Tsunade froze mid-roll, her expression stunned by Hayashi's words. Her already large, striking eyes widened even further in disbelief.
"That's impossible. This is a dream," she snapped. "As the master of my own dream, I control everything here—why would something like this happen?!"
Hayashi's lips curved into a sly smile, his gaze narrowing with amusement. "Because I'm the creation of your subconscious. You know it, don't you? Which means everything I'm doing right now is exactly what some hidden part of you craves."
He stepped closer, voice low and taunting. "You've always wanted someone to do this to you. That's why I exist."
Tsunade's brow furrowed sharply, her voice tightening. "Don't be absurd! No one wants to be violated!"
Hayashi's smirk deepened. He relished toying with her like this. With Ye Cang, he'd avoided crossing certain lines—there had been a connection between them, and he even felt sympathy for her tragic fate. But Tsunade… she was different.
Before ever coming to this world, he had fantasized endlessly about playing his own twisted games with the legendary, untouchable Tsunade. And after what he'd done to her in last night's dream—something she no doubt remembered—he knew there was no going back.
If he backed off now, she wouldn't forgive him anyway. So why not indulge his own desires and enjoy it to the fullest?
Decision made, Hayashi said, "If I'm just a product of your subconscious, then tell me—why would I do this?"
He leaned in, eyes gleaming. "The truth is, deep down, you want a man to force you… to take that untouched purity you've guarded for forty years."
The crude, shameless words made Tsunade's blood boil. Yet, to her horror, a flicker of doubt crept in.
Do I… want this?
The thought alone made her recoil, but she couldn't deny it—beneath the outrage and humiliation was a faint, shameful thrill. Her body, against her will, responded.
Noticing the subtle changes, Tsunade felt her chest tighten with disbelief. No. This isn't happening.
"No! I am not!" she roared, louder than she had in years.
But suddenly, her expression shifted. A cold clarity entered her gaze as she fixed him with a glare.
"I see. This must be an illusion!"
Hayashi didn't even flinch. He had no intention of admitting it—and he certainly wasn't finished.
"Stop lying to yourself, Princess Tsunade. You tested it just now—you know this isn't an illusion. If it were, there'd be chakra fluctuations. And as a master of medical ninjutsu, you'd know immediately if someone was controlling you."
His words made her falter. Doubt gnawed at her again—until a sudden chill swept across her chest.
Her eyes snapped downward just in time to see Hayashi on the bed, ripping open the front of her top.
Fabric tore.
Two impossibly full, heavy curves burst free, each larger than her head. They bounced with defiant vitality, pale and perfect, as if celebrating their release.
Hayashi's gaze roamed over them with open appreciation. Freed from the restraint of fabric, they stood proudly rather than sagging, their beauty almost surreal.
The tips, flushed a deep rose, drew him in. The faint, warm scent that drifted toward him made his pulse quicken.
He reached out with his left hand, brushing a finger over the hardened peak. The texture—firm, yet soft—made him breathe out a low note of satisfaction.
"See? You're already hard. That's your body telling the truth," he murmured. "Admit it—I'm the embodiment of what you secretly want."
Fury exploded inside Tsunade. He was touching one of her most sensitive points without restraint. She wanted to crush him. But the anger tangled with shame… and something hotter, more dangerous.
Her lower body tingled with an unfamiliar itch.
As one of the finest medical minds in the shinobi world, she'd studied anatomy and physiology in detail—even the parts she'd never experienced firsthand. Which made it all the worse when she recognized her own reaction.
Her cheeks flushed crimson—not from shyness, but from sheer humiliation.
She clenched her legs together, gritted her teeth, and hissed, "Fine. You're my subconscious? Then obey me and get out!"
But Hayashi, watching her every twitch, didn't miss the movement. His eyes drifted lower, taking in her long, toned legs.
Her pants had been torn during their earlier clash, leaving swathes of porcelain-white skin exposed, smooth and taut.
"What are you staring at? Get out now!" she barked, but the heat in her voice was undercut by something else—a tremor she didn't want him to notice.
The anger in her heart was already shifting into fear. Worse, her body's treacherous excitement was still building.
Hayashi's gaze swept back up to her chest. The peaks were tighter, harder, the faint areola now more defined. His own excitement surged. Whatever traces of guilt he'd had dissolved completely.
"You say no," he said, voice dripping with mockery, "but your body's being honest. Those little peaks are rock-hard… and your pants look like they're getting damp."
The words filled him with a perverse sense of triumph.
Tsunade's reply came instantly, just as he expected.
"No! Don't come any closer—no!"
But before she could draw breath, he was already sitting across her lap.
Fear broke through her mask entirely. She began struggling frantically, abandoning her pride in a desperate plea.
"No! Please—if you stop, I'll agree to anything you want! Anything!"
Sitting astride her lush, toned thighs, Hayashi could feel the perfect balance of softness, elasticity, and muscle. Her frantic words only sharpened his grin.
"Anything?" he echoed, a cruel edge in his voice.
Tsunade's heart hammered. She nodded quickly, almost desperately. "Yes! Anything, as long as you don't… do that!"
An idea struck him—twisted and amusing. He gestured toward the rigid bulge pressing against his trousers.
"Then… how about with your hands?"
Her eyes flicked down—and froze.
The sheer size made her throat tighten. She swallowed hard, memories from last night flashing vividly in her mind.
So that's why it hurt so much… she thought. Forcing something like that inside… of course it would.
Hayashi saw her expression and smirked. She was imagining it—and he wanted to push her further.
"If you won't agree," he said in a mock warning, "then I'll put it somewhere else… down there."
The threat shattered the last of her resistance.
With a flash of grim resignation, she thought, Fine. If I have to use my hands on that filthy thing… it's still a hundred times better than letting him put it inside me.