"Even he has to go full tryhard mode against her… damn, she's a beast."
Nono drops that line like a pro mixer—cools Honglian's pissed-off steam, hands her an out, and tosses Yūri some fresh fruit with that soft-touch vibe to dial down the murder eyes. Boom: secret weapon—"Uchiha Makoto"—lands like a nuke on Yūri's ego.
Yūri freezes mid-draw, chakra blade crackling half-out. Grabs the fat honeydew slice on autopilot. Scarlet eyes go from kill mode to melted ice cream. Shock, then that barely-hidden smug-ass grin leaks out, ears turning pink.
"…He really said that?"
Muttering, but her lips are betraying her with a cocky little smirk. All that earlier shame? Poof. One ego stroke and it's yesterday's news.
Crisis? Nuked. Nono's rain-on-fire gentleness snuffs it without a trace.
She chills on the porch, adjusts her glasses, watches the two munch fruit while their glares still spark invisible lightning. Her eyes flicker. Keeping this circus of problem kids, bloodline freaks, and feral lolis balanced? Harder than S-Rank. But it locks in her role: not just medic, but emotional babysitter. This "family" needs her as the goddamn anchor.
Makoto's lounging against the training ground doorframe, arms crossed, chill AF. Scans the yard: Bai still grinding Ice Release like a madman; Yūri all awkward but copying the others' training vibes; finally lands on Nono's back—hustling "chores" but steering the whole ship with that soft control.
This ragtag "home" of misfits? Friction's eternal. But with the daily bullshit and one top-tier lube (Nono), it's evolving into something fun—and sticky. Can't split 'em now.
Makoto's lip twitches—mysterious smirk. Solo grinding's slow. Real gains? Bloodbaths. After this chill phase, time for a "team-building" trip. And refill the piggy bank.
---
Mist's edge: a pit darker than night, hopeless as fuck. Damp, moldy, rusty blood stink that never leaves.
Kaguya clan's special hellhole—carved into a mountain, zero sun, time frozen.
Thick red door plastered with seal tags splits worlds. Inside? Cramped void. Only light? Meal-time crack—brief white slash on the floor before it vanishes.
Corner shadow: tiny kid balled up, merging with the dark. Moon-silver hair—filthy, matted. Face ghost-pale, red dots above brows like blood on snow. Lashes hide dead emerald eyes—wells with no bottom. Red tear-lines streak his baby face, making him look demonic and broken.
Filthy rags, arms locked around knees, chin on top—statue mode. Forgotten doll.
Creak—tooth-grinding hinge. Door cracks, blinding light stabs in. Stale slop shoved through, clang on the floor. Kid flinches, lifts head.
Ignores food. Tiny, scarred hands tremble toward the light patch on the ground. Fingers brush it—shiver. Tiny ripple in his frozen heart.
He craves light. Real warmth. Not this soul-eating dark.
More: someone to need him. Prove he's not a cursed extra.
Door slams. Light dies. Just fading fake warmth on his fingertips.
Silence. Grave silence.
Then—choked sobs. Kid-level helpless.
"Why… am I locked up…?"
"What did I do wrong?"
Hand clenches—crack. Tiny white bone shard pops from his palm. His bone. Gift. Proof he's the clan's top freak. Sin that got him caged.
He stabs the wall with it—thunk, thunk. Carves a twisted face—his only "friend." All his unanswered pain dumped there.
"Does God… exist?"
"If you do… why me?"
No answer. Just thunk-thunk-thunk echoing like knocks on fate's door.
Then—BOOM!!!
Explosion shakes the mountain. Door blasts open. Sunlight floods like a dam break—blinding. Kid shields eyes, arms up.
Through fingers: tall silhouette, backlit, savage aura.
"Out, Kimimaro!"
Voice like gravel: "Time to use you!"
Kimimaro—Kaguya's strongest prodigy. Loved. Feared. Weaponized and locked away.
Kid freezes, lowers arms. Dusty emeralds focus—spark ignites.
"For Kaguya glory," the figure roars. "Kill!"
Kill… for the clan?
Lava of excitement, confusion, relief erupts. Smashes his loneliness. Fills the holes in his heart.
No hate for the clan despite the cage. This need? Divine. He's wanted. Not trash.
Value? Finally.
He scrambles out—stumbling, crawling—into the world. Light dizzying, but he gulps free air: grass, dirt, life.
Night. Inky sky, no stars, half-hidden moon spilling eerie silver on Mist's forests. Bad omen vibes.
Kaguya remnants in a damp valley—manic bloodlust eyes, feral grins. Defeat's weight + battle addiction = group insanity.
"Tonight—we raid Mist!" Chief bellows from a rock. "They're chaos from that mess. Remind 'em Kaguya terror! Shatter skulls with our bones!"
"YEAH! FOR KAGUYA!!" Howls like wolves.
"Let the Mizukage's dogs feel a real fighting clan! Shikotsumyaku horror!"
Order drops—shadows bolt toward Mist's distant glow. Ghost arrows into the dark.
But one lags: Kimimaro. Lost emerald eyes. Stares at fleeing backs, then his bone-spawning hands.
Blood screams kill. Soul? Blank. What now? Glory? Aftermath?
"You waiting to die, Kimimaro?!"
Chief doubles back, teeth gleaming like a demon.
"No thoughts. No hesitation. Storm Mist. Every living thing—man, woman, kid—slaughter. Crush 'em. Follow instinct. That's your purpose."
Gone again—shadow in the night.
Kimimaro's pale lips twitch. Glory? Meaning? Nope. But orders: needed to fight, kill. Enough.
He blurs—tiny foot explodes off dirt, speed insane. White ghost trailing the pack.
Near Mist's edge, foggy woods—he slams into a bandaged giant with a massive executioner blade, eyes pure evil. Blood-soaked aura.
Momochi Zabuza—fresh off failing to assassinate the Fourth Mizukage, on the run.
Kimimaro halts. Bone spike snaps out—gleams. Wary:
"Are you… from Mist Village?"
He doesn't want to kill innocents.