"I… I got no family left."
"Now? Just wanna level up—hard. Strong enough to actually back him up. Be the shield that's got his six!
Honglian craned her head, eyes blazing with clingy hero-worship and straight-up stubborn fire: "So he doesn't gotta grind himself to dust. Can just smile—do whatever the hell he wants…"
"Not stay some useless damn vase under his wing forever."
…
Tea room went dead quiet—only the candle popping like tiny gunshots.
Yakushi Nono sat opposite, nudging her round glasses. Behind the lenses? Soft, all-seeing eyes that caught every tangled vibe Honglian was spilling: obsession-level loyalty, panic over being dead weight, and a crush so pure it glowed—even if the kid hadn't clocked it yet.
This "walking shrine maiden"—current Konoha orphanage boss—had patience for days. The chill tea-room vibe was her secret sauce, melting Honglian's walls bit by bit.
Maybe she'd bottled it too long. Maybe Nono being Makoto's pick made her feel safe. Either way—gratitude, awe, tiny jealousy stabs, anxiety, confusion—it all poured out in messy bursts.
Honglian scrunched her nose talking Makoto's near-suicidal training grind—heart hurt.
Mouth curved smug when dropping their little insider secrets—pure kid flex.
Rambling, hyped one sec, gut-punched the next—like a baby bird finally safe but still fluffing feathers in panic.
Nono just listened. Slid over fancy snacks. Tucked stray blue strands behind ears with feather-light fingers. Mom-mode activated. Orphan kid like Honglian? Instant trust.
---
Watching this pure-hearted girl—tough shell, fragile core, starving for approval—Nono's "Root mission" guilt twisted like vines around her ribs.
But another thought sharpened: Protect this fragile peace. This tiny "home" orbiting Makoto? Precious light for someone who'd danced in darkness forever.
Her old spy tricks—reading hearts, soothing souls—now shielded this vibe. Felt like redemption.
Time slipped. Sky shifted from ink-black to deep navy. Dawn creeping.
Honglian's voice faded to sleepy mumbles. Head bobbed like a chick. Then—tilt—she flopped onto Nono's warm shoulder, out cold.
Nono froze a micro-second. Glanced down: tear tracks still wet on lashes, face peaceful as a baby's. Soft breaths tickled her neck—itched, but lit dark corners of her soul.
Pity. Guilt. Resolve. Secret tenderness—flashed in her eyes.
She shifted carefully, letting Honglian settle comfy. Hand rose—pat-pat-pat—rhythmic, soothing on the girl's back. Like the gentlest mom calming a wrecked kid.
Room hushed. Incense embers crackled. Two breaths synced. Stolen peace—so sharp against her Root-world cold.
This "Root flower" wove emotional threads, tightening Makoto and Honglian's bond. Motives messy? Sure. But this scene? Exactly what Makoto wanted.
---
Far off—barely there rustle at the entrance.
Nono's vibe flipped. Warm eyes? Gone. Elite spy lock-on. She ghosted Honglian onto cushions—zero sound.
Next blink? Melted into corner shadows. Breath gone. Kunai ready. Muscles coiled—leopard mode. Ears pricked.
Footsteps = Makoto. Two auras—one weak. Guard dropped… slightly.
She stepped out. Eyes snapped to Makoto—then the tiny tiger-fanged "kid" piggybacking.
Nono's brain pinged intel: Kiri's once-in-a-century Thunder prodigy. Elite-tier. Heart sank. Why'd he bring her home? And she looks trashed.
Makoto caught Nono's spike—shrugged it off. Jerked chin at an empty side room. Flat tone to the girl: "Your crash pad. You're staying."
Pause. Smirk: "Can you walk? Or need a princess carry to bed?"
Rin Yūri's pale face flushed. Nodded. Slid off his back—legs wobbly, but mobile after the ride.
Feet hit floor. Crimson eyes—still razor-sharp—scanned the room like radar.
First: Nono. Extra focus on that way-too-tight borrowed outfit straining over killer curves. Brow twitched. Annoyed.
Then: Honglian—rubbing sleepy eyes, tear stains, stumbling out the tea room.
Finally: Makoto scooping Honglian up like it's nothing—bridal style, smooth AF.
Rin's eyes? Weird light. Hugging her chakra-metal sword tighter. Gaze ping-ponged—Makoto, Nono, Honglian.
Landed on his back as he walked off. Tiny hmph. Chin up. Face screamed: Kid's young, but the hobbies? Damn, thought higher of you.
Pure bratty judgment.
Makoto felt the death glare without looking. Tired. He'd roast the gremlin later—plenty of time.
Honglian—half-asleep—sniffed his scent. Nuzzled closer like a heat-seeking kitten. Tiny happy sigh.
Makoto's arms tightened instinctively. Warm. Trusting. He savored it.
Bedroom. Tucked her in—inner side. No funny business. Just blanket tuck. Silent we good vibe.
---
Next morning. Golden sun speckled through paper screens.
Makoto—up at dawn, yard workout done—found Nono in the kitchen. Breakfast prep.
She'd ditched the ill-fit dress. Now? Soft home kimono, apron tied snug—curves tasteful. Blonde hair loose bun, neck exposed. Stray strands framed cheeks. Glasses + morning glow = cozy mom energy + mature allure. Kid kryptonite.
"Yo, Nono. Free? Time to cash in—teach me medical jutsu." Hexagon warrior arc—locked in.
Nono turned down the stove. Wiped hands. Pushed glasses. Frown tiny. Choosing words:
"Makoto… medical ninjutsu's picky about chakra."
"Needs pinpoint control and natural—or trained—Yang affinity. Life energy. Cell boost. Healing."
Pause. Apology in her eyes:
"Uchiha chakra leans Yin—mental, spooky stuff. Yang? Usually… not your jam."
"Forcing it? Half-ass results. Maybe zero entry."
Translation: Dude, you're screwed.
Makoto? Unfazed. Cocky glint. Stuck out his right hand:
"I know the theory. But gotta try. Hit me."
Nono sighed—fine. She'd promised all-in. Led him to a clear yard spot.
Broke down Palm Sage—top-tier, most bang-for-buck medical jutsu. Chakra refine. Flow. Crystal clear demo.
Her palm glowed soft green—healing spring vibes. Pure, vibrant Yang chakra.
Makoto shut eyes. Focused. Followed her steps—pull, split, guide chakra to palm nodes.
At first? Classic Uchiha—cold, mind-fuck energy.
Then—deep focus. Mimicked "create life" intent.
Boom.
Warm, bursting power woke from his core—like a volcano kissed awake. Or a seed cracking desert. Pure life force. Blended seamless with his beast chakra.
Next second—his open palm: faint but crystal-clear emerald glow. Baby spring leaf. Weak? Yeah. But pure Yang.
"No fcking way?!"