"Something's off!"
"Like, twelve-out-of-ten off!"
Yakushi Nono's head snapped toward the creepy-ass stare-down, and when she clocked Uchiha Makoto just chilling in the moonlight, her heart finally stopped doing parkour in her ribcage. But then? A whole-ass tsunami of complicated feelings crashed in.
She knew the dude's file: kid's technically still a half-grown punk. But standing there like a damn redwood, loose clothes barely hiding the ripped-as-hell muscle underneath? Nah. Those eyes—deep, cold, and ancient—weren't screaming "awkward teen." They were screaming "I've seen some shit, and I'm judging yours."
The vibe was straight-up predatory, and Nono's brain short-circuited. Treat him like a snot-nosed rookie? Or like a full-grown man who could ruin her in ways she hadn't signed up for? Help.
Makoto either didn't notice her meltdown or clocked it and ghosted past like a pro. Dude's face stayed chill AF as he strolled up, dropped a fluffy towel and a fresh set of women's clothes on a dry rock—close enough to grab, far enough to not be a creep.
"Take your time. Relax. This place is locked down tighter than Fort Knox."
His voice? Smooth. Zero weirdness. Like that laser-focused stare earlier was just her brain on panic mode. Eyes stayed politely glued to her face—no wandering, no bullshit. Then he peaced out—no lingering, no awkward hover. Gave her space like a goddamn gentleman.
Only when his footsteps faded did Nono's spine finally unclench. She sagged against the warm pool wall and let out a breath that felt like it'd been trapped since the Cold War.
She legit had no clue how to handle her savior.
Because the second they hit Konoha? That Danzō-stamped, non-negotiable special op—"Root's Little Flower"—was getting dusted off. And she'd have to seduce the guy who just saved her ass. Fuck.
She floated in the water a bit longer, trying to drown the chaos in her head, then climbed out. One dainty foot hit the stone—pale, arched like a damn sculpture, water droplets sliding down like they were auditioning for a music video. Toes flushed pink from the heat, curling shyly but still somehow screaming "come get it."
She toweled off, skin glowing like she'd been Photoshopped. But when the towel grazed her shoulder? Freeze.
There it was: a freaky-ass tattoo. Blood-red heart, edges coiled with snake-like runes that looked alive. Center? A teardrop-shaped crimson pupil, staring right into her soul. On her snow-white skin and blonde hair? It glowed with this evil-sexy vibe—like it was branded on her spirit, not just her body.
Nono's finger trembled as she touched it. Same texture as skin, but… wrong. Like Makoto had a direct line to her damn heartbeat.
"Is this… an S-Rank space-time jutsu? Flying Raijin mark?"
Bullshit. This wasn't the Fourth Raikage's style. This was some soul-contract, kinky-signature crap. Personal. His.
"Why the hell did the 'teen' genius tag me like a damn Pokémon…?"
---
Cut to later: the same tea room where Makoto met Mei Terumi. Soundproof. Fancy. Nono's now wearing the clothes he grabbed for Honglian—aka, a size "fuck you" too small.
Silk blouse? Straining like it's about to declare war on the buttons. Every breath's a national emergency. Waist cinched so tight it's basically a corset ad. Pants? Painted on—ass and legs outlined like a damn Instagram thirst trap. One wrong move and the whole outfit's filing for divorce.
Nono's face is nuclear red. This is not the calm, elegant "Walking Shrine Maiden" vibe. This is "accidentally cosplaying a pinup and hating every second."
Makoto's eyes flick over her—blink-and-you-miss-it smirk—then back to neutral.
"Only spare clothes I had. Clearly not your size. I'll grab better ones later. For now, stay put. Don't even think about stepping outside."
His gaze skims the about-to-explode buttons, then politely yeets to the window. Respectful king.
Rushing a woman like you? Nah. I want the body and the soul.
He pauses, tone shifting to business.
"Mist's on lockdown because of you. Fourth Mizukage's got every port, road, and sky sealed tighter than a nun's chastity belt. We bounce now, we're toast. We wait till the heat dies, then ghost back to Konoha."
Then he locks eyes: "Also, your medical ninjutsu? Gold. I need it."
Finally—something in her wheelhouse. Nono straightens, voice steadying.
"Anything I know, it's yours. No holding back. You saved me and Kabuto—this debt's lifelong."
Makoto's lip twitches. He traces lazy circles on the table, voice low and knowing.
"I didn't save you for payback, intel, or loyalty. We're gonna be partners—equals, synced up, mutually beneficial."
Partners. The word hits like a tequila shot. Root treats ninjas like tools. This? Equality. Her cheeks burn again.
But Konoha means Root's Flower goes live. She'll have to seduce him—use him—while he sees her as a teammate.
Guilt slams her like a freight train. Especially looking at his sharp, young face. But then she remembers the orphanage kids—hungry, trusting, hers.
For them, she'll play dirty. She'll owe him forever—a snowballing debt she'll never outrun.
---
Meanwhile, at the border: chaos.
Obito storms back to the Mizukage building, hijacks Yagura like a meat puppet, and slaps down a Code Red lockdown. Every ninja, boat, and seagull's getting frisked. Black Flash and the "Walking Shrine Maiden" who knows way too much? Priority One: catch or corpse.
This secret could nuke his whole plan. He even delays a critical trip to Konoha—some prodigy he's been grooming for years.
Sorry, kid. You'll just have to sweat a little longer…