house. If the Eight-Tails could cripple a mountain-stronghold like Kumo, what would happen if Ichibi, housed within the fragile walls of Sunagakure, went berserk?

The thought was chilling.

Sunagakure was poor. Its buildings, mostly sandstone, were brittle. Its resources strained. The war effort already consumed more than the village could sustain.

Even if the Kazekage's Magnet Release could subdue Ichibi, the collateral damage would be devastating. Rebuilding wasn't an option. It would be Sunagakure's ruin.

"Advisor Chiyo is absolutely right." The Kazekage's voice turned hard. "The chaos in Kumo is a warning. Relay my orders. Assign the elite ANBU to guard Bunpuku. Full secrecy. Maximum protection. Seal teams must remain on 24-hour standby."

Losing their base now would spell disaster. Even the smallest mistake could reduce Sunagakure to dust in the eyes of its enemies. The Kazekage's gaze turned steely. His tone allowed no dissent.

Iwagakure, Tsuchikage's Office

Far away in the rocky bastion of the Land of Earth, the mood was very different.

Inside his office, Ōnoki of Both Scales had just concluded a strategy meeting. He was reviewing proposals to increase support for the Land of Rain frontlines when a trusted ninja placed a thin scroll on his desk.

"Tsuchikage-sama. Urgent intelligence."

Too tired to even look up, Ōnoki said flatly, "Read it."

But the moment the words "Kumogakure," "Eight-Tails Jinchūriki," "loss of control," and "mass casualties" hit his ears, his brush froze mid-stroke. A huge blot of ink splashed across the page.

His head snapped up. His eyes narrowed.

"The Eight-Tails… lost control?"

First came shock. Then—pure glee.

"HAHAHAHA!!!" Laughter burst from his chest. "Beautiful! Brilliant work!"

He laughed so hard he forgot his bad back.

Crack!

A sharp pop echoed through the room. His old spinal injury flared. Pain stabbed up his spine. His laughter choked into a cry of pain.

He doubled over the desk, clutching his waist. His aides flinched, unsure whether to help or pretend nothing happened.

But even in pain, Ōnoki's joy burned hot. He forced his head up, eyes gleaming.

"Excellent. Simply excellent. That meathead Ai must be scrambling like a rat in a flood right now. Let's see if he still has time to watch our border."

Everything was aligning. With Cloud in chaos, his plans to pressure Konoha and retrieve his son, Kurotsuchi, could proceed unopposed. This was divine favor.

"Danzō, Konoha… wait for me. My son, I'm coming to get you!"

Ōnoki's short frame practically danced with energy. He was already plotting, should he stoke Kumo's fire further? Extort reparations? Press the advantage?

Then—

Bang!

The office doors flew open. A disheveled ANBU rushed in, face pale with panic.

"Report! Tsuchikage-sama! Urgent!"

"What now?!" Ōnoki snapped, annoyed.

The ANBU stumbled forward, voice tight. "Kumogakure's main forces have mobilized. They're heading straight for our border. The Third Raikage is personally leading them. He's declared war. Publicly. Claims he has irrefutable proof that the Eight-Tails rampage was orchestrated by you, Tsuchikage-sama. There will be no negotiations."

Silence.

Ōnoki stared at him. Blinked once.

The joy on his face froze.

The blood drained from his cheeks.

Cough, cough, cough, cough!

He hacked violently, choking on the laugh he hadn't finished. It felt like being doused in ice water.

He clutched his spine again, which now throbbed with rage-induced pain.

"What the hell do you mean I did it?! Evidence?! What evidence?!"

Just minutes ago, he was celebrating. Now, he'd been framed as the mastermind? Ai was coming with his full army, based on some "irrefutable proof"?

A massive black cauldron of blame had dropped from the sky and landed on his already injured back.

His aides stared, eyes wide.

"Did we do it?"

"No one gave the order…"

Ōnoki was shaking, his fingers twitching in rage.

"DAMN YOU, A!!!"

He slammed his fist into the table, ignoring the pain. His voice roared through the stone building.

"I SWEAR TO THE GODS—IT WASN'T ME!!!"

(To be continued.)

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Chapter 131: Responsibility and Naïveté

Shimura Danzō sat alone at his desk, the dim oil lamp casting a sharp shadow across his face, splitting it in two like a coiled viper in half-light. His knuckles whitened around the urgent scroll from Konoha. The edges of the parchment curled, as if bitten by teeth.

"Sarutobi… that weakling bastard."

The low growl slipped between clenched teeth, drenched in venom, choking the already stifling air inside the tent. The ANBU who had delivered the report stood silent, still as a statue. Everyone knew—Danzō was on the verge of eruption.

That damned Tsuchikage, Ōnoki. Danzō could already picture the smug twist of that short, stocky face. Iwa had been rampaging across the Rain battlefield. Suna was crumbling. Victory for Konoha was close at hand.

He had held the trump card, Ōnoki's beloved son, Kitsuchi. The moment the boy was captured, Ōnoki had lost it. The Iwa army had massed along the border, ready to launch a rescue operation. That was the crisis Danzō had engineered. The very reason he had sent Orochimaru and Ryo to stir up chaos in Kumo and trigger the Eight-Tails' rampage.

That giant black pot of blame, dropped squarely onto Iwa's head, had successfully diverted Kumo's wrath. Their insane thirst for revenge had forced Iwa to pull back, defending their own territory instead.

Everything was going according to plan. Danzō was satisfied. This feat would bring him one step closer to the Hokage's seat.

It should have been his moment. With Kurotsuchi as leverage, every term he drafted could've forced Iwa to bleed. For Konoha's benefit. For Root. For himself. He had it all in his grasp.

Until that damned Hiruzen destroyed it.

The scroll in his hands held the command like a knife to the throat.

["Release Kurotsuchi unconditionally… excessive coercion is unwise… de-escalate to prompt withdrawal..."]

["De-escalate? Buy time?" Danzō nearly ground his molars to dust. That old monkey, sitting safely in Konoha, knew nothing of the battlefield. Nothing of the blood spilled in the Land of Rain. Nothing of how fragile momentum could be.]

He had endured this hellhole for over two years. Sacrificed countless Root elites. Built the intelligence networks himself. Walked through trap-ridden terrain. All for this one opportunity. To seize power. To silence his doubters. To show the Elder Council that Konoha needed an iron-fisted hand, not soft benevolence.

And now, with one feather-light order from afar, Sarutobi had swept it all away. Danzō's plan. His leverage. His glory. Traded for what? An empty promise of withdrawal. Letting Kurotsuchi go bought nothing. It weakened Konoha. It reeked of surrender.

"Get out." Danzō's head rose, his bloodshot single eye locking onto the ANBU. His voice rasped, heavy with wrath.

The ANBU vanished, a blur of shadow escaping from the tent as if fleeing death.

Crash.

Danzō slammed his hand into the desk. It splintered beneath his palm. Wood flew. His chest heaved. Every breath was a snarl.

Sarutobi Hiruzen… One day, I will redefine the will of Konoha. This false peace of yours will be replaced. Root will rule.

The rain poured harder.

Elsewhere, in the medical camp, the sharp scent of herbs and blood filled the air. The flickering oil lamp cast shadows over Tsunade's face. She had just completed another emergency surgery. Sweat clung to her skin. Her fingers still carried the warmth of fresh blood. Flexing her aching wrist, she pushed aside the curtain and stepped into the critical care ward.

The scene hit harder than any battlefield.

The dim light lit only a small patch of the space. In the shadows, rows of makeshift wooden beds stretched endlessly. Each held a blood-soaked figure wrapped in gauze. Groans, muffled sobs, coughing filled the cramped tent. The rain dripped through leaks in the canvas above, forming puddles beneath the beds.

A boy with half his face burned and hollow sockets stared blankly at the ceiling. A one-armed Jōnin struggled to lift a water cup with his remaining hand. Further down, someone wrapped head-to-toe in bandages wheezed like a dying bellows. A young medic beside him wiped sweat from his brow. Her eyes were red, her movements mechanical.

"Water…"

The one-armed Jōnin's fingers brushed the cup but couldn't lift it. The medic froze.

Tsunade moved before she could think.

Her heart clenched. This was just one case. One tent. The war had gone on too long. The Land of Rain was in ruins. Konoha's strength drained daily. And Suna? Amegakure? They were likely no better. This wasn't war. It was collective suicide.

Suna's siege was faltering. Their elites spent. Their supplies low. Hanzo of the Salamander was strong, yes, but his homeland was bleeding out between three nations.

Tsunade's gaze swept the wounded again. These people were Konoha's future. Their families. Their sons and daughters. Once so full of promise, now broken beneath white sheets or drowned in endless pain.

Even as one of the Legendary Sannin, she felt helpless.

Enough blood had been spilled.

Suna still fantasized about dragging Konoha down with them. But was Hanzo truly Konoha's enemy? No. His country was being eaten alive. He had to protect it. Right now, the one pressuring Amegakure the most was Suna.

If Konoha could act, show strength and goodwill, point its blade at Suna instead of Ame, perhaps something could change. Even a silent understanding with the Rain ninja to push Suna out could tip the scales. This war might finally begin to end.

True peace was distant. Hanzo wasn't a saint. But continuing this fight would only consume more lives. Konoha couldn't afford to bleed anymore. It had paid too much already.

The thought lit a fire in her heart. Someone had to break the deadlock.

She drew a deep breath. The scent of disinfectant grounded her.

She had to return to Konoha. Now.

To convince Hiruzen.

She couldn't count on Danzō. That war-obsessed maniac would only throw more lives into the fire. Only the Third Hokage—her sensei—had the wisdom and vision to listen.

Elsewhere in the camp, inside a candlelit tent, Orochimaru sat in silence. His pale fingers drifted across the casualty reports. His long black hair hung like a curtain, hiding the golden gleam in his eyes.

A year had passed since the Eight-Tails incident he and Ryo had orchestrated in Kumo. The ripples had exceeded expectations. Iwa's fury had been redirected. The Rain front had crumbled.

A cold smirk tugged at his lips.

Konoha, Suna, Ame… none of them were holding up. Prolonged combat. Loss of elites. Empty coffers. Public fatigue. Each thread tugging tighter.

Wars didn't always end in an explosion. Sometimes they ended in silence. In decay. Like autumn leaves rotting under frost.

Orochimaru saw it. He understood it. The gears of war were grinding down.

Even Hiruzen could feel it.

As for Tsunade, he could guess her thoughts. That naïve princess wanted to approach Hanzo. But Hanzo, that proud "demigod," would never accept help so easily. To do so would mean admitting he couldn't expel the invaders alone.

Still, it was… interesting.

Reports showed a sharp decline in activity. Even the cannon fodder had grown numb. The New Year had brought an unofficial ceasefire. Fewer battles. Smaller skirmishes. Everyone holding back. Waiting for someone else to collapse first.

But the end had already begun. It started the moment Iwa withdrew.

That thread was about to snap.

Tsunade didn't return to her tent. She took a long detour around the camp, arriving at a quiet clearing. Cold wind and fine rain struck her face, cutting through the storm in her heart.

She stared out into the distance. Beyond the curtain of rain lay the battlefield. Once, it had been a warzone. Now, it was ash. Craters. Scorched land.

A memory stabbed her heart.

A raid before the monsoon. Their goal: a key Suna outpost. The enemy's defenses were fierce. Wind Release turned sand into knives.

Konoha's vanguard captain, Tanaka, led the charge. Known for his Lightning Blade, a father of two. His lightning tore through the front. Victory was near.

But when two genin fell into a trap, Tanaka turned back. Into the barrage.

"Go!" That last shout still rang in her mind.

She'd found his shattered blade in the mud. His body riddled with kunai. The genin survived. Barely. Their eyes frozen in fear.

Tsunade had seen this scene a hundred times. Too many names. Too many families.

"There was another way…" she whispered.

She didn't want glory. Just an end to this.

Even victory would leave only ashes behind.

She looked up at the sky, gray and cold.

No more hesitation.

Now was the time. Before the next fire ignited.

(To be continued.)

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Chapter 132: Ascension to Power

Tsunade spun sharply, her drenched cloak tossing a spray of cold droplets into the muddy ground. With each step, the mire squelched beneath her feet, not just mud, but the weight of reality pressing down like iron.

That weight didn't slow her. It lit something inside her instead, a fire of resolve that burned against the cold. Her goal was set. Return to Konoha. Convince that stubborn old man to change the course of the war.

The oppressive atmosphere of the camp parted in her path, as if even the air itself yielded to her determination.

At the same time, deep within the command zone.

Ryo sat cross-legged on a simple straw mat. His eyes half-closed, breath steady. Every external sound was filtered out by an invisible wall. His mind sank deeper into himself, beyond the limits of the body, into the space where will and bloodline merged.

There, in the darkness of his consciousness, a light ignited.

A burst of pure brilliance tore through the black. At its center, silver script shimmered in the void like molten steel.

---

["Host Status: Scan complete]

[Shanks' Legacy Integration increased to: 59.7%!]

[Shanks' Legacy unlocked to: 60%!]

[Current Power Classification: Kage-level
System Assessment: You have one foot firmly on the threshold of the Kage class. Your blade gleams. The bottleneck is within reach."]

---

"Another year," he thought.

Every battle, every brush with death, each moment soaked in blood had pushed the percentage forward—little by little, drop by agonizing drop.

59.7%. Just 0.3% remained.

So little. It seemed one realization, one flash of inspiration could tear through it.

But the distance still felt enormous.

Ryo felt no impatience. Only a sharp excitement rising in his chest.

This war in the rain-soaked land had raged for over two years. The dead piled high. The living moved like ghosts.

Konoha. The entire shinobi world. They all needed a breakthrough, someone to break the chokehold of this stalemate.

Outside the tent, the wind howled, cold and sharp. It slipped through every crack, reminding all that every breath on the battlefield was a luxury. There was no shelter waiting. Only iron. Only blood.

The flap of the tent flew open. Dim light pierced through like a knife, dragging in the scent of wet soil and iron rain.

Uchiha Mikoto stepped in.

She wore simple light-blue civilian clothes. The minimalist design framed her tall, upright figure. Damp strands of black hair clung to her cheek and brow. Her face was flushed from the walk, but her lips curled into a soft, genuine smile. A hint of warmth in this endless night.

The flickering lamp cast a gentle glow, cloaking her in soft light. As if, just for a moment, she stood untouched by the war outside.

"Ryo-kun."

Her voice was like spring water. Calm. Clear. The cold tent instantly felt warmer.

Ryo opened his eyes. His gaze, normally sharp as a blade, softened the moment he saw her. Her presence steadied him. He rose with a fluid movement.

"Mikoto."

His tone was low, familiar.

No words were needed. They simply moved closer. Ryo raised a hand and gently placed it at the small of her back. Mikoto leaned in, cool and composed. They didn't speak, but in the silence, something unspoken bloomed.

Outside, the storm seemed to pause.

In that silence, the world faded. Just the two of them, standing in peace so rare it felt like a miracle.

Over the past year, with Kushina sealed deep inside Konoha as the Nine-Tails jinchūriki, Mikoto had silently stepped up as Ryo's anchor. She knew when to speak, when to stay quiet. Never demanding. Never overreaching. Like a spring hidden in scorched earth, she gave him a place to breathe, even if only briefly.

And in Ryo's heart, the idea of "abandoning Kushina" was absurd.

Fate had given him two flames—one blazing like fire, the other flowing like water. That alone was a gift beyond measure. In this world of war, in life and death, he had one belief: value and protect these bonds with everything.

A child chooses one. A man protects both.

Their breaths touched, then parted. Mikoto's cheeks turned pink, her eyes full of light. Her voice was softer than usual, yet clear.

"New Year is coming. We… should go back to Konoha for a while."

The hope in her voice was real. So was the caution.

The front lines had quieted. Suna and Ame forces had entered a silent standoff. But this calm was thin, like the last sheet of ice on a thawing river. One touch, and it could all collapse into blood again.

"Tsunade-sama said the transport route and escort team for the wounded are ready," Mikoto added, her tone carrying a hint of excitement.

Ryo nodded without pause. "Good."

His voice was sharp, clean. A trace of longing flashed in his expression.

"I miss Kushina."

Simple words. A simple truth. He had never hidden how he felt. Not from Mikoto. Not from anyone.

That honesty soothed something in Mikoto. The weight she carried for Kushina, for their bond, eased. Knowing that Ryo's heart hadn't shifted because of her brought quiet relief.

"Mhm."

A soft laugh slipped out. She nudged his arm lightly.

"I miss her too. If we go back, we have to make her take us to that new dumpling place in Konoha. It's been so long since we walked through the village together."

Talk of food. Of festivals. Of peace.

In that moment, those small things felt like treasure.

Suddenly—

The tent's flap was yanked open. A gust of wind slammed inside, ripping the warmth away. The lamp flickered violently. Shadows jumped on the canvas walls.

"You two done yet?! Or should I come back later?"

A sharp voice rang out, full of irritation and mockery.

Tsunade stood in the doorway, her ponytail soaked, skirt hem dripping. Arms crossed. Her sharp eyes swept over Ryo and Mikoto.

Mikoto sprang away like a startled cat, face flushed red to her ears. She stammered, "T-Tsunade-sama! I'll, I'll go prepare the wounded transport roster now!"

She bolted, fleeing into the rain outside.

A long silence fell.

Tsunade walked to the center, eyes heavy with fatigue. Her voice was teasing, but the tone was mild.

"I don't get it. Mikoto and Kushina both? What do they see in you?" She folded her arms tighter. "Whatever. You'll figure it out eventually."

But behind the sarcasm was something unspoken. Even she didn't understand why, but knowing Ryo held both women in his heart sparked something in her. Not annoyance. Maybe curiosity. Or… something else.

Ryo leaned lazily against the central pole. "Crazy old bat."

Tsunade's smirk dropped.

"I'm going back to Konoha. And you're coming too."

Ryo's gaze narrowed.

"Still chasing that plan? Peace with Hanzo? Ending the war?"

"Konoha's elders have heads harder than stone. Unless you become Hokage and force it yourself…"

He didn't finish. The implication hung heavy.

"…your plan will end up buried. Forgotten. Just like every other ideal."

But his tone shifted.

"Still. If you don't try, you'll never know. Go all in. I won't stop you."

Tsunade took a long breath. The damp air filled her lungs. She locked eyes with him.

"I don't care if it's a wall, a cliff, or a pit of hell. I'll ram the words 'withdraw and rethink' into the old man's ears. I'll say it loud enough to shake the village."

Her voice rang like steel.

Ryo gave a short nod.

"I'm with you."

He backed people, not ideologies. If this was Tsunade's road, he would walk it with her.

The tension lifted slightly. A glimmer returned to her eyes.

"Then we leave tomorrow."

She turned to go, then glanced back at him.

"You monster. Your aura… it's changed again."

Ryo shrugged.

Tsunade didn't press. She simply nodded and left.

—

At dawn, the camp stirred.

The wounded were loaded onto stretchers. The rain had eased. The sky was still gray, but a faint light pierced through.

Tsunade, Ryo, Mikoto, and Nawaki gathered at the edge of the camp.

"Nawaki, lead the escort," Tsunade ordered.

Ryo's thoughts drifted as Mikoto stood quietly at his side.

The muddy trail stretched ahead, disappearing into the mist.

Konoha lay beyond.

And the storm that waited with it.

(To be continued.)

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Chapter 133: Quite Soft

The heartland of the Land of Fire was already warm with early summer heat. On both sides of the main road leading to Konoha, the woods were dense and vibrant, and cicadas chirped nonstop. After a long journey, Tsunade's group finally entered familiar territory. Relief could be seen on the faces of the wounded and their escorts, they were almost home.

Their journey passed through several bustling towns that served as rest stops. Every time the horses' hooves tapped onto the bluestone streets lined with shops and stalls, a faint but unmistakable ripple would pass through Tsunade's seemingly composed eyes. The gambling dens, which she hadn't touched in over a year, were like hooks embedded in her heart. As soon as she stepped into these familiar towns, those buried urges tugged at her.

"Nawaki, pick up the pace. Let's reach the next rest stop before dark." Tsunade's voice was calm, her tone brisk as always. Nawaki responded promptly, directing the team with energy.

Mikoto rode alongside Ryo, her gaze drifting softly over the passing streets. Ryo remained calm, scanning his surroundings with vigilance to ensure safety. The team arrived at a spacious inn under the escort of guards and quickly arranged accommodations for the wounded.

Once things settled, Tsunade began her "persuasion." She explained to Nawaki, Mikoto, and even to thin air, as if talking to herself, "To convince those old fossils in Konoha, I need to relax a bit. Get some… inspiration." Her steps unconsciously led her to the bright, bustling building at the end of the street—a casino.

They were still within the Land of Fire, and with someone like Ryo standing guard, there was no need to worry too much about safety. Besides, this was just to "clear her head." She gave herself mental approval.

But casinos don't bring inspiration. They bring ruin. Within minutes of stepping into the world of dice and chips, the money Tsunade had been carrying vanished. Her attempt at finding "inspiration" had only fed the tables. When she stumbled out of the doors, the night was deep, and the street carried the smoky scent of izakaya.

Losing had its consequences. Tsunade didn't hesitate. She walked straight to where Nawaki was eating a late-night snack with the guards.

"Nawaki," her voice was slightly slurred from alcohol, but the command in it was unmistakable, "lend me some money."

Nawaki's hand froze just as he reached for a rice ball. He instinctively shielded his pouch. "Sis… not again… I don't have—" It was useless. Tsunade's hand moved like lightning. He only felt his fingers go light. His carefully saved allowance, meant for blueprints and tool upgrades, was already in her pale but firm grasp.

"I'll pay you back." She tossed out the promise casually as she turned and headed toward a nearby izakaya glowing with a red lantern and the aroma of sake.

Nawaki watched her figure disappear down the street, then sighed and took a quiet bite of his rice ball. He was used to it.

Alcohol, too, numbs the heart. Tsunade returned deep into the night, soaked in the scent of sake. Her steps were unsteady, her vision blurred. But with the balance of a shinobi, she found her way to the inn entrance with ease.

The night guard rushed to help her. She waved him off.

The issue now was her empty purse. She'd lost even the money meant for lodging. The corridor stretched dim and quiet. Tsunade stood in the lobby, trying hard to recall Mikoto's room number. But her mind was fogged by alcohol.

Nawaki? He was probably still sulking.

Mikoto? Where was her room again?

Her instincts, dulled but not dead, expanded outward. Amid the various chakra signatures, there was one she recognized best. That presence was steady, familiar, and strong.

Tsunade smiled and wobbled toward it, step by step, until she arrived at Ryo's door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound echoed through the corridor.

The door creaked open, and Ryo appeared in a loose robe. His expression was calm, his eyes clear.

"Something wrong?" His voice was low, steady.

Tsunade leaned against the doorframe, mumbling, "Nowhere else."

Ryo glanced at the drunken Sannin. His brow furrowed slightly. Waking Mikoto or calling the staff at this hour didn't seem wise. He paused, then nodded.

"Come in."

The room was small and simple. One bed. One armchair by the wall.

"You take the sofa tonight." Ryo pointed at the armchair without hesitation. There was no debate.

Letting Tsunade sleep on the bed while he slept on the floor? Not happening. To Ryo, she was Tsunade-hime—a comrade who could punch a Jōnin into the dirt and drink a crate of sake without flinching. She could handle a sofa.

"The sofa… alright…" Tsunade mumbled and collapsed onto it. Her breathing deepened almost instantly.

Ryo ignored her and lay back on the bed. For someone used to life-or-death vigilance, a stranger's presence in the room would normally trigger his instincts. But Tsunade was familiar. Her chakra, her scent, even her drunken sloppiness, all blended into the usual background. No danger here.

Fatigue pulled him into sleep.

Moonlight poured through the paper window, casting a faint glow. The room was quiet, only the sound of breathing remained.

Time passed. Then, the figure on the sofa stirred.

Maybe the sofa was too small. Maybe it was the midnight chill. Or maybe it was just muscle memory in a drunken haze. Tsunade got up, wandered to the bed, lifted the blanket, and climbed in beside Ryo without a sound.

She adjusted herself and quickly returned to sleep. Ryo, dead asleep, didn't stir.

Until the edge of dawn.

In his sleep, Ryo felt the warmth beside him. His body reacted out of habit. Living with Kushina had built a subconscious routine. Half-asleep, he reached out.

His arm moved. Instinctively, searching for the warmth it remembered.

But what he touched wasn't a small figure.

It was… soft.

Full.

Resilient.

His hand jerked.

This wasn't Kushina.

This was—

His eyes snapped open. His instincts flared like a kunai thrown in the dark. His arm recoiled instantly, and his body shot backward with reflexive precision.

His heart pounded.

"You done copping a feel?"

A voice whispered beside him.

Tsunade's voice. Calm. Too calm. Dangerously calm.

Her amber eyes met his. A mix of fury, shock, and something else swirled in them. Shame. Maybe even vulnerability. Her expression was cold, her voice even colder.

It was the quiet before the storm.

Ryo's brain kicked into overdrive. Defend himself? Say it was a dream? Pretend nothing happened?

All useless.

Trying to explain would only make it worse.

He suddenly sat up, his tone righteous and sharp.

"Not my fault! You're the one who climbed into my bed!"

"You—Get out!"

Tsunade's face went crimson. Her voice cracked, trembling with humiliation and rage. Her mind knew it wasn't entirely Ryo's fault. She had drunk. She had crawled into his bed. But the shock and embarrassment left her no room for logic.

She needed space. Time. Quiet. Anything to stop the chaos in her mind.

She pointed at the door.

"Out!"

"Fine!"

Ryo was ready for that.

He rolled off the bed, grabbed the handle, and left in one swift motion. He didn't look back.

Then.

From behind the door, a voice.

Not angry. Not loud. But crisp and haunting.

"So, how did it feel?"

The voice pierced the silence like a kunai.

Ryo froze. His mind blanked.

This voice wasn't the furious Tsunade from moments ago. It sounded calm.

And without thinking, without any filter, his traitorous mouth replied.

"Quite soft, actually."

(To be continued.)