The hot-spring inn's tea room was thick with incense, but it couldn't cut through the ice-cold tension hanging in the air like fog.
Bamboo blinds half-up, outside was a zen garden straight out of a sad haiku—wilted maple leaves scraping the pillars with dry shhh-shhh sounds that just amped the creepy quiet inside.
Yakushi Nono kept her head dipped, a few golden strands curtaining her face. She wrestled the mess in her skull—awkwardness, helplessness, and that guilt from the shady-ass mission she'd been handed.
Her voice stayed soft, but the strain made it quiver like a damn feather. "Got it… whatever you say goes."
Before the words even faded, her arms instinctively crossed over her chest. Protective move—except with her killer curves and that way-too-tight borrowed outfit? It backfired hard. Fabric stretched like it was screaming, outlining every jaw-dropping inch. Total "don't look, but look" energy.
Across from her, Uchiha Makoto caught every tiny detail in those bottomless black eyes—no ripple, like he was just clocking facts. No reaction. Just a crisp nod, then he slid open the painted shoji door and ghosted down the hall. Footsteps faded to nothing.
Even after he bounced, the pressure didn't lift. Room still felt like a pressure cooker.
Nono exhaled, shoulders still knotted. Then—tap… tap… hesitant-ass footsteps creeping closer down the corridor. Pacing. Back and forth. Whoever it was, they were sweating bullets.
Finally, a timid, pouty girl-voice slipped through the door: "M-Makoto-sama… you in there? I… I made some tri-color dango. Wanna try?"
Nono's brow twitched—she knew that voice. The blue-haired chick from earlier, head-over-heels for Makoto.
The hope in that tone? The fear of bugging him? It was palpable, spilling into the hallway like perfume.
Nono softened her voice to mom-mode: "He just stepped out. Come on in."
Outside, Honglian—hand raised to knock again—froze like someone hit pause. Heart did a little thump. Fingers dug into the fancy pear-wood tray holding her painstakingly arranged sweets.
After what felt like forever, she cracked the door just a sliver—slow, shaking.
First thing she clocked? The blonde bombshell in the middle of Makoto's private tea room, rocking a dress that looked way too familiar.
That bitch… she already gave him her V-card… and now she's wearing MY clothes?!
Nono's eyes landed on the tiny figure in the doorway and instantly went full soft-mom. Honglian's eyes were already rimmed red, like she'd rubbed rouge too hard. She clutched that dessert plate like it was a life raft, knuckles white.
Stood there like a soaked kitten in a storm—lost, abandoned, pathetic in the cutest way.
Nono's heart did a little ping. She stepped forward, flashed that orphanage-honed smile, and ruffled Honglian's deep-blue hair. Damn—half a year of Makoto's TLC had turned those strands into pure silk. Felt like luxury.
Honglian looked up, teary Bambi eyes locked on the glamazon in front of her. Moonlight haloed that golden mane, carved cheekbones, mature vibe—and that fucking dress hugging every curve like it was painted on.
MY dress.
The one Makoto took her to the fanciest tailor in town for. Rare Kumo fabric—price tag made her jaw drop. She'd only tried it on in secret, twirling in the mirror, daydreaming about strutting with him.
Now? Some homewrecker was filling it out better than she ever could.
If this chick wasn't tight with Makoto, Honglian would've crystal-speared her ass on sight. She wasn't nice. (Except to him.)
Grief and territory violated rage nuked her last defenses.
Nose stung. Vision blurred. Voice cracked with snot and fury: "Why… why the hell are you wearing my new dress?!"
Straight fire. Hurt. My house got robbed vibes.
The thought of this woman sleeping with Makoto in her dress? Honglian's brain went full nuclear.
Her glare turned feral—wary, judging, straight-up alpha bitch energy.
Nono choked on air. Flashback to Danzo's creepy orders: "Make him obsessed. Use any means." Her cheeks burned. Guilt hit like a truck.
"K-Kid, no—no misunderstanding!" she stammered, voice wobbly. "Me and him—Makoto—we're not like that. I'm way older. Totally inappropriate…"
Bullshit. Danzo's voice echoed: "Crazy in love with you." Her excuse sounded like a bad lie even to her.
Honglian's wet, deer-in-headlights eyes pinned her. Laser-focused. No blink. Hunting for micro-tells.
Nono felt naked. Future plans—seducing this girl's crush—guilt tsunami'd her eloquence.
She opened her mouth… nothing. Eyes darted away. Busted.
Honglian's last shred of hope died. Face crumpled. Nose red as hell. Lips clamped to trap the sob. Tray trembling in white-knuckled hands.
Silence crushed the room. Air thick with teenage vinegar heartbreak and grown-woman oh shit awkwardness.
Nono sighed inside. Gotta fix this before he gets back. Didn't want her mission screwing the kid—or their vibe.
She was a pro at kids. Orphanage vet. But that mission guilt? Thin veil between her and Honglian. Every soft word, every step closer—she second-guessed if she deserved to play mom.
Still, she'd do it. Not just for the op—didn't want to nuke their relationship either. Tough, but she'd thread the needle.
Spy? Meh. Coaxing hearts? Her superpower.
---
Night deepens. Makoto solo-strolls a sketchy-ass town near Kirigakure.
Not peak Blood Mist hell, but the whole Land of Water vibe? Paranoia, oppression, suspicion—sticky psychic fog in every breath.
Streets damn near empty. Pedestrians hustling, faces tight, eyes darting. Keeping distance. Dim lamps threw monster shadows.
Most shops shuttered early. Couple bars and inns glowed weak yellow—lonely beacons in the cold, dead night.
Wind off the water—salty, damp, with a phantom blood tang. All in the head, but real enough to spike the pulse.
Makoto glided through twisty alleys, footsteps silent as a cat. Moon peeked through clouds, stretching then squashing his shadow.
Narrowest lane yet—walls slimy with moss, barely shoulder-width. He was mid-stride when—
Peripheral ping.
Shadow at the corner blurred—ghost-fast, silent. Faster than elite jonin. Just a warped afterimage.
Normal eyes? Hallucination. His senses? Red alert.
A shock of familiarity jolted his spine—not from this life. Soul-deep. Burned in from a thousand anime episodes and manga panels in his past life.
Pupils dilated.
Brain dumped all noise. Chakra flow dropped to whisper—blended with nature like camouflage. Vitals flatlined to ghost.
Battle-honed instinct kicked in. He melted into the darkest corner—zero sound, zero trace.
Then? Hunted.
Heart hammered. Blood roared in his ears.
That split-second glimpse… that unmistakable silhouette…
It's her?!