Chapter 25: An Unexpected Guest (Bonus Chapter)
After upgrading the Devil Fruit, Ragnar turned his attention to the other prize from his victory: the silver treasure chest that had materialized after his duel with Namikaze Minato. This was not his first chest, so the process was met with calm focus rather than breathless excitement.
The lid of the ethereal chest swung open of its own accord, spilling a soft, white light. Suspended within was a silver card. As Ragnar focused on it, information streamed directly into his consciousness.
Navy Six Powers: Moon Walk. Uses tremendous leg strength to kick off the air itself, creating footholds of compressed atmosphere. Allows the user to walk on air as if ascending invisible stairs. Cannot maintain altitude indefinitely.
A rare, genuine smile touched Ragnar's lips. This was a superb and unexpected surprise. Shave and Moon Walk were perfect complements. Shave was a high-explosive, ground-based burst of speed, like teleportation. Moon Walk granted vertical mobility and aerial maneuverability. Together, they would make his movement three-dimensional and unpredictable.
Without hesitation, he used the bulk of his remaining 650 experience points to upgrade the new technique. The points drained away, leaving a meager reserve, but the knowledge and muscle memory for Moon Walk (Lv2) solidified in his mind, granting greater airtime and control.
The next morning, Ragnar's remote cabin welcomed another unexpected visitor.
The Princess of the Senju Clan, Tsunade herself.
Ragnar was in the middle of his brutal regimen, his body a symphony of straining muscle and pounding blood as he drove himself against the iron-clad post, challenging the absolute limits of his endurance. He did not notice her arrival.
Tsunade leaned against the doorframe, observing. She wore a simple, light-yellow, tight-fitting top, her sleeves rolled up to reveal slender, toned arms. Her golden hair was tied back in a casual ponytail that swayed against her waist with her idle movements. Her feet were in simple geta sandals, the picture of casual, lazy confidence.
She crossed her arms, watching the boy. His bare upper body was slick with sweat, each defined muscle corded with effort. The bandages on his fists were a gruesome dark red, soaked through with a mixture of old blood and fresh. A strange, unfamiliar feeling stirred in her chest—a pang of something like pity, mixed with deep respect. At his age, she had been carefree, protected by the legacy of her grandfather. She had never needed to forge herself against unyielding iron with raw desperation.
For a moment, the hardened kunoichi felt a purely feminine, emotional tug towards this much younger, fiercely isolated boy.
"Training like you're trying to kill yourself, kid?" she called out, her voice cutting through the rhythmic thuds.
Ragnar's fist paused mid-swing. He didn't turn, but his Observation Haki had already registered her presence the moment she spoke. "I only believe in what I can forge with my own two fists," he stated, his voice flat. Then, without another word, he resumed. One hundred punches. Two hundred. Three hundred. Then side kicks, squats, a relentless cycle of self-imposed torment.
Beyond Haki and Devil Fruits, Ragnar had discovered that as his Haki levels increased, his base physique was quietly evolving, growing denser, tougher, more resilient. It mirrored the absurd innate toughness of the people from the world of his system, where even ordinary marines could perform superhuman feats. The pain was a price he paid willingly. He craved this feeling of tangible growth, of limits being broken.
After another solid hour, he finally stopped, his body steaming in the cool morning air. He glanced over. Tsunade was still there. At some point, she'd even found a stool to sit on, looking like a spectator at a particularly grueling play.
"Finished?" she asked, one eyebrow arched.
"For now," Ragnar replied, grabbing a rough towel to wipe the sweat from his face and chest.
"Now I see how you beat Konoha's precious golden boy," Tsunade said, standing and walking towards him. "This isn't training. It's a form of controlled self-destruction."
"If talent is lacking, effort must fill the gap," he countered, his breath already steadying.
Tsunade stopped right in front of him. She was a full head taller, and her dark brown eyes studied him with a clinical, yet oddly gentle, intensity. "Heh. Most people who train like this just break. I wonder how a brat like you managed to bend the rules."
As she spoke, her hand darted out, fingers spread towards his shoulder.
Ragnar's instincts screamed to evade. His muscles twitched, ready to employ Shave. But his Observation Haki, constantly active at a low hum, detected not a shred of malice from her. This was Tsunade. He forced himself to stillness.
Her hand landed on his bare shoulder, firm and warm. "Good. Control your reflexes. Don't be a twitchy rabbit," she said, approval flashing in her eyes.
Her touch was unexpectedly soft, a contrast to the calloused strength he could feel in her grip. They were close. Very close. He could smell the faint, clean scent of her soap and something uniquely herbal, feel the warmth radiating from her. The skin under her palm felt acutely sensitive, a hot, tingling point of contact.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His heart, traitorously, began to beat a faster rhythm against his ribs. He had the body of a child, but the consciousness and perceptions of a grown man. The proximity to a woman like Tsunade—powerful, confident, and undeniably attractive—was a novel and disconcerting experience. He quickly looked down, focusing on the packed earth, afraid his face might betray the sudden, unwelcome flush of warmth he felt.
"Hm. Strange. Your skin temperature just spiked, kid," Tsunade mused, her hand still resting on his shoulder, feeling the subtle change.
She looked down at his averted face, her sharp mind connecting the dots in two seconds flat. A knowing, utterly mischievous grin spread across her beautiful features. "Ha! Don't tell me… are you blushing?"
"No." Ragnar's reply was ice-cold, his head still turned. He would not admit to any such thing.
"Tch. Sure you aren't," Tsunade snorted, her grin widening. She looked at him with the seasoned expression of someone who'd seen it all. The Konoha Sannin were also known as the "Three Dens of Konoha" for a reason—perversion, gambling, and poison. Spending years with Jiraiya and Orochimaru meant Tsunade was far from naive. She knew exactly what was happening.
Oh, my damnable charm, she thought with an internal, wry laugh. Even this little ice-block isn't immune. In the shinobi world, children grew up fast. This was just proof.
Seeing the deliberate, stiff coldness on his face, she decided to spare him further teasing. The playful glint faded, replaced by professional focus. She channelled chakra into her palm.
Ragnar stiffened for a new reason. A warm, profoundly soothing energy seeped through her touch and into his body. It was pure, vibrant, and brimming with vitality. He glanced at the soft, greenish aura emanating from her hand and understood. Medical ninjutsu. She was healing him.
She's… genuinely kind, the thought surfaced, surprising him with its simplicity.
Tsunade's chakra was a river of life. It flowed through his overtaxed muscles, soothed the micro-tears in his fibers, and mended the deep bruises on his bones. The lingering fatigue and hidden damage from his relentless training melted away as if washed clean. The sensation was sublime—like sinking into a perfect, healing hot spring after a year in the frozen tundra. It was a comfort so deep and complete he had no frame of reference for it.
If he could have frozen a single moment in time, just to exist within this feeling of absolute, cared-for relief, he might have been tempted.
(End of Chapter)
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