Yakushi Nono's ice-melting smile freezes solid, then shatters like cheap glass—replaced by straight-up jaw-drop shock. She legit fumbles her signature round glasses, lenses wobbling like her brain's buffering.
One tiny step forward, leaning in, eyes glued to Makoto's open palm. Soft, pure green glow dancing there.
Not your basic Yang-release shimmer—this shit's primal. Like fresh spring sap from the deepest forest core. Warm, bursting with life, spilling over.
Light's chill, but it pierces—soaks past skin, straight into your soul. Instinct-level comfort, like a hug from Mother Nature herself.
"Uchiha clan's all about Yin release and mind-fuck energy… but this Yang chakra? Pure as fuck, massive—peak-tier healing gift!"
Nono's voice quivers—didn't even notice.
Top-tier Konoha medic + elite spy senses screaming: this ain't Uchiha-cold. Hell, it's nothing like any healer she's seen.
Fastest updates at 101kanshu.com—clean reads, no BS.
Deeper sniff: vibes match Tsunade's core—natural, warm, infinite life juice. "It's a goddamn miracle in chakra form."
She mutters, glasses fogging with awe. Looks at Makoto like he's a whole new species.
Makoto eyes his palm-life glow, feeling that geothermal-spring warmth and limitless power. Smirk creeps—real.
He knows the deal. Not luck—his golden finger [Naruto World Online] player shop. Dropped bank on [Mid-Tier Hashirama Bloodline], not some basic Senju knockoff.
Gap? Firefly vs. moon. Stream vs. ocean. Senju = immortal-body heirs. Hashirama? Ninja God. Different league.
This blood's quietly remodeling his base—boosting talent, body, everything.
Keep "pay-to-win" upgrading + fusing higher tiers? His physique, chakra pool, existence level? Skyrockets.
Casual high-grade Yang chakra? Just the ripple. Ocean's coming.
"Ignore the details," Makoto says, flat calm. No explanation. "Nono, Palm Immortal's doable now, right?"
Nono sucks air, snaps outta stun. Pro-medic cool returns—eyes still sparkling deep down.
"Doable? Your Yang quality's unreal—I've never seen better."
"Biggest hurdle—cell-activating Yang chakra? You breezed it."
"Now? Precision control. Sharpen that god-blade."
She gestures—palm flat. Her long, pale finger glows faint chakra, taps his wrist meridian. Cool touch, steady, soothing—like years of bedside manner.
"Eyes closed. Relax. Feel my flow. Palm Immortal ain't brute-force—it's micro-embroidery on cells. Steady life energy to every damaged bit, spark self-heal, speed regen."
Makoto trusts—closes eyes. Warmth blooms: Nono's chakra dances in—finer, softer than his, alive with rhythm.
He sees it: mountain stream path, injecting his meridians. Comfort + demo of pure life flow.
He mimics—reins his wild, beast-mode green glow. Tames it.
Even for him? Hard. Energy bucks like a stallion—sweat beads, focus laser.
Nono watches soft, curves still killer under plain clothes—full bust, tiny waist, mature mom-vibes. Golden hair loose, strands framing gentle face. Eyes reflect his focus—quiet tips:
"Slower rhythm… guide, don't command. Breathe with it… feel the cells want it…"
His glow steadies—visible calm. Pulsing alive, pure life breath.
Far from combat-ready, but first step? Nailed. Faster than sane.
Hot-spring inn's quiet backyard? New blood = new life. "Home" vibe spreading.
"Crystal Release: Emerald Crystal Blade!"
Crisp, iron-will shout slices lazy afternoon. Haku stands tall—seals blur. Pink-crystal explodes from palms—gorgeous, deadly sword.
Wrist snap—slash—hits boulder target. BOOM! Shards + dust. Crystals reform in a blink—fragile gem + steel-edge paradox. Dazzling.
Nearby shade: Shiro's winter-elf ghosting. Chill breeze, no bite.
"Ice Release: Demonic Mirroring Ice Crystals!"
Soft voice. Mirror-thin ice panes pop mid-air—rainbow refractions.
Body vanishes in one, shoots from another. Blinding mirror-hops—afterimages everywhere. Untrackable.
Ice senbon swarm—pinpoint death bees. Nail distant stake's red heart. Thuk-thuk-thuk. Precision god-tier.
Both grinding kekkei genkai limits. Air hums—chakra clashes, crystal chimes, ice bite.
Enter the chaos gremlin.
Ringo Yuri saunters, blade taller than her tiny ass. Bored eyes scan sweaty grinders—scarlet depths flash respect, but mouth? "Tch, tryhards."
Pure battle-junkie. Craves strong foes, breakthrough highs.
Sees growth? Can't slack. Plus, revenge bonfire roaring—wants rematch with the dude who broke her.
"Yo! Black Flash!"
Chin up, eyes blazing thunder. Yells at Makoto—fresh off healing zen, chilling on the porch.
"Fight me! This time, I'll beat you till you're begging on your knees!"
Full HP, cocky loli confidence maxed. Charges the "mountain" again.
Makoto glances—nods cool. "Sure."
"But loser gets brutally humiliated by the winner."
He loves live-fire forging—verify gains, dance on death's edge. Can't die.
Sparring this lightning-etched, savage genius? Perfect for mastering bloodline-boosted power/speed + stacking real combat XP.
Why keep the dangerous, untamed "thunder blade"? This.