"I think what you really want is to see every women's bathhouse on earth," Tsunade said without mercy, the disdain in her eyes plain as day.
Last month Jiraiya had read an obscene book and, emboldened, actually tried to put it into practice—sneaking into a women's bathhouse to peep. He hadn't even seen anything before the female combat shinobi inside caught him and marched him straight to the Security Bureau.
A humiliation like that couldn't be reported to Uchiha Soren or Uchiha Hikaru, so the chief of Security Branch Two in Outer District Two—an Aburame—haded notified Orochimaru, Jiraiya's captain. Orochimaru, misunderstanding the vague phrasing and imagining some catastrophe, had rushed over with Tsunade. The three of them faced one another in a very awkward tableau.
"Tsunade, that thing was—" Jiraiya stammered, cheeks flaming.
"It was youthful foolishness," Kato cut in with a cultured smile, and Jiraiya brightened. "Yes—youthful foolishness!"
"You're a lecherous fool!" Tsunade punched him so hard he retreated into himself. She then turned to Kato. "By the way—your sister's starting the junior academy this year? Have you decided on a school?"
"There are nearly a hundred junior academies now. The gap between good and bad teachers is huge," Kato said. "If you can, pick one in District One. Principals run by Uchiha, Senju, or Hyūga are preferable."
Tsunade's advice made Kato nod. "Good plan. Come visit my place today—meet my sister."
They were comrades; Kato wanted to tighten bonds. The five of them climbed into a tram to Outer District One, chatting and making a ruckus as the sun set.
At the Hokage Tower at dusk, Genkaori rubbed her temple and glanced at the clock. She nodded to Uzumaki Minako, tidied a stack of papers with one hand, and cradled the ferret Nelugu with the other as she rose to leave. Minako stretched; her collar gaped open for a heartbeat, displaying a graceful collarbone and a hint of cleavage, then she vanished in a curl of smoke.
Deep in Mount Myōboku, Minako's true body opened her eyes. The straight-line pupils and the red-and-gold sage shadows earned a pleased nod from Shima.
"Minako, your Sage Mode is complete. Your power has increased greatly," Shima said.
"Thanks to your guidance," Minako answered. After a few words with the toads, she returned to the Senju clan grounds.
Night deepened. Exhausted, Jiruri slept quietly in her room. Soren stepped from Genkaori's chamber and found Uchiha Hikaru standing in a cat-print tee and short shorts, porcelain legs exposed—an image fragile in the night light.
Hikaru's face carried a soft, lonely blush under the faint lamp.
"Brother, are you going to see Minister Minako now?" she asked.
Hikaru had already done a little polite investigation—she'd traced the scent from that night and wasn't stupid. "You fed Jiruri, fed Genkaori… now you want to feed Minako too?" she teased.
"Don't say that here," Soren murmured, lowering his voice. He reached for her hand. Hikaru smacked it away and, with a sudden tipsy boldness, flung herself into his arms—wine on her breath.
"Brother always looks at outsiders. Do you not want your own sister?" she pouted. "Is wildflower sweeter than the home blossom? Am I not pretty enough?"
Her thin tee did little to contain the warmth pressing against him; Soren's expression shifted under the temptation. Hikaru's voice was soft and coaxing.
"Brother—remember your promise that night? You said you'd grant me anything I asked as long as you could."
"Now I want you to carry me," she whispered.
Soren lifted her, carried her into her room, and laid her on the bed. He snapped his fingers and Hikaru squealed—a chaste, embarrassed sound.
"One week until your birthday," he said quietly. "When the day comes, you'll belong to me properly. Don't drink then."
Moonlight poured in; Hikaru's black hair shone like silk. Her lashes fluttered; she looked away and hid her face. The little intoxication on her mind cleared with his snap. Soren smirked, tucked her in, and kissed her forehead.
"Sweet dreams," he murmured.
"Brother," she breathed, "please don't leave until I'm asleep?"
He sat on the bedside and watched her breathing settle; a tiny, contented purr escaped from her as sleep took her.
(Soren thought) How quickly they grow. Hikaru is no longer a child.
At dawn he slipped from the room, appearing in Minako's chamber where she startled awake with a smile. They spent a pleasant night, and the next morning breakfast was slightly awkward. Hikaru watched the way Hikaru—no, Jiruri—and Genkaori eyed him, and she felt that familiar stir of jealous sweetness.
"That house is about to get another capable sister," Jiruri teased. "The master bed might be getting crowded."
Hikaru blushed and clasped her hands under the table. Genkaori's grin was ferocious. "Hikaru—we must be sisters in arms. Make our darling a dead dog in bed."
A murderous plan was whispered between the three women: seven days hence they would bind Soren's chakra, prevent him using his augmentation and body-activation techniques, and wring him dry for training. Soren fled, half laughing, leaving a shadow clone to clock in at the office and himself slipping into the Paradise Micro-World.
His Eternal pupils glimmered. The Tenchō Tenson that now extended ten thousand meters could cover the entire micro-world. He had transformed the Realm into a massive spatial teleportation array—more precisely, a quasi-plane-transfer array capable of linking to other realities.
"Combined the Time-Space Wormhole Seal with a spatial teleportation array, tuned to my sensitivity. Three years of adjusting these formations—don't fail me now."
The paradise's surface had become a huge flat plain etched with layer upon layer of interlocking runes. Lines hummed from earth to sky to underground, rotating, pulsing violet energies. Even Uzumaki Arina—the sealing master Soren once invited here whose eyes had gone dizzy at the sight—might have been overwhelmed by the complexity.
"First plane exploration begins!"
Soren sat cross-legged at the center of the diagram and poured chakra into the sigils. A tremendous purple sphere blossomed around him, wrapping his body. With the formation's oscillation, Tenchō Tenson pierced the fabric of the micro-world. His spirit dove into a sea of colors.
The Sea of Void.
Instinct told him what it was. A sudden swell devoured his spirit; darkness closed in. Soren's face drained of color; his head felt as if it would explode. The first foray beyond a world's skin had gripped him like a cold hand—and the Sea of Void was already reeling.
"Focus—anchor—synchronize." He pulled at his mental core, tethering himself with the Eternal and the Ten Thousand Spears' trace. Flashes of alien stars, impossible geometries, and howling non-sounds crashed against his mind. For a moment he thought his spirit would be shredded.
Then, a voice—neither male nor female, neither human nor beast—resounded in his head. It was a ripple in the color-sea, a pattern of meaning rather than language.
You who probe the edges. You do not belong, yet you seek to belong. Why do you tear the veils?
The Sea's question reverberated. Soren's mind, sharpened by Sharingan sight and the Eldritch-sense of Tenchō, replied without words, folding intent into the question's architecture.
Curiosity, dominion, and the next step in evolution.
The Sea's hue flickered. The tumult around him eased—like a storm recognizing a captain. The sphere's roar dimmed to a hum and images threaded before his mind's eye: spiraling islands of light, broken towers, shifting continents of glass, and, beneath it all, a cold clockwork of inevitabilities.
He pushed further—probing, tasting—until the vastness folded into a single corridor of possibilities. A portal keyed itself to his intent.
Then the world answered with a violent wrench: a pull not outward but inward, a corridor that reached into something like a heart. Energy flooded. Soren felt a pressure like a fist squeezing his chest. His vision trembled with the impression of eyes—thousands of them, patient and calculation-deep—watching from far horizons.
And then—light.
A doorway cleaved open in the Sea. Soren's spirit rode the current and catapulted through, only to find himself slammed onto a hard, unfamiliar rock that smelled of iron and ozone.
He coughed. The world around him was a ruin of black spires under a violet sky. Strange glyphs burned along the stones in colors his Sharingan could not fully parse. The air tasted of metal and distant thunder. He clutched at his chest and felt the ringing echo of chakra unlike any he'd catalogued: not tailed-beast or human, but something older, something that thought in slow, long rotations.
Behind him the purple sphere winked out. He was alone on alien ground.
(End of first contact.)
"This—this place is not on any map," Soren breathed, rising. He felt the thrill of discovery prick him like a blade. The first plane had opened its mouth—and it was hungry.
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