Konoha did not sleep the way Uzushio had slept.
Raizo learned that before midnight.
In Uzushio, night had been a gradual thing. The ocean softened, the wind slowed, and the village folded inward like a tide retreating from shore. Sounds faded into long pauses. Even the seals seemed to rest.
Konoha stayed awake.
Even now, lying on unfamiliar bedding beneath a ceiling that smelled faintly of wood smoke and old ink, Raizo could feel the village moving around him. Footsteps passed on distant streets. Doors slid open and shut. Someone laughed somewhere far away. Someone else argued. Chakra brushed against the compound's barrier again and again—most of it casual, unfocused, unaware.
It pressed against his senses like fingers tapping on glass.
Raizo lay very still, hands folded over his chest, breathing the way Mito had taught him.
In with the wave.
Out with the tide.
The quiet space inside him held—for a while.
Then the village breathed in.
Raizo's eyes snapped open.
The sensation wasn't sound. It wasn't pain.
It was a response.
Konoha's barrier network shifted, adjusting to night patrol patterns. Seals re-aligned. Chakra routes pulsed. The entire village inhaled as one interconnected system—and Raizo felt every thread of it slide through his awareness at once.
His breath stuttered.
The air inside the room thickened, reacting before he could stop it. Curtains lifted. Shadows sharpened. The faint hum beneath his skin rose into something closer to pressure.
"No," he whispered. "No, no, no—"
He sat up too fast.
The quiet space collapsed.
Chakra surged outward in a tight spiral, invisible but powerful enough to make the lantern on the table rattle violently. The compound's barrier flared once in response, then steadied.
Raizo clutched his head.
Too much.
Too close.
Konoha was too big.
He slid off the bed and pressed his forehead to the cool floor, breath coming fast now despite his effort to slow it.
In.
Out.
In—
The village exhaled.
A rush of foreign emotion slammed into him.
Alarm.
Not fear—attention.
Shinobi had noticed the fluctuation.
Raizo gasped.
He hadn't meant to do anything. He hadn't even stood up.
The thought that he had drawn notice—real notice—sent panic slicing through his chest.
The pressure behind his eyes flared.
Pink light flickered at the edges of his vision.
"No—stop—"
The door slid open hard enough to crack against the wall.
Tsunade burst in.
Raizo felt her before he saw her.
Her chakra hit his senses like a stabilizing weight—dense, grounded, alive in a way that didn't scatter or echo. It didn't demand his attention.
It anchored it.
She took in the scene in half a second: the rattling lantern, the spiraling air, the child curled on the floor trying desperately not to break.
"Hey," she snapped, sharp but not angry. "Raizo. Look at me."
He didn't.
"I said look at me."
Her voice cut cleanly through the noise.
Raizo lifted his head.
Tsunade dropped to one knee in front of him, close enough that her presence blocked out everything else. She planted one hand flat on the floor between them, the other gripping his shoulder firmly.
"Don't breathe how you think you're supposed to," she said. "Breathe with me."
He shook his head weakly. "I can't—"
"Yes, you can," she said, utterly certain. "You're not alone right now."
She inhaled—slow, deep, deliberate.
Raizo felt it.
Her breath didn't ripple outward. It pulled inward, compact and controlled.
He followed without thinking.
In.
She exhaled steadily.
Out.
The spiral in the air faltered.
Again.
In.
Out.
The pressure behind his eyes receded a fraction.
Raizo's shoulders sagged.
"There," Tsunade said quietly. "Stay there."
The compound's barrier settled.
Beyond it, patrol chakra signatures paused, then moved on.
The village stopped looking.
Raizo slumped forward suddenly, forehead bumping lightly against Tsunade's shoulder.
She caught him without hesitation, steadying him with one arm.
"Sorry," he mumbled, voice thick. "I didn't mean to—"
"Stop apologizing," she said flatly. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"But I—"
"You reacted," she corrected. "That's different."
She shifted so they were both sitting on the floor, Raizo leaning against her side. Her presence kept the world from rushing back in.
"You didn't wake up," she continued. "The village did."
Raizo sniffed. "It breathed."
Tsunade went still.
"…Yeah," she said after a moment. "It does that."
She leaned her head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "Nobody warned you, did they?"
He shook his head.
"Konoha's not like other places," she said. "Its barriers are alive. They adjust. They respond. For someone like you…"
She trailed off.
"For someone like me," Raizo finished quietly.
She glanced down at him. "Yeah."
Silence settled—not empty, but manageable.
Raizo's breathing finally slowed.
The faint hum of chains deep within him eased, no longer scraping against his senses.
After a while, he whispered, "Are they mad?"
Tsunade snorted softly. "At you? No."
"Then why did they notice?"
"Because they always notice anything new," she replied. "Especially anything that might change how the village breathes back."
That didn't make him feel better.
He curled his fingers into the fabric of her sleeve without realizing it.
Tsunade noticed—and didn't comment.
"You know," she said eventually, "this happens to me too."
Raizo looked up sharply. "It does?"
She shrugged. "Different reasons. Same result. Village pushes. I push back. Sometimes too hard."
His eyes searched her face. "What do you do?"
She thought about it.
"I make sure I'm not alone when it happens," she said.
Raizo considered that carefully.
"…Is that why you came?"
She met his gaze evenly. "Yeah."
The truth of it settled into his chest like something warm and solid.
A knock sounded at the door.
Both of them stiffened.
The door slid open a crack.
Mito's voice carried through calmly. "Report."
Tsunade answered without standing. "Pressure spike from barrier realignment. Kid reacted. I grounded him."
A pause.
Then Mito stepped inside.
Her presence folded the room into order immediately—not suppressing, not overpowering, just aligning everything back into place.
She took in Raizo leaning against Tsunade, the settled air, the quiet inside his coils.
Her gaze lingered.
"Good," she said simply.
Raizo tensed. "I'm sorry—"
Mito cut him off gently. "Do not apologize for surviving."
She turned to Tsunade. "You stayed."
Tsunade shrugged. "He needed someone his size."
Mito inclined her head. "You chose correctly."
That surprised Tsunade more than anything else had.
Mito knelt in front of Raizo.
"The village will test you again," she said. "Tonight taught you something important."
Raizo nodded. "It breathes back."
"Yes," Mito agreed. "And now you know that you can answer without breaking."
Raizo swallowed. "Will it keep happening?"
Mito's expression softened. "Yes."
Tsunade grimaced. "Wow, you're great at comfort."
Mito ignored her.
"But," she continued, "you will not face it alone again."
Raizo looked between them.
Something unfamiliar but solid settled into place inside him.
Not safety.
Support.
Mito rose. "Sleep," she said. "Tomorrow, you begin learning how to live inside a place that refuses to be quiet."
She left.
Tsunade shifted slightly, then froze when Raizo didn't move.
"…You okay?" she asked.
He nodded. "Can I stay here a little longer?"
She exhaled. "Yeah. That's fine."
They sat in silence as the village moved around them, breathing, adjusting, living.
This time, when Konoha inhaled—
Raizo inhaled too.
And the storm stayed inside.
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