After watching Ye Cang leave, Hayashi turned to say something to Karura—only to find her gazing at him with a soft, kind smile, her eyes curved into gentle half-moons.
The look made Hayashi feel oddly self-conscious."Uh… Karura, is it alright if I come to your house tomorrow afternoon?"
Karura nodded warmly without speaking, then stepped toward him. She lifted her pale hands and carefully straightened the folds of his slightly rumpled clothes.
From within her robes, she drew a clean white hand towel. Though she stood at a graceful one-seventy in height, she was still shorter than Hayashi's one-seventy-three, and so had to tiptoe, lifting her chin to reach him.
She began wiping the sweat from his brow, her expression intent and tender. The soft fabric brushed his skin with deliberate care, carrying with it the faint, fresh fragrance of her body.
A quiet warmth bloomed in Hayashi's chest. He instinctively began to turn his head away, but her gentle voice stopped him.
"Wait—don't move. I'll be done soon."
When she finished, Karura folded the towel neatly, tucked it back into her robe, and clasped her hands behind her. Her eyes—soft, luminous, almost speaking on their own—reflected his figure with startling clarity.
Suddenly, she laughed. Lifting a delicate finger, she touched his chin and tilted her head."Your beard's getting long. Aren't you going to shave?"
Her fingertip traced the line of his jaw in a slow, light circle. The touch was so intimate—so unexpectedly pleasant—that Hayashi simply let it happen.
"I've been busy lately, I—"
Before he could finish, she withdrew her hand and stepped back, head tilted in a playful, almost teasing pose. On anyone else, the gesture might seem out of place, but on her, it flowed naturally.
Her eyes sparkled."Then… Hayashi, you'll really come to our home tomorrow?"
Something in her tone stirred a strange, unfamiliar emotion in him. The excuse he had ready dissolved, and he nodded stiffly.
On the way to the Kazekage's office, he still felt a little dazed. After promising Karura, he'd all but fled, muttering a quick farewell to her and her sister before striding off.
I didn't expect Karura to be so… forward, he thought.
He'd assumed she was the quiet, demure type—like a Yamato Nadeshiko, perhaps even shy to the point of silence like Hinata. But no—she was gentle, yes, but also deliberate and unafraid to take the initiative.
Compared to Hinata, who needed a life-or-death moment to confess, Karura was bold in her everyday approach—a kind Hayashi had little practice dealing with.
He'd lived over twenty years in the modern world, surrounded by classmates and colleagues who smiled while meaning something entirely different. He wasn't used to this kind of open, tangible affection.
At the outer wall of Sunagakure, Yasha Ren finally snapped out of her daze after watching her sister's little display.
She turned to find Karura still staring in the direction Hayashi had gone.
After a hesitant pause, Yasha Ren edged closer and whispered,"Sister… what was that you just did?"
Karura didn't turn her head."Why? Do you think my behavior strange?"
"Well… yes, Sister."
Karura shifted suddenly, facing her, and Yasha Ren's eyes went wide. She found herself staring straight at her sister's face.
Karura brushed a hand over her smooth cheek."What? Do I have dust on me? Why are you staring?"
"No, Sister… I've just never seen you smile so happily—and so sweetly—before."
Karura let out a soft laugh, half amused, half exasperated. She stepped forward, gently stroked her sister's cheek, then turned back toward the path Hayashi had taken.
"It's because I've found a man worthy of my trust for a lifetime. How could I not be happy?"
Her eyes lifted toward the sky."Even if other women hover around him… it seems one of them hasn't yet realized her true feelings. She still thinks of him only as a friend—a brother."
"In that case, if I don't cast aside my useless reserve and fight for my own happiness… then the moment she understands and acts, I'll regret it for the rest of my life."
Karura's gaze followed Hayashi's path, never noticing the complicated look on her sister's face.
Three hours later, Hayashi walked through the busy streets, letting out a slow breath.
Earlier, in the Kazekage's office, he'd spoken with Chiyo and Ebizo. He'd explained his abilities—carefully omitting anything about the system—and attributed his control over iron to constant practice and personal insight.
Once that was done, the discussion turned to strategy.
He'd asked why so many shinobi suddenly knew of the Third's disappearance—and possible death. The culprit, it turned out, was Aoki. Wanting more witnesses to his battle and to ensure the moment couldn't be erased, the fool had told every jonin and senior chunin that the Third Kazekage was likely dead.
Chiyo had asked for his thoughts.
Hayashi advised tightening surveillance on all those informed and limiting unnecessary missions. Any work involving shifting defenses, bolstering guard posts, transporting or purchasing supplies should be given only to trusted shinobi.
Beyond that, he admitted there wasn't much more to be done. He wasn't omniscient—outside of the Red Sand Scorpion's infiltrators, even the original records never detailed which spies belonged to which villages.
Still, he had warned Chiyo about the Scorpion's brainwashed operatives, urging her to stay alert.
Then, a spark of inspiration—Wait. I have the favorability list. I could track down anyone with a negative impression of me. Sure, a friendly face might still be a spy, but a hostile one? Definitely suspect.
His thoughts carried him to his destination: a plain, three-story building with nothing remarkable in its design. He decided to leave the favorability check for later that night.
He knocked.
"Wait, I'm coming!"
A moment later, the door creaked open, and there stood Ye Cang.
The sight erased his earlier fatigue, replacing it with quiet amazement.
She hadn't changed into casual clothes; she still wore her signature backless, sleeveless battle attire. But instead of ninja sandals, her feet rested in wooden clogs.
Slender, flawless, snow-pale feet—without a blemish, vein, or mark. The arches rose in a perfect curve, the neatly trimmed nails a soft pink-white, each one uniform and elegant.
She clearly took meticulous care of them.
In the sunlight spilling over the threshold, they all but gleamed.
And in Hayashi's mind, only one thought surfaced—no, two words and a single sentence:
"Gorgeous… perfect."The shape is exactly as I imagined yesterday—absolutely beautiful.